A MURDER IN HOLLYWOOD

A posthumous novel Crichton (1942–2008) wrote in 1973 under the pseudonym John Lange, in between The Andromeda Strain and The Great Train Robbery, but left unpublished till now.

As Harvey Jason knows all too well, the life of a movie publicist is no fun. Now that he’s spent three weeks in Tucson, Arizona, for the shooting of the western Bloodrock, Harvey’s come to know every watering hole in town and every scandal among the cast and crew. Except, that is, for the scandal that threatens to break out when Arthur McDougall, the screenwriter who’s come along for possible rewrites, is found dead in his hotel bathtub. The studio head back in Hollywood preemptively dispatches insurance investigator Harlow Perkins—“a regular Sherlock Holmes”—before any of the insurance companies backing the production can hire him themselves. In short order, the dislikable Perkins lines up interviews with leading actors Clete Williams and Brenda Conrad, promiscuous second lead Sally Oldman, producer Charles Mann, director Tom Franklin, and the rest of the crew. Whoever he talks to, he’s accompanied by Harvey, shadowing him under the orders of his boss, publicity chief Sam Appelbaum, who’s far from convinced that news of the incident will be bad for business. The characters are no more memorable than Colonel Mustard or Miss Scarlet, but Crichton, as in the SF novels that would make him famous, sweats every detail of the background, and aspiring filmmakers will learn as much about the mechanics of moviemaking as they could from most film textbooks. If you think the big reveal falls flat, just keep on reading to the end.

A sly reminder that “movies, like politics, are unreality. That’s the point of them.”