In 2024 I read the first three Parker novels by Richard Stark. At fifty years old it was my first time reading them, and I don’t know why I waited all this time.
I remember seeing Payback in the nineties, and the film is okay. It’s a decent and gritty action film that I rewatched for the first time in years a couple of months back. I had no idea about the books in the 1990s. I spent a large chunk of that decade drunk, stoned, taking LSD, MDMA, shrooms, going to marijuana rallies, screwing everything but the wall, and going to concerts. I refused to read anything but authors like Camus, the Beats, Celine, if I was reading anything at all, so I had no thought about the books going into the film, which can sometimes be a relief when going to the movies.
However, even with a solid supporting cast of James Coburn, Kris Kristofferson, and Maria Bello, Mel Gibson as Parker is forgettable. Although the film introduced me to the joys of Lucy Liu, and her femme fatale dominatrix character named Pearl. Not only is she out of this world gorgeous all clad in latex and leather, but her acting is fun, violent, and seductive. Everything I adore in a neo noir fatale.
Her bit opened my eyes to the joys of fetish art, something I didn’t know I needed back then. It’s one hundred percent an art form, a lust, a daily thought, a secret desire I need to fulfil to this day by perusing the enormous world of fetish photography. There’s something about the role playing; letting go of control; the outfits, the punishment, which sends thrills and chills up and down my spine. I don’t get decked out in the gear. I’d look stupid being a hoodie and jeans guy, but it’s a world over the years that has been villainized, and it shouldn’t be, it’s normal, even if I secretly look at the photography like I’m a pervert, and in a way that’s part of the thrill. My Catholic upbringing says it’s bad, so you bet your ass I’m going to look.
After I read the first three Parker books under Westlake’s pen name Richard Stark and rewatched the adaptations, I’d have to say Lee Marvin in Point Blank (based on the first Parker book) is better than the others. I even put the film into a little dialogue in a recent short story of mine in Starlite Pulp’s issue number five. The cast is killer, starring Lee Marvin, Angie Dickinson, Caroll O’Connor, Sharon Acker, and Keenan Wynn. In my day-to-day life, I often hear the click clacks of Marvin’s shoes in the long hallway at the beginning of the film. After a few minutes I start to think I’ve lost my mind, yet at the same time it’s a comforting sound. Even though the shoes are telling us Walker is getting his fucking money back at all costs and people are going to die, I still find the sound to be a deep meditation. The director John Boorman created a simple symphony that’s a perfect match for what revenge sounds like, and Lee Marvin’s meditative quick step towards his blood money is far superior to any Buddhist chant I’ve had the displeasure to sit through.
The Outfit (based on the 3rd Parker book) is also excellent. Although it seems forgotten, or at least no one really talks about it. It’s a fine slice of 1970s cinema and who doesn’t love seventies movies? Truly the last golden age of film. Directed by John Flynn, The Outfit stars Robert Duvall; the underrated Joe Don Baker. A brilliant cameo by Jane Greer who’s one of the queens of old school noir; and the forever underrated and sultry Sheree North. It’s a terrific book, but like Point Blank, Westlake wouldn’t allow the directors of the day to use the name Parker. Back then he insisted that unless they were going to make a series of films, they’d have to change the name. Sounded like a money move on Westlake’s part, and in those days, it was the smart play. You can catch all three of the films on a variety of different streaming services.
In Payback it’s Porter, in Point Blank it’s Walker, and in The Outfit it’s Macklin. They still stick with the ‘who gives a fuck I have one name’ attitude. Like when I was in high school and people shouted, “Reardon.” Teens who didn’t do good in school, skipped class, smoked in the parking lot, were called by one name, usually the last. I can imagine Porter smoking in the parking lot. I can imagine Walker seducing the hot teacher. I can see Mackin stealing the principle’s stapler on a dare. Except I wasn’t cool like them. In fact, I was quiet, shy, and the thought of talking to a girl scared me. I didn’t come out of my shell until I went to college. It didn’t matter if in my younger years I excelled at stealing Playboys from Lil’ Peach, or that I had a vocabulary full of cuss words that would make a single mother working a split shift blush. I simply wasn’t cool like Parker. And in a way don’t we all secretly want to be cool like Parker? Probably so, but maybe not now. Keep on reading…
Shane Black is adapting the first Parker novel (third adaptation of the book), and for whatever reason he gets to use the name Parker, which is exciting and might unfuck our minds from an endless list of different last names. I love Shane Black’s crime films. The Nice Guys and Kiss Kiss Bang Bang, both are modern classics in my movie library. Two films that are not only comfort movies but films that demand yearly rewatches. However, what makes me nervous about Black’s adaptation, which is currently titled, Play Dirty, is that Mark Wahlberg will be playing Parker. BOO!!!
Outside of Boogie Nights and The Departed I loathe Mark Wahlberg. And I think only directors with the wits, balls, and creativity, like P.T. and Marty were able to pull the best out of him. I also think the two of them completely sapped all that’s left of Wahlberg, leaving him to terrible Transformers movies and horseshit biopics like Father Stu. They completely drained whatever talent lived inside of Wahlberg’s pea brain, and there’s nothing left in his limited arsenal but yelling at people about Catholicism and lifting weights. But I’m nervously hopeful that a great crime director and writer like Shane Black will be able to turn Wahlberg into something watchable like PT Anderson and Scorsese were able to do. Or maybe it’ll be laughable and embarrassing like Wahlberg’s take on Spenser. I highly recommend NOT seeing that Netflix film. It might be one of the worst films I’ve ever seen. Right up there with Netflix’s original films straight from suck city, such as last year’s abomination Hitman.
And if it does suck, I’ll be left with yet another last name in a forever ongoing series of last names, like it’s not bad enough we have to deal with it in school, work, the doctor’s office, and from the Gov’t. A series of last names I’ll click clack my way through on the way to thoughts of vengeance and acting cooler than I am, until I’m told to shut up, get on all fours, and kiss the black knee-high latex boot like the pervert I am (“Hubba hubba”).