The debut of Playboy
executive editor Randall wants to be a hip L.A. satire with heart, a barbed but humane look at the spiritual, cultural and ethical cleft between corporate Los Angeles and the Valley. And it is, in some ways—unfortunately, we've heard it all before, and seen it handled with more precision, wit and aplomb. Randall's fast-moving, name-dropping tale of the Newman twins—Tim, who's gay, idealistic and perennially unemployed, and Perry, who's straight, self-involved and seemingly on the fast track to untold riches—reverberates with echoes of Nathanael West, Horace McCoy and even Robert Altman. But the result is more a collection of warmed-over showbiz clichés masquerading as insider's insights, and thin characters who mouth would-be edgy dialogue. As Tim labors away at his upstart dot-com entertainment magazine, Perry ascends to network pilot triumph, then plummets precipitously back into the depths of obscurity. The twins must also deal with their kooky parents: Syd, who's a car dealer, and Ann, "housewife turned real estate agent turned family counselor." There's nothing fresh, unconventional or surprising to be found here: Randall serves up lines like "Producing is not a talent. Producing is what people with no talent do," as though that were news. Unlike other satires of contemporary pop culture, this one at least contains some endearing characters and thankfully isn't inundated by the self-congratulatory smarminess that tends to suffuse parodic tomes by other novelists who skewer L.A. But those searching for genuine bite and trenchant zeitgeist commentary won't find it here. (June)
Forecast:Some West Coast sales may be expected, but even a prominently displayed blurb from Laura Zigman won't work miracles for this unremarkable title.
