After an intriguing prologue, the following is the opening of Night Film:
A large chandelier showered golden light on the crowd as I surveyed the party in the bronze mirror over the mantel. I was startled to spot someone I barely recognized: myself. Blue button-down, sports jacket, third or fourth drink -- I was losing count -- leaning against the wall like I was holding it up. I looked like I wasn't at a cocktail party but an airport, waiting for my life to take off.
I cringed a bit and needed to immediately make a decision: Could I treat this book as a Chandleresque pastiche or would I need to dismiss it as irredeemably cheesy? Since I decided to accept this book on its own terms, I guess it's only fair to rate it that way, too; to consider it as a plot-driven pot-boiler and not a great work of literature. My biggest disappointment in this regard: I enjoyed the Sam Spade-y narration of this audiobook well enough but do believe I missed out on half of the experience by not having the actual book in my hands; stuffed as it is with reproductions of magazine articles, photographs and web pages. If those additions can sometimes be dismissed as gimmicky, I regret not experiencing the gimmick.
In Night Film, Scott McGrath is an investigative journalist who lost his family, job and credibility over an obsession with Stanislas Cordova -- the reclusive director of a series of outlawed movies that push the limits of psychological horror. When Cordova's daughter, Ashley, is found dead of an apparent suicide, McGrath is drawn back to his case notes, hoping to finally prove the depravity of the director and redeem his own life and career. As he reopens the investigation, following in the doomed Ashley's last footsteps, McGrath: picks up a couple of quirky, young sidekicks; breaks into an asylum, a fetish club, and the director's fortified mansion; interviews a host of Cordova associates who seem eager to finally break their enduring silence; learns a great deal about magic, witchcraft and the Devil's Curse; and manages to narrowly escape frequent and fatal dangers. What saves the close calls and helpful strangers from seeming like eyerollers out of The Da Vinci Code is the knowledge that Cordova, as a master of manipulation, just might be behind each new discovery, laying out a trail of breadcrumbs for his own nefarious purpose.
Just as there are two possible drivers for the plot, so, too, are there two competing explanations for Ashley Cordova's final months and ultimate suicide: one full of intrigue and the supernatural, the other sad and mundane. Like at the end of Life of Pi, where the reader is asked to choose between the fantastic and the ordinary, McGrath must choose which explanation satisfies the evidence and his own peace of mind. An ending after the ending may or may not settle the issue once and for all.
The main characters are pretty wooden, with unbelievable dialogue and unclear motivations, and the plot is improbable, with nick of time rescues and long-winded interviewees, but…the entire Cordova world is rich and complete. Marisha Pessl makes Cordova live and breathe with her glimpses into his cult following and their secret, underground film screenings and hidden blackboards; with her slow revelation of Cordova's movies, their plots and stars; by the way she places him in the real world with a cover on Rolling Stone Magazine and having his assistant make a protest acceptance of his Oscar (and having the real life winner for that year, Robert Benton, be so convinced that he would win for Kramer vs Kramer that he rose from his seat as Cordova's name was announced, lol) -- all of these details, coupled with a real sense of danger surrounding McGrath and his assistants, made for an enjoyable -- nearly thrilling -- experience; I needed only to surrender myself to it.
