Writing

Writing by Diane Garrett

You may cringe while reading ‘The Simp.’ That’s how sharp Roshan Sethi’s Hollywood satire is

Books, Words+Pixels, Writing
Cover of The Simp, a Hollywood satire by Roshan Sethi

After a bumpy start, I was able to cringe-enjoy “The Simp,” Roshan Sethi’s ambitious satire about an Indian actor willing to do whatever it takes to gain entrée into Hollywood’s inner sanctum during the industry’s peak DEI years.

Sethi, a doctor who bluffed his way into his own Hollywood career as a Harvard medical student, begins his debut novel with an exhaustively detailed job listing for an executive assistant to an unnamed Hollywood power couple. Inspired by a viral ad — Sethi dedicates “The Simp” to the anonymous family that placed it — the description’s basis in truth may explain why it didn’t grab me as an opener. To this long-time Hollywood observer, the absurdly long list of duties seems depressingly realistic rather than amusingly satirical.

Practiced prevaricator

Luckily, “The Simp” quickly moves into more interesting territory. Raj pursues the executive assistant job so avidly he turns off Ellen, the officious house manager conducting initial interviews for the couple. We soon learn about Raj’s backstory: While attending USC he came out to his wealthy parents in India and quickly learned the downside to telling the truth about himself.

By the time he applies for the assistant job, he has been bouncing around the fringes of the industry for a while: He has had some backers but lost a potential slot in a diversity showcase when he lashed out at the benefactor that took him under her wing after meeting him at a BLM rally.

Raj has issues, in other words, and lies to a remarkable degree. No executive assistant experience? No problem! Raj invents some, along with references he impersonates in unsolicited phone calls to Ellen.

Acting the part

Once he gets the job, he treats it as challenging acting role, sublimating his desires so abjectly the macho director husband bequeaths the titular nickname upon him. Jim’s wife Anna demands precision from Raj but grows increasingly secretive as a writing project occupies her time; their young child just likes the attention Raj gives him.

This arrangement was always going to end badly, and so it does. I will not spoil how it comes undone nor the book’s satisfying denouement.

Sethi invokes William Makepeace Thackeray’s “Vanity Fair” throughout the tale, referencing it frequently as Raj’s favorite book. “The Simp” is even subtitled “A Novel Without a Hero” in an homage to the 1848 British classic about conniving Becky Sharp and obedient Amelia Sedley. Such is the novel’s ambition and Sethi’s clarity about his lead character’s flaws.

‘It’s all over Variety!’

Your appetite for “The Simp” may vary depending on your tolerance for humiliating behavior. I had to put it down several times while reading, but never for long: I wanted to see how it played out. “The Simp” is an ambitious debut novel that tackles thorny racial issues bedeviling Hollywood and contemporary society at large.

“Diversity is in now,” an encouraging acting coach advises Raj as the industry, and many outside it, reckoned with George Floyd’s 2020 death. “It’s all over Variety!” As someone who worked for Variety then, I can confirm it was. But indeed, that moment faded amid industry belt tightening leading up to and following brutal labor stoppages in 2023.

“I’m really afraid of the minority-victim story,” the author recently told Vogue. “I think I had an overly extreme reaction to that and wanted Raj to be as complex as possible.”

DEI roller-coaster

The multi-hyphenate, who works nine weeks a year as an oncologist in Boston, began serving as a TV consultant as a medical student, then became a staff writer on “Code Black” before creating “The Resident.” He also found time to move into film writing and directing — “7 Days,” “Call Jane” and “A Nice Indian Boy” are among his credits. Notably, his partner Karan Soni stars in “7 Days” and “A Nice Indian Boy.”

During his decade-plus in Hollywood, Sethi has watched the industry’s changing attitudes toward diversity and inclusion wax and wane.

“I started in the industry in 2015, so I have seen the pendulum swing from really racist to less racist back to somewhat racist, and I think going on that roller-coaster journey made me write the book,” he told Vogue, noting that early in his Hollywood career almost everything he wrote was for white characters.

The diversity years, as he calls the short-lived period, “gave us all a glimpse or a taste of something else before it snapped it away. That process left us all feeling a little bittersweet,” he continues, “but as you know from the book, my feelings about it are complex, because it was never so straightforward.”

“The Simp” by Roshan Sethi, Simon & Schuster, available now

First published on my Lititude substack

Justin Halpern’s debut novel is a real corker of a tale

Books, Words+Pixels, Writing
Get Lost by Justin Halpern book cover on a pale background'
The author of “Sh*t My Dad Says” started “Get Lost” during the 2023 WGA strike.

I’m always on the lookout for novels with Hollywood ties and I recently devoured two. Justin Halpern’s “Get Lost” and Roshan Sethi’s “The Simp” are both comedic fiction debuts from established screenwriters. Otherwise, they vary tremendously in scope and intent; each has much to recommend it.

I’ll start with “Get Lost” because I read it first. Halpern, an executive producer and co-showrunner of “Abbott Elementary,” spins a heartfelt yarn about a bristly baseball scout forced to team up with her deadbeat dad to find her missing mother in California’s Central Valley. Complicating matters: this isn’t the first time Lila’s mom has disappeared, and cops suspect her father Dix, long split from Mattie, killed her.

Halpern, whose name might ring a bell as the author of @ShitMyDadSays Twitter posts way back when, has fun unpacking Lila’s rocky relationship with her fun-loving father, a former baseball player who’s treated like a local hero despite past jail time. Much as she hates to admit it, Lila needs Dix’s charm to open doors as they trace her mom’s recent activities and the origins of a mysterious deposit in her bank account. Their sleuthing leads them into the big bucks world of almond farming in the Central Valley and shady charitable activities by Russian siblings. The reader learns about Mattie’s mental health struggles and affinity for collecting miniature lighthouses; Lila’s experiences in foster care facilities are also woven into the tale.

Inside baseball

“Get Lost” benefits from the author’s intimate familiarity with baseball and appreciation for irrepressible father figures. A college player before an injury crushed his dreams of going pro, Halpern parlayed his early social media success into a 2010 non-fiction book and TV series starring William Shatner. Befitting his professional experience — he has credits on “Harley Quinn” in addition to the Peabody Award-winning “Abbott Elementary” — Halpern knows how to deliver comedic beats and keep the plot moving. “Get Lost” unfolds at a brisk pace.

His description of the Central Valley and the ag business that fuels so many towns there is an added treat for anyone familiar with the region, as I happen to be thanks to in-laws residing there. “Get Lost” starts in Valencia, home to sprawling production studios north of Hollywood proper, but quickly moves north to the land of almond orchards and so many other crops.

Picket line inspiration

Halpern began “Get Lost” while sidelined from screenwriting during the 2023 WGA strike, and recently told Variety’s Mike Schneider he had completed “about a third or maybe even half of it” by the time it ended. Much work on “Abbott Elementary” with fellow showrunners Patrick Schumacker and creator-star Quinta Brunson later, he finished his July 7 book. He and Schumacker are also taking another stab at adapting his 2012 nonfiction book “I Suck at Girls,” this time with Netflix on board.

Halpern’s goal with “Get Lost”: to deliver laugh-out-loud moments and more emotion than you might expect from a thriller beach read. “It’s really a character piece,” he told Schneider, “about a father daughter relationship and how can you move past a parent who has let you down at every step of the way.”

Lest you’re wondering, Halpern heaps praise on his mother before thanking his dad, wife and well-known Hollywood scribes in the book’s acknowledgements. Note to self: it really has been that long since I covered digital media and Twitter began turning aspiring writers into professional ones.

“Get Lost” by Justin Halpern, Cardinal, available now. More on “The Simp” here.

This post was originally published on my Lititude substack.

On ‘New Skin,’ L.A. and horrifying addiction to plastic surgery

Books, Words+Pixels, Writing
New Skin by Sarah Wang cover

I try to keep an open mind, really, I do. But like Fanny Feng’s visiting daughter in “New Skin,” I struggle to understand the allure of cosmetic surgery. Especially on a repeated basis.

But Fanny is determined — and a survivor. In quintessential L.A. fashion, the victim of multiple botched procedures ends up on a reality show about extreme beauty makeovers. The big prize: more plastic surgery.

Appropriately enough, Sarah Wang’s debut novel introduces us to 26-year-old Linli and her estranged mother during a post-surgery bandage reveal. Even though Linli has braced herself, she is horrified to see her mother’s deformed nose and witness the leech therapy her doctor prescribes to reduce pooled blood.

A Taiwanese immigrant who overstayed her student visa decades earlier, Fanny began her dalliance with plastic surgery when her daughter was young and never stopped. Linli tells the doctor Fanny has undergone hundreds of cosmetic procedures — that she knows about.

“How much work had she gotten since I’d seen her last,” wonders Linli, who moved away three years earlier. “I scanned her face, the entire thing immobile from years of Botox injections. Useless. It was impossible to take inventory in a landscape that was constantly shifting.”

Reluctant return

Linli is on the brink of moving from Washington state to New York for graduate school when she is summoned back to Fanny’s side. Soon she’s sucked into her mother’s medical dramas: She cooks for her and watches “America’s Beauty” with her. Before long, she is driving Fanny to shadowy San Gabriel Valley establishments that provide black market beauty treatments to Asian clientele. To pay the bills, Linli begins working for a nonprofit near La Brea Tar Pits.

Over the course of the novel, we learn more about her childhood and Fanny’s scrappy beginnings in America. When Fanny becomes a contestant on “America’s Beauty Extreme,” the drama escalates to a near fever dream. Linli makes a series of questionable choices; among other things, she ingests an unknown drug at a Laurel Canyon house party. I didn’t fully buy her behavior at times but did share her growing appreciation of Fanny’s resourcefulness.

L.A.’s horrors and charms

Linli’s descriptions of her mother’s macabre body horrors may remind you — as it did me — of “The Substance,” but Wang’s book is centered on a milieu freeways apart from Hollywood. At its heart “New Skin” is a story about immigration and the sometimes-fractured bonds between mothers and daughters. I ended the book with a smidge more understanding about Fanny’s addiction to cosmetic makeovers.

As for its setting, L.A. readers will surely appreciate Linli’s affection for speeding north on the Pasadena Freeway and visiting Little Dume beach in Malibu, not to mention omnipresent jacaranda trees and bountiful bougainvillea. The mother and daughter are deeply rooted in the San Gabriel Valley’s sprawling Asian diaspora; “New Skin” benefits from the author’s intimate knowledge of the area and what it’s like to be a second-generation immigrant raised by a single mom.

“Writing about Los Angeles always puts me back there in a way that’s embodied and visceral,” Wang, who teaches writing at Barnard College, recently told L.A. Review of Books. “My friends and family in L.A. know me in a way that I’ll never be known by anyone else.”

My caveat

Reader beware: “New Skin” is a compelling read but not for the faint hearted: Linli frequently describes her mother’s procedures in bracing ways. “Very gruesome, aren’t you?” the doctor remarked when she asked about the possibility of necrosis on Fanny’s infected nose. And the fraught relationship between mother and daughter may upset sensitive souls. But take heart: even while sparring, they are deep-down symbiotic, bonding over episodes of “America’s Beauty.”

Observes Linli: “My mother could still make me laugh harder than anyone else.”

“New Skin” by Sarah Wang, Little, Brown, available now.

Originally published on my Lititude substack.

Treat yourself to ‘A Perfect Hand,’ Ayelet Waldman’s slyly subversive Jane Austen update

Books, Words+Pixels, Writing
A Perfect Hand by Ayelet Waldman

Dearest reader, I have another book recommendation for you: “A Perfect Hand.” Ayelet Waldman’s latest novel is a slyly subversive tale about the constrained choices of unmarried women in 19th century Britain and well worth diving into.

Written in a period style familiar to “Bridgerton” fans, “A Perfect Hand” centers on Alice Lockey, a lady’s maid who is reading Jane Austen’s “Emma” when she meets a visiting valet in the servants’ quarters of a country estate. Immediately smitten, Alice and Charlie become unlikely matchmakers, conspiring to bring his quirky boss and fun-loving Lady Jemima together and thereby remove obstacles to their own romance.

More than matchmaking

But while matchmaking figures prominently in Waldman’s plot, just as it does in “Emma,” the author of previous books including her “Bad Mother” memoir has more on her mind than marriage itself. That becomes clear with the introduction of Lady Jemima’s spinster aunt. Miss Sarah Bennett not so coincidentally shares a surname with the family that figures prominently in “Pride & Prejudice,” although hers is spelled with two t’s rather than one and she is decidedly plugged into Britain’s burgeoning feminist scene. Notably, “A Perfect Hand” begins in 1879, more than six decades after the publication of “Pride & Prejudice,” by which time the women’s suffrage movement was well underway in Victorian England.

Miss Bennett befriends Alice when she learns of her interest in a feminist pamphlet and encourages her to borrow her copies of books by the likes of Mary Wollstonecraft and John Stuart Mill. As the romance between Alice and Charlie progresses, we meet his independent older sister, along with her tenant farmer parents, who are eager for their daughter to find security through marriage.

Poor choices

But Alice begins to question all her options: As an abigail, as lady’s maids were then called, she is at the beck and call of her young mistress at all hours. And as an unmarried woman, her salary automatically goes to her father first; when she gets married, her earnings will become her husband’s property. Miss Bennett has more freedom as an unmarried woman living on her own due to a modest inheritance; amusingly, she dresses in colorful caftans at home but more subdued garb when visiting her sister, Lady Alderwick, at her estate. Even Lady Jemima, who has access to her father’s funds, feels pressure to make a match while she still commands the attention of desirable men.

Men have their struggles too

Charlie has endured his own struggles, spending years in the workhouse due to his alcoholic father’s penchant for drinking away any earnings. As an adult, he takes care of his mother and sister Mary, considering it his duty as the man of the family. Nor is he put off by Alice’s bookish ways; he delights in showing her parts of London she has never seen. Waldman portrays him affectionately, reserving her satire for his aristocrat counterparts.

Indeed, Waldman pokes fun at supposedly genteel folk of both genders. Lady Jemima, we quickly learn, has incredibly stinky feet along with questionable taste in men; Lord Wynstowe is gently lampooned for his obsession with measuring facial features. Fans of drawing room comedies will find much discourse about gowns, hairdos and jewels — along with so much more. Debates about the nature of servitude and the rights of women set the novel apart from traditional 19th century fare, with the future Emmeline Pankhurst among those making the case for equality within Alice’s earshot.

Surprise ending

The novel takes a turn toward the end that its witty narrator warns the audience is coming. Even so, it might surprise some readers: I felt compelled to immediately re-read “A Perfect Hand” to retrace its plot; happily, I enjoyed Waldman’s witty asides even more the second time. But as always, your mileage may vary.

Feminist appeal

My Quaker ancestors were suffragettes, so I have extra interest in the subject. Admittedly, however, I know less about suffrage battles in England than in America; reading about these figures in fictionalized settings just made me want to learn more about their work.

About that twist

I’m being deliberately vague about the book’s twist ending to avoid spoiling it for potential readers. But I will share this: Waldman apparently came up with it midway through writing “A Perfect Hand.” Originally, the author told NPR, she envisioned the book would be “my version of Jane Austen, my very favorite kind of book.” The author had mapped out its expected contours, she wrote in a recent Lit Hub essay, only to end up deviating from them when the unexpected twist “arrived on my imagination’s doorstep like a bouquet of perfect peonies on the first day of spring.”

Enjoy.

“A Perfect Hand,” Knopf, 304 pages, $28

Originally published on my Lititude substack.

I like serial killer books and romantasy novels now?

Books, Words+Pixels, Writing

You think you know your taste by now but you, by which I mean me, would be wrong. A year ago, I would have told you no, I’m not really into cozy murder mysteries, and I would have also reflexively stated that I am not a fantasy book fan or particularly interested in romantasy, a magic-drenched genre that also exploded in popularity when I wasn’t paying attention. But, you know, each to their own.

Books like “The Antiquarian’s Object of Desire” and “I’m Not the Only Murderer in My Retirement Home” made me realize how blinkered I was. The signs were all there, from my galloping read of the first Harry Potter book decades ago to more recent binge watches of Netflix’s “A Man on the Inside” and “Miss Scarlet and the Duke” via PBS’s streaming platform. I just wasn’t paying attention. Yes, I can enjoy serial killer and romantasy novels, especially if they are well crafted.

And “Antiquarian’s” and “I’m Not the Only Murderer” are that. Each is playfully written and unfolds at a brisk pace.

A cozy murder mystery about a killer?

“I’m Not the Only Murderer in My Retirement Home” starts with a premise that doesn’t sound very cozy: its chief protagonist is a serial killer freshly released from prison to a luxurious North London retirement community called Sheldon Oaks. Carol matter-of-factly cops to her murderous impulses, past and present, even as she befriends a small group of fellow retirees. When a fellow resident drops dead in a suspicious manner, naturally all eyes turn to her. She races to clear her name with the help of her elderly pals.

If you’ve seen “Man on the Inside,” led by Ted Danson as a charming widower, or White House mystery “The Residence,” starring Uzo Aduba as a bird-loving eccentric who is far more effective as a detective than might first appear, you’ll be familiar with the lightly comedic tone of Fergus Craig’s novel. The author, an actor-comedian and TV writer, credits his publisher with the book’s premise but deserves praise for executing it well. Amusingly, characters reference the popularity of the cozy murder mystery genre as the story heads toward its denouement.

Classic rom-com, yet steamy

India Holton’s “Antiquarian’s Object of Desire” romantasy, meanwhile, starts in classic rom-com style as a tale of bickering Victorian era academics that can’t be in the same room without sparks flying, and it gets progressively steamy over the course of the novel. Amelia Tarrant has known Caleb Sterling since boarding school, but they must disguise their bond lest she lose her job and reputation as an Oxford professor of antiquities. So they mock bicker and set fires while handling objects with magical properties; things really get screwy when they are dispatched to an old manor house filled with ghosts and items to catalog for the British Museum.

Like Eliza in similarly Victorian England-set “Miss Scarlet,” Amelia is constantly fighting slights based on her gender but is determined to pursue her passion; Caleb is a Byron-loving dandy with a hardscrabble past. This book is the third installment in Holton’s Love’s Academic series so clearly I have some catching up to do.

Would I have gravitated toward either of these novels in less turbulent times? Hard to say, but “I’m Not the Only Murderer” certainly made me think of the Agatha Christie mysteries filling my England-born grandmother’s bookcase. I do know that reading this pair of books was a pleasant diversion from political turmoil roiling the country — and it’s always nice to find new types of books to enjoy. There are so many worthy offerings yet to be perused.

“I’m Not the Only Murderer in My Retirement Home” by Fergus Craig, 272 pages, $30

“The Antiquarian’s Object of Desire” by India Holton, 368 pages, $19

Originally posted on my Lititude Substack, which you can visit here.

Hooked on hues: ‘True Color’ by Kory Stamper

book reviews, Books, Words+Pixels, Writing

I began reading “True Color” for the its promise of wordplay and ended up learning more about the science behind about all the hues, tints and shades around us than I ever expected to know, plus interesting factoids about margarine marketing restrictions of the past and the massive amount of work that went into creating Webster’s gargantuan unabridged dictionary in the pre-Internet age. Truth be told, I would have been happier with even more wordplay from Kory Stamper, who began working for Merriam-Webster in 1998, but she animates her research with playful prose. Reading her recently published book, subtitled “The Strange and Spectacular Quest to Define Color — From Azure to Zinc Pink,” made me think of my own love affair with color and the Kelly green trousers from my Connecticut youth. For more about that, read this over at Lititude — and be sure to stay for peek at my vintage copy of the “Preppy Handbook” and its description of go-to-hell-pants.

Reviewing Jay McInerney’s latest out of order

Books, Words+Pixels, Writing

I have a friend that refuses to watch any movies or TV shows based on books until she has read the books first. This has never really been a ruled I have followed — sure, sometimes I make a point of reading the pertinent books first, but I have more frequently not done so — and I have been known to dip into movie franchises and TV shows midstream rather than the proper order. So I wasn’t too concerned about reading the supposedly last installment Jay McInerney’s Calloway book series first.

“See You on the Other Side” checks in with Russell and Corrinne Calloway in their 60s at the outset of the Covid-19 pandemic. They’ve just moved into a Greenwich Village penthouse after a decade in gentrifying Harlem, and are living comfortably when the pandemic upends their lives and those of the people around them. Over the course of the novel, McInerney deftly weaves in backstory from the previous three installments into the narrative to serve as both a reminder to readers of those books — published in 1992 (“Brightness Falls”), 2006 (“The Good Life”) and 2016 (“Bright, Precious Days”) — as well as newcomers. In my view, it’s not necessarily to have read the earlier books first, but you may want to circle back to them if you start with the last first, as I did.

I wrote more about “See You on the Other Side,” and reconnecting with McInerney’s breakthrough novel, “Bright Lights, Big City,” at Lititude.

Judging a book by its cover and other things

Books, Writing

This has been a year of circling back and I’m not sad about it. 

When an L.A. Times editing gig took a delightful turn in March, I gained temporary oversight of book reviews and reacquainted myself with the New York publishing world I left decades ago. Diving back into this world was a treat, alternately daunting (given the high volume of releases and tight review budget at my disposal) and thrilling (reading good books and well-crafted critiques). My editing duties are winding down, but I have savored the gig while it lasted, just as I told myself to do when it began.  

I also discovered a woodsy creek side trail near my new home that’s a lot of fun to run. Canopied by trees and gently rolling, it reminds me of East Coast trails I took for granted before moving to L.A. Running down the hillside trail just like I used to in my younger days has been another Proustian treat in recent months. 

But back to books. My brief marketing job at Viking Penguin (as it was then called) was not right for me in a number of ways, not least its pitiful salary, but it did give me a glimpse into the business side of book publishing, and an oft-repeated anecdote about xeroxing copies of Stephen King’s “It” manuscript along with a less-traveled one about “The Basketball Diaries” author and “People Who Died” singer Jim Carroll hitting on a co-worker’s teenage daughter.  

The actual marketing work? That had mostly faded from memory until my L.A. Times inbox started filling with pitch after pitch for coverage, jackets and titles blurring together in a sea of familiarity even as I reminded myself of the work that goes into individual book promotion. 

Happily, there were plenty of distinctive offerings in the mix. One example: “Pick a Color,” a promising debut novel with a punchy title and jacket to match. 

Souvankham Thammavongsa’s book, published by Little, Brown late last month, takes its title from the question nail salon workers ask customers as soon as they walk in the door. In just one of many amusing details, all the workers go by the name Susan to make it easier for customers while also playing on the fact that many of them can’t distinguish between similarly named and outfitted workers.  

But Thammavongsa, a Canadian Laotian poet who previously wrote a well-regarded collection of short stories, makes it clear that they all have inner lives, as downplayed as they might be for customer consumption. Most vibrant of all: the narrator, a former boxer who revels in the freedom that comes with owning her own shop. The novel didn’t hold my attention to its conclusion but I was knocked out by Thammavongsa’s voice and the world she dramatically conjured in “Pick a Color.” 

Wait, there’s more: Here is a link to my L.A. Times feature about “The Carpool Detectives,” a true crime book that reads like a novel, and guide to of five L.A. area novels released this summer. The authors for the latter graciously explained why they set their novels where they did and supplied their favorite local hangout spots, enabling readers to craft their own literary adventures as desired.

Ryan Gosling and Emily Blunt in The Fall Guy

The Fall Guy reminder: Less can be more. And that’s a good thing

Words+Pixels, Writing

If you haven’t seen The Fall Guy yet, do yourself a favor and stream it on Peacock — but watch the original version, not the extended cut. As is so often the case, the storytelling was tighter in the theatrical version.

In a restless mood this weekend, I clicked on the extended cut tile without taking a few extra seconds to look for the theatrical version. Before long, I started to wonder if various segments were added scenes because they seemed to slow down the momentum. What can I say: Once an editor, always an editor.

Sure enough, I then watched the original version, which is 20 minutes shorter, and the pacing seemed better. To me, at least.

I get why studios release extended cuts or director’s cuts — they can potentially appeal to fans and bring in additional revenue. During the height of the DVD boom, studios would regularly release extended cuts of newish releases and those deep in their respective catalogs, in many cases targeting the fourth-quarter holiday shopping period. Those of us covering the biz would joke about the umpteenth version of The Wizard of Oz that Warner Bros., owner of pre-1986 MGM catalog, was releasing that year. Along those lines, I discovered while going through our home DVD collection a while back that we had multiple versions of The Christmas Story on our shelves, each tin with a different promo add-in such as holiday cookie cutters to sweeten the potential gift purchase.

But I have found — and your mileage certainly may vary — that original, shorter theatrical releases tend to be better. So it was with The Fall Guy this weekend.

Either way, the movie has a lot going for it — a disarming performance from Ryan Gosling as a stunt performer with hidden emotional depths and great rapport between his character and Emily Blunt’s Jody, a camera woman turned director. The script is amusing and chock-full of inside Hollywood jokes; there are more than enough action stunts in the shorter original version.

Best of all: I did not miss whatever was added to the extended edition, which to me demonstrates the craft involved during the theatrical editing process.

There are definitely examples of less felicitous editing. Harvey Weinstein earned the sobriquet Harvey Scissorhands for his propensity to aggressively cut movies that his company distributed. And as a journalist, I have experienced brutal edits upon occasion — something I try and keep in mind when I’m polishing or reshaping another writer’s work.

There is a delicate balance between allowing work to breathe and allowing it to breathe too much: Work can all too easily lose shape or energy — be it film, TV or prose.

And The Fall Guy is well worth a watch if you have access to Peacock.