This is the second entry in Jeffrey Cohen's series about a man, Elliot Freed, engaged in the Don Quixote-like quest of operating a theater devoted (almost) exclusively to motion picture comedies. Plainly, Freed is either the maddest wise man or the wisest madman in New Jersey.
Author Cohen appears to be that rarity among mystery authors, one who actually knows what a joke is and has some notion of how to tell one. Here is an example from the very beginning of the book; Freed is talking to a film distributor about a student film--not a comedy, for once--which had just been given a private showing at his theater:
"Is he dead?" Vic Testalone asked me.
"They're all dead," I said. "He didn't leave any of them alive."
"How can that be?" he asked. "Does this kid know what he's done?"
.... I shook my head. "Anthony just thinks it's cool.... He's not considering the moral implications of his actions."
"I'm not concerned with moral implications," Vic answered, snarling. "He's killing the sequel possibilities."
.... "What the h--- do you mean be 'sequel possibilities'? .... You think someone would want to distribute that thing?"
"It's got blood." Vic held up a finger. "It's got cursing." Another finger. "Killing, sex, cruelty, characters nobody could possibly like." Finger, finger, finger, thumb on the other hand. "It can't miss." [Pages 3-4]
In this outing, Freed finds himself involved with two of his childhood heroes, the fabled comedy team of Harry Lillis and Les Townes, who had flourished on movie screens in the 1950s and 60s. They are about eighty now, but still hale and hearty enough for at least one of them to contemplate a George Burns-like revival of their careers. And, oh, yes, one of them may have murdered his wife, (whom both men had loved) fifty years ago.
As I said, Jeffrey Cohen knows what a gag is and how to tell it, but he also has an unfortunate taste for inside jokes. This can even be seen in the titles of his books: "Some Like it Hot-Buttered" and "It Happened One Knife." Deplorable, just deplorable. It gets worse. Elliot Freed's father bears the moniker of Alan, leading with painful inevitability to references to the head of MGM's musicals unit during the 1950s, the producer (and composer, too) of "Singin' in the Rain," among other hits. It hits rock-bottom with the names "Harry Lillis" and "Les Townes." Lillis and Townes are clearly intended to be a sort of alternate universe version of Martin and Lewis, but their names relate to quite another comedy team, that of Harry Lillis "Bing" Crosby and Leslie Townes "Bob" Hope. That there are other such snickering references in the book that I have missed is hardly to be doubted.
All that aside, this is still a pretty good book, lightweight, breezy and ... yes, fun. I, for one, will certainly be on the lookout for Elliot Freed's third adventure.
Four lightweight, breezy stars.