His job is to fabricate intrigues and to write them down, making money as a best selling author. He is rich, he owns a magnificent villa, he has everything, and then he dries up and finds himself incapable of writing any more. This actually happens to most authors, Steinbeck and Hemingway for example. The case is rather normal than unusual. This author resorts to desperate measures to reclaim his writing capacity, fabricating intrigue out of reality, and gradually loses control, trying desperately to sort himself out of the mess he has created all by himself, relying like Oscar Wilde on his intelligence to trick himself out of any quandary and appears to be successful - his manipulation of reality becomes more successful than his fiction. This is a marvellous thriller, like the author almost too intelligent for its own good, but it is astoundingly efficient, vying with the best of Hitchcock's. This is different in character, there is no murder committed here except two of them in a distant past, and of course anybody will expect nothing less than for the "presumed dead" to sooner or later present herself - that's what will keep the audience waiting, and it will be gratified.
Review of Presumed Dead
