SINS, THE MINISERIES

When we prematurely had to return home from Paris because of the COVID-19 growing epidemic, my hubby and I had to self-isolate for 14 days. So suffice to say, we watched a lot of TV during that time. One of the titles we caught was the spectacular miniseries SINS based on the 1982 novel by Judith Gould and starring Joan Collins. I talked about this adaptation before in another post, so for me it was a re-visiting thing. It wasn’t for my husband, but since he had enjoyed Joan before in DYNASTY I felt that showing him this one would certainly be a slam dunk. Not so much, as it turned out.  

Basically, what he disliked most about SINS was exactly the same reason why I love it so: the over-the-topness of it all. Love, glamour, revenge...  And Dame Joan Collins to boost. Not one iota of film reel is wasted on this seven-hour miniseries. I even watched it twice that faithful day, since my hubby retired to bed early. I just popped in the disc again and voila, I was back with Hélène Junot in Paris during the Second World War.   

I don’t really need to recap the plot but if I had to I would say that SINS is all about Miss Collins and her insane changing wardrobe. Actress Catherine Mary Stewart may portray a young Joan in flashbacks but it’s Collins who really steals the show with her gowns, suits and dresses (85 of them in total), all led by costume designer Michael Fresmay. Many were sketched by Valentino himself.

As much of a sight for sore eyes she ends up being I must confess that it barely compensates for her limited acting ability. Whether in this miniseries or other highly-sought visual avenues, I usually find that Miss Collins is all looks but little substance. Oh, don’t get me wrong, she does have this star power about her that makes her must-see TV and her icon status is rightfully deserved, but an impressive thespian she is not. But in the end does it really matter when one stars in silly but highly-addictive miniseries such as this one?  

In fact, seeing her in action in SINS is almost as rewarding as catching her in DYNASTY. It’s probably the reason why the miniseries was such a smash to begin with when it aired in 1986. It was clear that Collins swam in known territory. And since she was already being held as the queen of night time television, well, you do the math. When she made another miniseries, MONTE CARLO, later in the same year, however—as DYNASTY began to slip in the ratings—it barely made the same waves when it aired and she never ventured into another miniseries after that. 

A bummer, really, for I certainly find miniseries like SINS to be quite joyful despite their imperfectness. Truth be told, they probably work as a security blanket from reality. And I’m more than OK with that. With all the shit that is going on nowadays what better way to cocoon yourself with than watching an over-produced, over-written, overact piece of fluff that delivers exactly what it sets out to do: entertain the heck out of you. 

Until next post—Martin

‘TOO DAMN RICH’ BY JUDITH GOULD

If you want to lose yourself in the privileged world of the elite, TOO DAMN RICH (1996, Signet) by Judith Gould (pen name for Nicholas Peter Bienes and Rhea Gallaher) is far from being a bad choice. I remember the exact moment we caught glimpses, the novel and I. I was on another book hunt somewhere near my place, and there it was glowing proudly with its big lettered title and diamond sheen. I already had too many unread books in my possession but I just couldn’t take my eyes away from this one. I mean look at this baby. It was doing everything in its power to lure me into buying it and I did, of course. I had already invested happily in SINS (the authors’ first novel and later on a miniseries) a few years prior and I certainly thought that the time had come for me to immerse myself yet again into one of their best-selling efforts.   

TOO DAMN RICH centers on a high-class auction house called Burghley’s where a bunch of colorful characters battle for the chance to win, amongst the many sought-after artefacts, the happily ever after pill so coveted when love is involved. In between this quest and the many business affairs of the rich we get sins from the past, unforeseeable futures, but most importantly a Machiavellian plan underway via the people at Burghley’s. All told in the Judith Gould’s signature approach, meaning a lot of champagne and caviar and sexual situations. Gould’s three main heroines (Dina, Kenzie, and Countess Zandra) do their best to stay above water despite a school of dark-clothed sharks roaming their turf. And not once did I find myself bored with their soapy but so intricate cosmopolitan lifestyles. 

In fact, TOO DAMN RICH seals the deal for me as a must-read when it comes to the Judith Gould’s name. Though a hefty treat (624 pages), the time just flies by at the hands of this effective duo team. Glamour is their game and kudos to them for still sticking with it. Yes, some of their characters are more developed than others, and love does unsurprisingly conquer all by the last page but it’s the unapologetic goings-on of these protagonists that really are the showstopper. Besides, how much fun it is to lose oneself in wealth and have a story crackling with dedication, plot twists and effective narrative; a sure-fire combination that will definitely leave fans of the sub-genre wanting more.

You can still catch TOO DAMN RICH wherever digital books are sold.  

Until next post—Martin 

Hardcover

JUDITH GOULD’S 'DAZZLE'

Sometimes re-reading a favorite isn’t such a great idea after all. Case in point: Judith Gould’s DAZZLE (now out in e-book form from Malden Bridge Press). I remember devouring it the first time I got a hold of it. It was the late 80s and I had just finished SINS and couldn’t get enough of this author. So in came DAZZLE to satisfy my intellectual needs. Intellectual? Yes, intellectual. Proust may do it for some. Me? Gould and the likes satisfy me aplenty. It would take me years to figure out that this lady is actually a pseudonym for two fellows by the name of Nicholas Peter Bienes and Rhea Gallaher. Since then they have become my main men in trash fiction, and with good reasons: titillating is their middle name. Yes, some of their novels are better than others, but all have a common denominator: they (really) center around the rich. Having gone through their entire backlist, I’ve been waiting eagerly for another title to emerge, but as of now nothing has been confirmed. Perhaps they go by another pen name these days, but color me clueless as to what they have become. I’ve tried and tried to reach them via emails but as I write this I have yet to hear from them. So feeling like revisiting one of their earlier success to commemorate their undeniable talent, I picked up DAZZLE first because it’s been more than two decades since I’ve read it, and second, it was the only novel that I still had not gone over twice.
 

　
At first, everything was hunky-dory, going back to this tale of three multi-generational women caught in their own web of deception. I’ve always been a sucker for stage and screen types of novels and this one was right up my alley. But as I got deeper and deeper into it one thing began to bug me, which to this day I still don’t understand how it could have breezed through without my noticing it the first time around. There seemed to be a change of focus all of a sudden. One that ultimately took over the central plot. The novel wasn’t really about the silly problems of the rich anymore (as the back cover so proudly proclaims). No, DAZZLE was turning out to be more serious than that. Oh, it still bathed in opulence as a good trashy novel should, but it added another layer to its theme: the political kind. All about the conflict between Arabs and Jews which, frankly, might still be interesting given in small doses. But as the whole enchilada, huh, no. Of course I did persevere. I wasn’t about to abandon one fine if not perfect lengthy novel. It’s Gould we’re talking about here. You never leave royalty. They leave you. But I got to admit that I was less intrigued by the two main characters, a lot less. Oh I still craved for them two to unite, but I wasn’t as involved as I should, and this bummed me.　
 

So who’s to blame here? Little moi who’s become pickier and pickier in my experienced years or the marketing people who have committed a big faux pas by making the reader believe he/she was set for another SINS-like thrill ride? I verge more on the marketing ploy (of course). Because were it not for their tactic ways, I would have known exactly what I was getting myself into. That said, Bienes and Gallaher still pen a good story despite its political swerve, and their narrative couldn’t be any stronger. I just wish the novel would have centered more on the Hollywood-based drama as promised. Still, I’d say give DAZZLE a go. Just be aware of its true colors.

　



 

 

Until next post—Martin

　

MIXED BAG: COLLINS, ROBBINS, SHELDON/BAGSHAWE

OK, I’ve decided to do something a little different this time around, to kick start what I think could be a real doozie if everything goes as plan. Since I don’t always review novels and films like I should, I figured why not ramble on anything connected with sleaze in between real reviews. Cool idea, huh? Soooooo… let’s start this shingding by talking about Jackie Collins.

 

Yes, the queen of sleaze is putting the finishing touches to her latest, CONFESSIONS OF A WILD CHILD (Simon & SchusterUK). If you think this one is all about Lucky Santangelo, then you’ve guessed right. The novel focuses on her earlier years, which means every important characters should make an appearance, including devilish Olympia Stanislopoplous whom I LOVED in CHANCES. The book is already set for pre-sale in the UK until its September release. No words on when the US/Canada version will hit the stands and e-readers. But based on her earlier outings, it should not be that far in between. Meanwhile, check out her sizzling short story THE ROCK STAR AND THE LIFEGUARD (originally written for Rolling Stone magazine) wherever e-books are sold.

The Mass market paperback edition of Harold Robbins THE CURSE (Forge Books) written by Junius Podrug is set for a New Year’s eve 2013 release. I must admit  that I’m way behind on my Robbins/Podrug reading, but like any former novels of theirs, this latest looks mighty tasty. All about art, fake artifacts and sex—of course. Meanwhile, if you own an e-reader, you can download most of Robbins’s back list, including his posthumous ones. Again, just visit any e-book stores for more info.

Speaking of dead authors, Sidney Sheldon also got a book out in print (hardback) and in digital by HarperCollins Publishers. It’s called THE TIDES OF MEMORY and like his former last outings, it is also written by best-selling author Tilly Bagshawe of FAME fame. Here’s the novel description:

The members of the formidable and captivating De Vere family of London live enviable lives in the world’s most powerful and desirable places, from London’s poshest neighborhoods to influential boardrooms. But when old secrets begin to unravel and threaten everything the De Veres have worked for, the ramifications are deadly.

What can I say. I’m sold already. Though I have to admit that her/his second to last novel, AFTER THE DARKNESS, didn’t do the trick for me. Too many “you've got to be kidding me” situations. But let’s hope this one delivers the goods.

 

what I'm reading:

Until next post--Martin

'SINS' AND THE JUDITH GOULD SHOW

For the longest time Judith Gould was churning out one best-seller after the other, the last being 2008 GREEK WINDS OF FURY, which I  plan to read then review on this blog. Unless she now uses a pseudonym, it seems like she’s just disappeared from the face of the earth. Blame this mostly on the arrival of e-books which have revolutionized the publishing industry but at the same time have put many contracted authors aside. Authors like Michael Prescott and Scott Nicholson have all suffered from the consequences of books going digital but have somehow found a way to stay afloat. Which seems not to be the case with Judith Gould. Now, unless you’ve been straying from the computer until recently, you must know by now that Judith Gould is really the penname of two guys who, since the release of the mega-hit SINS in 1982, have been going at it incognito until about a decade ago when they finally decided to come out of the closet and announce their true colors, so to speak.

I’ve been a fan of their work because of SINS. Like many of you, I came to know the novel by watching the mini-series starring the legendary Joan Collins (now on region 1 DVD by Olive Films and on Region 2 by Pegasus Entertainment).  Yes, I was again present when the CBS seven hour television event took place in 1986. Joan Collins was already a superstar by then, having been on DYNASTY for quite a few seasons. Besides Collins, SINS had a powerhouse of big names: Gene Kelly, Timothy Dalton, LACE Arielle Dombasle, Lauren Hutton, and that awful rich fellow who wanted so much to bed Diana Ross in MAHOGANY, Jean Pierre Aumont. In fact, in SINS, he plays… well… a rich fellow who wants so much to bed Joan. What was also interesting is the fact that Catherine Mary Stewart played a younger Joan. You see, fifty-something Collins couldn’t fool anyone with her age, so she wisely hired Stewart to play her character from a teen to a young woman in her 20s. Then in a move only Hollywood could make, Collins fills in Stewart shoes much too early, thus looking still too old for the part. But it’s her mini-series and it’s already highly engrossing by then. So we forgive her.

Anyway, to get back to Judith Gould, the duo authors made it big indeed with SINS and continued so with many other lively titles. TOO DAMN RICH is one of their latter and better work, I believe. It even surpasses SINS as the book to read if you want to savor the authors sheer ability as co-dependent writers. It focuses on the art trade world and delivers a punchy plot with a colorful cast of characters. Of course, one does not read a Judith Gould for its true-to-life drama. One savors its beach read flare like fine wine. Okay, enough with the cliched comparison and let me say this: like you, it took me years to find out who Judith Gould really was. And when I did, I was more than pleased. In fact, I was ecstatic. Explanation: two men wrote these so-called women books. Men. Not any female Judith Krantz–wannabe. But two guys who, for the benefit of selling more books, have used a woman’s name as a front—one that turned out to be as catchy and profitable as… well… the Judith Krantz name.

Then it got me thinking, if two guys could easily fool readers, surely others have done the same. Interestingly enough, this is where horror great Charles L. Grant comes in. Before making a name for himself in the horror genre, this talented fellow penned many historical romances as Felicia Andrews. As well as gothic writer Tom Huff, who hid behind the Jennifer Wilde name (and others) for many years. Those are only a few who have used opposite sex pseudonyms as their alter ego. I’m sure many have done the same or are doing it as we speak (Andrew Neiderman as V.C. Andrews comes to mind). I guess what I’m trying to say is that judging a book by its author nowadays is a big faux pas. Because you never know who you could be embracing or—if it comes to that—dissing.

One thing’s for sure, though. Let’s just hope that a new Judith Gould is already in the works. For I really miss those guys and their multifaceted talent, both of which I have come to cherish over the years. In fact, like many other fans, I’ve had the privilege of corresponding with them for a while. They even had the graciousness of sending me a signed copy of DREAMBOAT, which I am ashamed to say that I have yet to read. You may have noticed that I have failed to name them. The reason is that I wanted to wait at the end of this entry before revealing who they are. Why? For the simple reason that I want their name in lights. I want fireworks and confetti and the jolly sound of a bandstand when they’re announced—for if not for them and their wonderful books, part of me would have probably stayed in the dark and never acknowledged the fact that I also love “women’s fiction”. So it is with great pride that I take my hat off and say a heartfelt thanks to Nicholas Peter "Nick" Bienes and Rhea Gallaher for being who they are, and in return, letting me, in a way, be who I am. You deserve the love and more.

Until next post—Martin