First James M. Cain novel, that is. For me it was Mildred Pierce, which I first read back in February 1995 and promptly sent me off on a sloppy Cain binge (Postman, Indemnity, Serenade, The Butterfly). This was the time in my life when I was young and broke and trying to read every great hardboiled and noir novel I could afford. My supplier was Art Bourgeau, author and co-owner of Philly's legendary Whodunit bookstore. It must have been Art who turned me on to Mildred; I really can't imagine myself being lured in by that kinda dowdy-sounding title alone.
But that's the twisted beauty of a noir like Mildred Pierce. There are no crime lords, no fedoras, no snappy banter, no unsolved murders or any of the other things that readers associate with the genre. Instead Cain gives us a suburban California housewife hell-bent on providing a better life for her daughters, Veda and Ray. And like in every great noir, no good deed goes unpunished. The very sacrifices that give Veda a better life also mortify her; mother and daughter are locked in a classic inescapable Cain "love rack," and it's absolutely devastating.
Again: not the kind of thing you usually associate with noir.
This March HBO will be debuting its five-part mini-series adaptation of Mildred Pierce, directed by Todd Haynes. I can't wait. For some reason, I've never watched the 1946 Joan Crawford version; I think I've always worried that it would pale in comparison to the memory of the novel. (That, and I believe they threw in a murder, just to make it a more of a crime flick.) But enough time has passed, and I have a ton of admiration for the creators and actors involved -- including Kate Winslet, Guy Pearce and Hope Davis. Plus, HBO has proven it can do period pieces (Boardwalk Empire) like nobody's business. The trailer is so lush, I want to nuzzle the damned thing.
But you? You have a little more than two months. Pick up Mildred between now and then and give it a whirl. You might just fall in love, too.
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