Nate Heller, Mike Hammer and a Friend of Theirs Passes

July 7th, 2026 by Max Allan Collins

If you’re a fan of my Nathan Heller books – or just a dedicated reader of mine – and you have not yet ordered True Noir: The Assassination of Anton Cermak, well…you are missing out. Director Robert Meyer Burnett directs an amazingly stellar cast with full sound effects and a terrific score by Alexander Bornstein, all in service of a script by me from my novel True Detective. It’s just under five hours.

I think this is the best dramatic adaptation of my work, ever. You can get the download, the Audio CD (four CD’s) and an MP3 CD right here.

The portrayal of Nate Heller by Michael Rosenbaum is key to the enterprise. He totally “gets” Nate Heller. If you don’t recognize the name, here’s a pic he sent me the other day after I sent him the physical media version (the 4-CD set).

Michael Rosenbaum, True Noir

Michael is probably best-known for his iconic portrayal of Lex Luthor on the hit CW series Smallville, but also his and his voice work as The Flash in the DC Animated Universe. Beyond his numerous acting roles, as in Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2 and Vol. 3, Michael is also the host and creator of the celebrity interview show Inside of You – one of the most entertaining podcasts around with a star-studded array of guests. He also happens to be a genuinely nice guy.

Here’s some of the rest of the cast, by the way:
David Strathairn; Anthony LaPaglia; Jeffrey Combs; Thomas Howell; Adam Arkin; Katee Sackhoff; Vincent Pastore; William Sadler; Jesse Spencer; P.J. Byrne; Saverio Guerra; Louis Lombardi; Bill Smitrovich; Patton Oswalt; Curtis Armstrong; Barry Bostwick; Bill Mumy; Renée Taylor, Don McManus; Devon Conrad; and Richard Portnow. And that’s not everybody.

What are you waiting for?

* * *

Last week I discussed, somewhat off the top of my head, my favorite portrayals of Mike Hammer on TV and in the movies. I made an egregious omission: Armand Assante in the 1982 version of I, the Jury. I am a big fan of Assante’s Mike Hammer and, in general, of the film itself, which is violent and sexy in a way no previous version had attempted (or any since, for that matter). Hammer’s relationship with Velda (Laurene Landon, whose blondeness we’ll forgive) is spot on, and the classic ending (and last line) is restored.

The movie got lost in the shuffle because the production company behind it went bankrupt. Terry Beatty and I drove from Muscatine, Iowa, to Chicago, Illinois to see it – driving in and back the same day/night. A six-hour round trip, not factoring in bathroom breaks and food. Later, to get the 1982 I, the Jury on physical media, I paid over a hundred bucks (a kajillion dollars in today’s money) for a Japanese laser disc (I owned the VHS, too, and of course the later blu-ray.) I wrote rather glowingly about it in Spillane on Film and Spillane: King of Pulp Fiction.

I, The Jury (1982)

So why, other than feeble-minded old age, could I forget about it last week?

It was easy. I, the Jury (1982) was a (at the time) modern take on Mike Hammer and his debut novel. It holds a unique place in the Hammer filmography. The earlier TV and movie renditions were fifties and early sixties animals. When Hammer was done on TV in the ‘80s and ‘90s, he was done in a contemporary fashion but as a man out of time – as if Mike Hammer had jumped into a time machine around 1952 and emerged in that later era, where he was presented as a glorious dinosaur. (It’s not unlike what I did with Hammer’s protype Mike Danger, having him wake up in a politically correct future in the comic book Mickey and I developed for Big Entertainment.)

How to do Hammer on film – whether to make him a version of Mike in modern day (whatever modern day that happens to be) or to approach him in period, for example adapting one of the early novels with a ‘50s setting – is a conundrum Hollywood is still facing. Much discussion among movie folk has gone on about how to present Hammer today, including the notion of doing him in his original time frame. I see some real advantages to doing that, but usually the discussion comes around to the need (for all sorts of reasons) to do him modern-day. The Keach version managed to split the difference, in a way – but that was in the ‘80s; now the man-out-of-time approach would have a 1940s/1950s character operating over 70 years later.

A new Hammer movie is still percolating and the most recent script I saw worked pretty well, but the political mood of the country makes the character problematic. Even back in the day critics saw Hammer (wrongly) as a fascistic figure; today, if he mirrored (for example) Donald Trump’s world view, that would put him on the side of ICE agents. Yet Mickey’s Mike Hammer has friends of all sorts of ethnicities.

Hammer’s vigilante tendencies don’t transfer well to today. So it’s at best tricky, and at worst impossible, to do the urban avenger in any way that isn’t offensive to somebody. Ironically, Spillane was never really political with Hammer. Take One Lonely Night: the bad guys are “Commies,” but the top Commie turned out to be the Senator Joe McCarthy figure! Mickey always went for the surprise.

Yes, Mickey leaned into Ayn Rand territory in his Tiger Mann books; but political themes were rare in the Hammer novels.

I would vote for a period Hammer, but it will almost certainly not happen.

Anyway, Assante’s Hammer was a glorious success (artistically speaking) of bringing him effectively into the early 1980s. But, due in part to the meager release the movie got, that version didn’t get anywhere near the pop cultural purchase of Stacy Keach’s Mike Hammer.

Let’s talk, for a moment, about lists of favorites – whether it’s candy bars or movies. There is a difference between “best” and “favorite.” My favorite Hammer (not counting Mickey) is Darren McGavin. Why? Largely because he was my introduction to the character. Also, that TV show was set in – produced in! – the 1950s. Mike Hammer’s era.

Who was the best Hammer? Mickey wouldn’t agree, but Assante would be a contender on the big screen – he was the most authentic in terms of sexuality and violence and a genuinely conveyed thirst for vengeance.

An argument could be made for Biff Elliott because, again, he was operating in the 1950s and was a hot-headed roughneck right out of the original novels.

But the best Mike Hammer? Even Mickey came to think Ralph Meeker was the best movie Hammer, despite the film turning its source on its head. Meeker was a terrific actor in the Method mode whose best role was Hammer, and he inhabited the best Hammer movie, which is even fairly faithful to the novel. No movie, to date, has captured Spillane better, despite its agenda to criticize Mickey.

As far as TV goes, I would say “best” has to be shared by Keach and McGavin.

But my favorite? I told you last week.

* * *

My pal and sometime collaborator Matt Clemens interviewed me on his podcast recently about Return of the Maltese Falcon. Here it is.

And here Road to Perdition makes a list of the six “darkest comic book masterpieces.”

* * *

I lost a colleague last week. You meet all sorts of people in publishing, and many of them are worth knowing, but few have been as delightful to deal with as Titan’s publicist, Katharine Carroll.

Only the most financially successful writers – at least those of my generation and the one or two after it – could afford to hire publicists. So a writer is dependent on the publisher’s publicist, and this is very much a hit-and-miss affair. Frequently only the most successful writers get the kind of attention from a publisher’s publicist that proves fruitful.

Katharine was an exception. She was always open to considering my wildest suggestions. For example, she got us enormous attention for Mike Hammer’s 75th anniversary and Mickey Spillane’s 100th birthday. She would kick ideas around with me and then follow through. I had many wonderful, positive conversations with her. We were just starting work on Quarry’s 50th anniversary.

But that’s business. In the lonely writing game, the friendly voice on a telephone and the lighting-fast e-mails in reply to whatever screwy notion I might have, these are things that can’t be measured.

I’ll share a little about her below. But it’s not enough.

Katharine Trowbridge
Katharine Trowbridge
U.S. Publicist for Titan Publishing, Dies at 68

Jim Milliot/Jul 06, 2026

Katharine Trowbridge, who oversaw the U.K.-based Titan Publishing Group’s U.S. publicity effort for 18 years, died on June 28. She was 68.

Known professionally as Katharine T. Carroll, Trowbridge began her publicity career with Time Inc. in 1980, spending a decade working across campaigns with Time, Life, People, and Entertainment Weekly. In 1990, she launched her own publicity firm, KTCommunications, where she worked with a range of magazines, authors, and publishing companies.

She joined Titan in 2008 and is credited by the company owners with helping to grow the publisher in the U.S. She was particularly instrumental in helping to revive the respected Hard Case Crime imprint founded by Dorchester Publishing and acquired by Titan in 2011. A native New Yorker, Trowbridge was a regular at New York Comic Con, where she connected U.S. journalists and booksellers with Titan titles such as Dreadful by Caitlin Rozakis, Titan’s first-ever U.S. original fiction title to hit the New York Times bestseller list.

“We are devastated by the loss of Katharine,” said Titan Entertainment Group co-owners Nick Landau and Vivian Cheung in a statement. “She had the warmest of personalities and cared deeply for all her authors as well as her colleagues on both sides of the Atlantic. Her contribution to Titan enabled us to grow far faster in the U.S. than we ever thought possible. We will miss her dearly.”

Trowbridge is survived by her three children and her mother.

M.A.C.

Ever Wonder Who My Favorite Screen Mike Hammer Is?

June 30th, 2026 by Max Allan Collins

I guess I haven’t talked as much about Mickey Spillane’s Mike Hammer here as you might expect. But my pal Andrew Sumner – also my editor in the UK at Titan Books – sent me this fun audience-recorded clip of Ray Gelato and his band performing “Harlem Nocturne,” which was the theme of the Mike Hammer TV show. It’s a lovely job of it.

For Andrew and a lot of Hammer fans, the entry point for Mickey and Mike seems to be the three TV series and the various TV movies starring Stacy Keach, which were the last time Hammer hit the popular culture hard in the late twentieth century, a time when Mike Hammer ruled until James Bond came along, an imitator of sorts who usurped the original. Stacy was Mike starting in 1983 and as late as 1998 (not counting the early 2000’s audios I did with him).

You might expect my entry point to have been the novels themselves, and I started reading those and Mickey’s other books at a very young age. But my introduction to Hammer was through the 1958-1959 syndicated series starring Darren McGavin. Mickey Spillane’s Mike Hammer was a tough show with episodes written by various pulp writers and adapted from pulp stories with McGavin extraordinarily hardhitting and violent with just enough tongue-in-cheek humor to get past the censors despite the bevy of sexy ‘50s starlets who also inhabited the series.

Pat Chambers was present, played mostly by Bart Burns, but Velda – mentioned a few times – was not. (In my fannish mind she was absent because, in the books, she disappeared behind the Iron Curtain for a decade or so.) At times, in interviews, McGavin disowned the character, but the persona he developed on the series was one he carried with him into The Outsider, The Night Stalker and countless other TV appearances post-Hammer.

The series was mostly shot on the Republic backlot but with enough location shooting in NYC to sell it. McGavin was a great Hammer, though Mickey was unhappy that a .38 replaced the trademark .45. Part of what made McGavin work for viewers at a time when Spillane himself was a big media figure was McGavin’s physical resemblance to the character’s creator.

Check out this complete rendition by Martin of the full Riff Blues/Hammer theme, with some cool images.

Hammer on screen was always a problem. The first-person nature of the novels meant that everybody had a mental image of who this tough private eye was. That included Mickey, who didn’t think the original screen Mike Hammer, the still underrated Biff Elliot, was big enough. Mickey lobbied for his cop pal Jack Stang, who did a test film directed by Mickey and whose image appeared as Hammer here and there in the mid-‘50s.

But Stang was no actor. In the film Ring of Fear (1954), Stang was implied to be Hammer under an alias, but it was Mickey playing himself – famous mystery writer Mickey Spillane – who seemed like Hammer come to life.

That led to Mickey taking over the role in the first movie following McGavin’s TV run, The Girl Hunters (1962). Though not everyone agrees with me, I’ve always felt Mickey did a terrific job, and one that was actually compatible with McGavin’s take. Mickey also fit in well with the other accurate screen Hammer, the aforementioned Biff Elliot, who was the first motion-picture Mike in I, the Jury (1953).

Already you may have noticed there’s a small army of actors who have portrayed Hammer. Ian Fleming was lucky the producers of Dr. No (also 1962) stumbled onto Sean Connery. And a question I am often asked is: who’s your favorite Hammer on screen?

First, let’s rule Mickey out. Obviously he’s my sentimental favorite – The Girl Hunters (1963) is the most faithful to the character and the novels, and Mickey was and is Mike Hammer, so let’s set that aside.

Who are Hammer actors that are not favorite Hammers of mine? Robert Bray is physically correct but overacts blusteringly throughout the rather dismal My Gun Is Quick (1957). A bare-headed Brian Keith played Hammer well enough in the abortive pilot that preceded the McGavin series; but he’s not really Hammer. Kevin Dobson in Margin for Murder (1981) was just okay (Cindy Pickett was badly miscast as Velda). Rob Estes was Hammer in name only in Come Die With Me (1994).

Now it gets tricky.

Ralph Meeker is the best big-screen Mike Hammer, but his take – and director Robert Aldrich’s and screenwriter A.I. Bezzerides’ – is so counter to Spillane’s intention as to be irrelevant to this discussion. Meeker and Kiss Me Deadly (1955) are oranges while we are discussing apples. I love the movie – it’s my favorite Hammer film by a country mile – but it sits in a niche of its own, the anti-Spillane movie that nonetheless captures Spillane’s mood, sex, violence, pace and tone better than any other.

Who does that leave?

Stacy Keach did the impossible – he lightly kidded Hammer while remaining tough; in this he’s similar to McGavin. But McGavin – and Biff Elliot, Ralph Meeker and Mickey Spillane himself – were of the original Hammer era. The Keach Hammer is a man out of time, a motif the series effectively played with in its best episodes. I’m honored to have worked with this great actor on two audio dramas and hold his Hammer in high regard.

I have to rule out Gary Sandy, who appeared in the only stage version of Mike Hammer to date – in three live productions at three venues, the final time in Muscatine, Iowa, and captured on camera in Mickey Spillane’s Encore for Murder, which I wrote and directed.

But it was Darren McGavin’s Hammer who captured my adolescent imagination. And the episodes hold up. A good half dozen of the 78 episodes were rage-filled, vengeance-fueled visits to Spillane’s world at its harshest.

So, with my arm twisted, I have to tip my invisible fedora to Darren McGavin. And admit that Skip Martin’s “Riff Blues” – the Mickey Spillane’s Mike Hammer theme – will always take my personal first place over the great “Harlem Nocturne.”

Listen and look: here is the McGavin opening followed by the three Keach openings with some of the greatest private eye music you’ll ever hear.

M.A.C.

If You Don’t Like Love Stories, Skip This One

June 23rd, 2026 by Max Allan Collins

Barb and I celebrated our 58th wedding anniversary on June 18. As we have done in recent years, we did so in a favorite getaway location of ours — a day trip on a beautiful early summer day. Galena is in the midst of deep, lushly green valleys of trees and decorative stone. Storybook stuff.

We started going together in the fall of 1966, at Muscatine Community College, when we were just about the only two of our high school crowd who didn’t go off to college anywhere but Muscatine, Iowa. We’d known each other in grade school and junior high – I’d had a crush on her in the fourth grade – and we played trumpet, side by side, in the junior high band. She was much better at trumpet than me, which may be why our friendship didn’t blossom into romance just then, as I hear males have fragile egos.

Our romance ran hot and heavy. We were one of those couples hanging all over each other in the community college halls that make everyone but themselves sick. We parked and made out and had a quite wonderful time – so wonderful that Barb’s mother tried to break us up by hauling her off to Arizona on false pretenses (a story in itself, which I will skip). Barb was out of my life for a few months, but she returned and we picked up where we left off and then some.

We married young, as Barb had a home situation I wanted to get her out of (and she wanted that, too – this has to do with the Arizona story I am skipping). So she was 19 and I’d just turned twenty. Our honeymoon in Chicago consisted of transplanted Broadway shows, movies in vast downtown palaces (all gone now) and incredible restaurants (many gone now), and a stay at the Bismarck Hotel (also gone now). It was a very Nathan Heller honeymoon, though Nate wasn’t born yet (neither the fictional character nor his namesake son of ours). Among other things, including some touristy stuff like the Museum of Science and Industry and the Art Institute, Barb patiently accompanied me on a search of used bookstores, seeking the two Richard Stark paperbacks I lacked.

The latter indicates not only Barb’s enduring patience with me and my quirks, but the extent to which we became, quite early on, inseparable. For people who really know us, we are Barb-and-Al. Did we have bumps in the road? One major one, about eight years in, but we both realized what we had – that it was special — and came to our senses.

We have made short stories, books and movies and one spectacular child together. But most all of we have been supportive and loving, and laughed and laughed and laughed.

The current joy of our life is our grandchildren, Sam and Lucy, so very smart and loving, both of them. And our son Nate – their father – and his wife Abby – their mother – live just up the street from us. How great is that?

But the love of my life remains Barbara Jane Mull, who became Barb Collins and my best friend. That she is an enduring beauty has not been at all bad, either.

M.A.C.

I Just Completed PREY FOR THE MALTESE FALCON – What Now?

June 16th, 2026 by Max Allan Collins

I have completed Prey for the Maltese Falcon, but I really should say “completed,” because – although the final draft has been completed, a big part of the process remains and will take me from a few days to a few weeks.

I also probably should have said “final draft,” too. The idea of multiple drafts of a novel (or a short story or a screenplay) went out the window for me, and maybe most professional fiction writers, when word-processing came along.

It would be possible, of course, to write a get-it-all-on-the-page first draft writing on a computer and not, as we once did, a typewriter. Some brave souls write a longhand draft and I can understand the benefit. For me, slowing down like that is an impossibility. I write quickly, in general, because I am chasing the story; it’s unfolding improvisationally in my mind.

This is not to say it isn’t unusual for polishing and reworking a paragraph to take an hour or longer. Even a single sentence can take, say, half-an-hour. But that tends to be scene-setting stuff, mood intertwined with presenting information about what something is, what it looks like.

But after I get a draft of a chapter – and I view each chapter as if it were a short story, with a beginning, middle and end, with something central to accomplish – I go through it at least three times rewriting, tweaking, cutting, adjusting, before I move on to the next. Does that ad up to four drafts? Not in the old sense, because before word-processing and computers, you had to retype the whole chapter on every draft. To me, I’m rewriting more now than in the typewriter days, because sometimes I’d lie to myself that it was just fine to move on.

I wrote something like thirteen drafts of the first chapter of True Detective back in the early ‘80s and that experience – which immediately became largely retyping – led to Barb and me selling our second car to buy a $5000 word-processing computer (that today couldn’t do what your phone has been able to do for decades).

My process, one I’ve been using for a long, long time, is to write a fairly detailed synopsis of what I envision the novel to be. A Nate Heller synopsis can run over twenty pages. Such a synopsis begins as one flowing document that is essentially a sales tool – a pitch to an editor about a book I want to write. If it works, I get a contract, and in this long and somewhat blessed career, it usually has.

Then I break that synopsis down into chapters. Often those chapters are just a single paragraph. I try to anticipate what locations I need so I can do the research ahead of the writing. But here’s the thing: that chapter breakdown/synopsis always changes for me. On this novel, I did something like eight revisions…of the synopsis. These revisions would begin after chapters were completed, so that the later revisions were only as long as it took to describe briefly the chapters ahead. Prey for the Maltese Falcon is eighteen chapters and the last revision of the synopsis covered only the last three chapters.

I don’t share my methods with you as a suggestion for how other writers should work. This is what works for me. It grew out of the need to have a document that was, again, my “pitch” to an editor and sometimes a publisher so that I could have a commitment before I began the real, hard, put-on-your-helmet-and-go-down-into-the-coal-mine days and weeks and months of work ahead.

On rare occasions I’ve written an entire book without a publisher lined up first. True Detective was one of those, the primary one, because it was genre-busting (private eye mystery meets historical fiction, Raymond Chandler Meets Samuel Shellabarger), far longer than a P.I. novel generally was, and could only be sold by demonstrating entirely what this mutated creature was.

I also learned early on that – again, for me – in a novel that included a mystery, I needed to know who did it and why before I took the journey. In any other direction lies madness. However…you can change your mind about the destination somewhere along the way, although if that happens to me, I have to replot the entire rest of the novel.

Now I am at a critical and somewhat frightening stage of my process. How I wrote Prey for the Maltese Falcon was typical – starting with a synopsis, then breaking it down into a chapter outline, revising that outline as I go when things have changed and discoveries have been made, but then not going back and re-reading much (other than making sure things like names and character descriptions are consistent). Why? You can find yourself constantly rewriting and never finishing a novel that way. It’s often a dead-end street.

I will be re-reading the entire manuscript – it’s fairly short, 52,000 words – over a two-day period. I tweak and refine as I go, using a red pen on the printed-out manuscript. If I run into a rough patch, I go back to the computer and work on it. Barb helps me, often, entering my tweaks and changes and minor fixes.

Each chapter is a file, and at the end I have to go through combining them into one file. My son Nate has tried without success to get me to write just one big file, but the time I took his advice the size of that file became clumsy and slow. So I do it my own stubborn way.

I have a step that is maddening but there’s no way around it. I work in WordPerfect and publishers demand I deliver in Word. That results in the need for a conversion that will have to be checked page-by-page. Sometimes the page numbering is uncooperative, but I manage. Cursing helps. (Root word “curse,” not “cursor.” I would the curser.)

I am sharing all of this because it’s what I am dealing with right now, and is why this update/blog entry is rather short – I have an important task at hand. I don’t mean it to be a lesson, because all writers have only one true teacher: themselves. I went to the University of Iowa in the early 1970s and had some great teachers, especially Richard Yates, and I got some valuable advice, which I’ve talked about elsewhere.

But the only school where you really learn is what you learn at the College of Trial-and-Error, where you teach yourself.

M.A.C.