Lured like a month to flame by the promises of better analytics and referrals, I’ve transferred my newsletter to Substack (hopefully you won’t notice much of a difference, dear reader, but if you do, please drop me a line)! Before we begin with this month’s update, a couple of summer releases for your reading pleasure:
My Derringer-nominated novella “Madam Tomahawk” is now available in a paperback edition, bundled with three other short works in the long-running Grifter’s Song series (by TG Wolff, Jeffery Hess, and James DF Hannah). It’s perfect beach reading because each novella features Sam and Rachel, the antiheroes of the series, executing a fiendishly complicated con… and trying to live through the inevitable repercussions.
I also have a new story in an anthology titled “Bishop Rider Lives” alongside Rob Hart, S.A. Cosby, Paul Garth, and other badasses of crime fiction. My tale focuses on what happens when a wounded community decides to take justice into its own collective hands, goaded by a mysterious figure who appears in their midst one cold winter night…
Moving on!
Just last month, I was bemoaning a lack of “pure” noir series on American television. The main target of my ire was “Sugar,” an Apple TV series about a detective cruising the mean streets of Los Angeles after a missing girl—only for the plot to suddenly veer into science fiction, complete with space aliens. I almost tossed my TV controller across the room.
However, the universe must have heard my complaints, because a few days later Netflix rolled out “Ripley,” a very expensive, eight-part adaptation of Patricia Highsmith’s “Talented Mr. Ripley.” It stars the British actor Andrew Scott and sticks close to the source material: a young conman named Tom Ripley travels to 1960s Italy to find Richard Greenleaf, the playboy son of an American shipping magnate. Ripley finds Greenleaf and develops an unhealthy attachment to him, which leads to murder and mayhem.
Highsmith wrote several Ripley novels that have been adapted to the screen multiple times over the past several decades. I’ve always had a soft spot for “Purple Noon,” in which Ripley was played by Alain Delon; “The American Friend,” with Dennis Hopper, is likewise a fun jaunt. On a pure filmmaking level, this new “Ripley” stands out as perhaps the best-looking, with black-and-white cinematography that makes every shot look like a Cartier-Bresson shot; the textures of Rome, Venice and the Amalfi Coast really pop.
The aesthetic is the best thing about the series. The acting—or the decisions behind it, rather—is where I run into trouble. If anything, the new “Ripley” series has given me a newfound appreciation for Matt Damon’s performance in “The Talented Mister Ripley” (1999), in which he played the titular character as smarmy and frantic. It’s easy to feel sympathy for a striving hustler who’s in a little too deep, especially given Damon’s charisma; that the film’s primary killing is portrayed as more of an accident also helps his case. I mean, look at this:
You almost feel sorry for everyone involved.
Andrew Scott’s Ripley, by contrast, is a cold-blooded murderer, applying judicious blows until his target stops moving for good. That might align him more with Highsmith’s rendition of the character, but it also drains away any possible sympathy you might have for his position. By itself, that wouldn’t necessarily turn off the audience—plenty of people enjoy watching psychopaths do what they do best, especially if they’re funny. John Malkovich recognized this when he portrayed an older Ripley in “Ripley’s Game,” strutting around like an irate rooster, spitting out deadpan lines to everyone within hearing range.
Except Scott’s Ripley isn’t funny. He’s also a bit of a moron when it comes to covering up his crimes; one sequence with a runaway motorboat was probably meant to be suspenseful, for example, but it comes off as more of a Wile E. Coyote routine. That he emerges from the series unscathed seems more of a comment on the incompetence of the Italian police than his own skills.
None of this is entirely Andrew Scott’s fault. He’s a charming, versatile actor, and if he’d played Ripley with the same vaguely unsettling warmth that he applied to his priest character in the second season of “Fleabag” (2019), the result might have been compelling: a killer conman you can’t help but love. No, a decision was made to have him play Ripley as a dead-eyed blank. Near the end of the series, there’s a hint that he’s becoming more comfortable with his position, more in control, more of a master of manipulation—but just a hint.
Is the series worth watching? I would say yes, despite my issues with how the character is portrayed. It’s rare to have a production like this, especially in glorious black and white. If anything, I like to think that Highsmith would have enjoyed it.
Good to see you here, Nick! I like this place, I hope you stick around too. I'm halfway through Ripley and I share your feelings about it - coldly beautiful... I like my Ripley with a bit more sociopathic charm...