Curtis Hanson's 1997 film adaptation of L.A. Confidential introduced many to mystery writer James Ellroy's world, a vicious twist on the postcard-perfect West Coast dreamland filled with indiscernible heroes and villains and redemption so dark it often doesn't deserve the name. Anyone inspired by that film to seek out the novel and Ellroy's other work—the three related novels in the "L.A. Quartet," the Lloyd Hopkins mysteries, the shadow history of American Tabloid—probably found it akin to switching from beer to the hard stuff. Hanson's film is faithful to Ellroy in spirit and excellent in its own right, but in his writing, Ellroy finds devils with details. In James Ellroy: Demon Dog Of American Crime Fiction, filmed in 1992 shortly after the release of White Jazz, Austrian director Reinhard Jud tries to get at the source of those devils, allowing Ellroy to talk at length about his work, the L.A. of his youth, his addictions and petty crimes, and the still-unsolved murder of his mother, which the author views as the formative event of his life. Jud's film is not a particularly great documentary, but Ellroy, the self-described demon dog, is such a fascinating subject that it scarcely matters. As an Ellroy primer, the memoir My Dark Places works better. Jud waters Demon Dog down with what seems like hours of repetitive footage of run-down Los Angeles. But when Ellroy talks, in his strange, outdated hipster patois, things come alive. Looking like James Joyce's tougher cousin, Ellroy comes off as part hardboiled tough guy, part haunted geek. He's a compelling cinematic subject, and when Jud lets him have his say, which is pretty much every moment in which he doesn't obsess over footage of call girls and policemen, Demon Dog is an equally compelling film, making it a must for Ellroy fans and just about anyone interested in observing fascinating human beings.