I'm surprised that Tom Stoppard actually took a writer credit on this one; it's not something I'd want on my CV if I had a CV as distinguished as Stoppard's. The fact is, though, that Stoppard distinguished himself as a playwright with an intellectual bent verging on the arcane not a practitioner of hard-boiled detective stories. On the other hand Howard Hawks signed William Faulkner to co-write the screenplay of The Big Sleep so maybe the producers see it as something of a tradition. Whatever, this movie fails to work really well on any level. Chandler died with the novel half-finished; Robert B. Parker, a fine writer in a similar field to Chandler, was tapped to finish it and the result was Chandler-lite, just about the best we could have hoped for. For reasons best known to themselves the producers retain little but the title seeing fit to change the character's names for no apparent reason. James Caan is a competent actor but he doesn't really convince as private heat. If you really feel you should see everything that Chandler wrote about Marlowe give it a whirl, but don't say I didn't warn you.
Review of Poodle Springs
