"On certain days, driving into Santa Monica was like having hallucinations without going to all the trouble of acquiring and then taking a particular drug, although some days, for sure, any drug was preferable to driving in Santa Monica."
Oh Mr Pynchon, you had me at a trippy, messed up noir detective novel. I am, for once, grateful to Hollywood, for bringing this little gem to my attention. Sure it sparks up well, but then things get a little hazy, but come on, I mean, how appropriate! I cannot wait to see what Paul Thomas Anderson makes of this one, and it sounds like I'll find out before the year is through.
Doc, the protagonist, is a little rough around the edges. I get the impression he isn't that attractive, but some how he seems to do okay with the ladies - a combination of catching them in their weak drug addled moments and his sheer front.
His ex-girlfriend, Shasta is begging for help and let's face it, most of his clients aren't exactly of the paying variety. Chaos ensues, strap yourself in for a cracked up potboiler.
4 out of 5, because how can you be afraid of a boat?