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Somewhere around the 10th hour of this piece of tripe--it seems longer than Gone With The Wind and Kim Bassinger doesn't even liven things up by dressing up in the living room curtains--I relaized that this awful movie and the awful book it was adapted from is all the result of James Ellroy being pissed of at the LA police because the didn't find the scumbag who murdered his mom. Certainly, she didn't deserve to die, and people who like mystery fiction don't deserve overwrought dog droppings like THE BLACK DAHLIA or THE BIG NOWHERE or this little winner. So maybe, for the sake of justice and the future of American literature, please confess. Then maybe Ellroy will stop writing . . .
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