IF THERE HAS BEEN A comprehensive study of the filmmaker-written novel, I have yet to encounter it. Should it indeed remain to be written, it will require a reader and researcher made of sterner stuff than I, one who is up to the task of taking on with equanimity Harmony Korine’s A Crack Up at the Race Riots, the pulsing prose of John Sayles, and Tobe Hooper’s Midnight Movie in hopes of better understanding the relationship between page and screen—an individual who very likely does not and may never exist.
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