He now realizes that the building is too big for a house. A hotel? Out here in the middle of nowhere? Whatever it is, nothing could look more out of place in this setting. Mary Rourke nods without comment. Considered by many to be the most desirable woman in the world, the woman on the bed is indeed very beautiful. She is also, Rourke has been told, very dead. The woman on the bed is the woman in the painting. I loved the character of Mary Rourke. She clearly thrived in her life as a Hollywood Studio Fixer and while she balked a bit at investigating a possible murder, she jumped in feet first and followed every lead to the inevitable conclusion. Her interactions with the various Hollywood types were a highlight to the story. I did find some of her conversations with her boss to be a little repetitive hanging the pace a bit.

The story is a thrilling ride through the murky depths of madness and horror, written with all Craig’s trademark skill and style. Definitely five stars from me’ James Oswald Investigating Norma's death, Mary discovers the dark underbelly of that time where young girls disappeared, were used violently, and were discarded. The police are on the "take," and all the dirt can be swept under carpets. Under the glitz and glamour is a dark, dark world. Craig Russell's "The Devil's Playground," is a wonderful noir mystery that's set in the Golden Age of Hollywood when the silent films are changing to talkies. What an amazing time period for such a mystery. Russell's non-linear plot moves between two time periods: the 1920s and the 1960s. One of the strengths of the book is his ability to combine events from these times to create a solid story of decadence, murder, and early Hollywood. He brilliantly describes the movies studios and how they relied on money, power, and appearance. Mary Rourke, a "fixer" for Carbine Studios in 1927, is the main character who finds the dead body of gorgeous actress, Norma Carlton. Her death appears to be connected to the terrifying silent film, "The Devil's Playground." According to the PR mill, it has a "curse" on it.

Craig Russell

That is the sum my client is willing to pay. That’s the figure to you, after my commission. With this you could stay lost, but lost in a hell of a lot more comfort.” Yes. I’m from Carbine International,” she clarifies for him: Huston is on loan to the studio from First National Pictures. Separated by decades, both Rourke and Conway begin to suspect that the real Devil's Playground is in fact Hollywood itself. The cavalry,” says Rourke flatly. “How did you know she’d be dead? The maid phoned nobody but the police.”

You’ve done us—done me—a huge favor, Pops. This really is important to us. . .” Rourke hands him the hundred. “I’ll leave it up to you how much you give the kid, but we need everyone to keep this quiet. Before we leave, you’ll have the official line, okay?”Paul Conway, a journalist and self-professed film aficionado, is on the trail of a tantalizing rumor. He has heard that a single copy of The Devil’s Playground —a Holy Grail for film buffs—may exist. He knows his Hollywood history and he knows the film endured myriad tragedies and ended up lost to time. This story unfolds in 3 timelines, 2 in Hollywood and one in Louisiana. In 1927, a silent horror film is under production. When its star is discovered dead in her home, that is only the beginning of the tragic events that begin to plague the production of The Devil’s Playground. The movie came to be known as both the subject of a curse, and as the greatest horror movie ever made. Its legend was enhanced by the fact that all copies of the film were supposedly destroyed. In 1967, a film historian believes that he is on the trail of a single preserved copy. The center piece of the story is a film which was made and never released called The Devil's Playground. It was thought to be the greatest horror film ever but all prints were destroyed by fire before it could be released, except one. The search for that print gives reason to the plot. He pauses before answering, brushing the sweat-cabled red-blond hair from his eyes. “According to the few, the very few, who saw thefilm before it was lost in the studio fire, The Devil’s Playground is the greatest horror movie, sound or silent, of all time. But it’s a lost film. The most significant loss in movie history, along with the missing footage of Stroheim’s Greed.”

Now, unbidden, as he drives across the desert, the final scene of von Stroheim’s Greed is projected onto the screen of his mind. For Conway, no other scene in movie history so confuses the real and the unreal. He knows that von Stroheim, in his near-­insane drive for authenticity, filmed and refilmed the scene in Death Valley in midsummer, at midday. Actors and crew returned from the months-­long shoot blistered and burned; one died, many were hospitalized, almost dead from heat exhaustion; co-­star Jean Hersholt began vomiting blood when his insides ruptured in the heat. Hi, Pops,” Rourke says, turning from the Mexican servant. “Thanks for the call. Have you notified the medical examiner yet?” Of course. Like I say, we appreciate your consideration.” Rourke pauses; then she says, with purpose: “Where is she?” Did you telephone anyone else about this? Or just the police?” Rourke asks. The maid looks confused. There are several strands to the story over a period of the best part of a century. All are intriguing, but it's the main focus on the events of 1927 when the film is made that hold our interest the most. The characters are well drawn, the era is well evoked, and there's more than enough intrigue to keep the reader guessing. Plus, the fact that every chapter ends with some jeopardy or something unspoken spurs you on to read more.

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The house sits in the foothills, elevated enough to offer an unbroken twenty-five-mile view across the city to the ocean. The architectural vernacular is a mix of Spanish Colonial Revival grandness and poured-concrete amenity. The white stucco and terracotta-tiled house itself is large and sprawling, set on a proportionately generous lot dressed with acacia, palms, and olive and fruit trees; a kidney-shaped swimming pool glitters under suspended lanterns at the rear. I don’t know about that. All I know is that I rang and couldn’t get an answer. As I said, Norma and I had a beast of a row over lunch, after I told her I’d have to break it off, and she stormed out.” Conway remembers someone once saying there was a special beauty to the desert. But he can’t recall who said it, or even if it had been a real person or just a character in a movie. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s gotten the two universes confused. Maybe they hadn’t even been talking about a real desert, but a set: a cinematographer’s idea of a desert. Whoever said it, Conway doesn’t see any unique beauty. For him, the desert is empty of beauty. Empty of anything. Dead space. Shortly after we started shooting The Devil’s Playground. She approached me; I didn’t start it.” He looks up at Rourke, as if he needs her to believe him. Scottish writer Craig Russell is a master of his craft. He is as prolific in his writing — having published almost one book every year since 2005 — as he is diligent with the historical details in his gothic horror and thriller novels. His most recent, The Devil’s Playground , may represent his pinnacle. Russell’s exhaustive research of Prohibition-era Hollywood brings to life silver-screen stars amid an atmosphere of corruption, murder, and voodoo that features Beelzebub himself.