Genius. Hack. Maverick. Outlaw. Auteur. These are all descriptors that have been used when referring to director Abel Ferrara. Ferrara first burst upon the screen with 1979's Driller Killer. While the film itself has become somewhat of a cult classic, it's real fame came from being one of the original films to create the video nasty controversy in England. While the film itself doesn't contain anything worth banning, it was the graphic video cover that first helped the film gain notoriety. Ferrara followed his first film with Ms. 45, a gritty, urban rape-revenge thriller, in 1981. He has gone on to direct several popular and highly acclaimed independent films such as Fear City (1984), King of New York (1990), Bad Lieutenant (1992), The Addiction (1995) and The Funeral (1996).

Author Nick Johnstone, a journalist for the UK's The Guardian as well as author of 13 books of nonfiction on various music and film topics, has given us a meticulously researched and highly detailed look at all of Ferrara's work up to 1997's The Blackout. The book includes a filmography of all Ferrara's work for cinema and television, both as director and actor. As with many directors, Ferrara tends to use the same technicians for every film, such as his steady cinematographer Ken Kelsch and his writer of choice, Nicholas St. John. He also has a stable of actors that he continually returns to as well. Author Johnstone also provides us with a "cast of characters" before delving into his film analysis so readers will know the relative importance of different names as they occur within the text itself.

As mentioned previously, Johnstone has been meticulous with his research for this book and leaves no stone unturned in his quest for film analysis. He starts with a first-chapter introduction to Ferrara, detailing the struggles he has had as a filmmaker, various casting problems, and his ongoing confrontations with the censors over the content of his films. This is a very enlightening chapter and superbly details and chronicles the director. Once this 36-page introductory chapter is over, the rest of the 200 pages are spent in critically analyzing each of Ferrara's films.

In his film analysis, Johnstone proves to be a bit of an acolyte to Ferrara. While there are some criticisms of Ferrara's films, by and large, Johnstone spends his time heaping accolades upon each film. This can sometimes become a problem as it can call into question the accuracy of the analysis when it becomes apparent that the writer thinks so highly of the filmmaker. The more I read, the more skeptical I became because, with very few exceptions, Johnstone writes as if Ferrara can do no wrong.

Each chapter is divided into rough "periods" of time that coincide to general "themes" in Ferrara's work; thus, the second chapter addresses what Johnstone calls Ferrara's "Urban Victim Trilogy" (Driller Killer, Ms. 45, and Fear City) while other chapters address "The TV Years" and "Big Budget, Low Art", referring to a period of time when Ferrara worked within the studio system, which corresponds to a period of stagnation in Ferrara's creativity. Johnstone even analyzes the two music videos Ferrara directed, first for Mylene Farmer and then followed by The Phoids.

Each piece of film is dissected and examined minutely. Johnstone discusses the underlying meanings and various themes present in each film and draws comparisons between film techniques Ferrara uses and techniques present in films created by Ferrara's acknowledged influences. While much of this analysis is excellent, it is so detailed that Johnstone has made the mistake of describing each film scene-by-scene. This is a problem for two reasons. First, many readers may not have seen a particular film, so in describing the entire movie, Johnstone lets the proverbial cat out of the bag on numerous occasions, spoiling each and every film Ferrara has created. Second, this can make for some tedious reading as Johnstone attempts to describe every single scene in the film and follow it with some very hard and crunchy analysis. For example, in a scene described by Johnstone from 1996's The Blackout:

"Matty passes out and a series of nightmares flashes through his mind:
Mickey tells a distressed Matty (who has been asking him where Annie 1 is)
that Annie 1(really Annie 2) is right with him the in the studio. Matty, confused by
Mickey, asks Annie 2 if she had an abortion. "

I realize that this section of the description is taken out of context; however, I assure you that it was just as confusing within the text of the book as it is when isolated from the text of the book. Johnstone also spends a great deal of time comparing various scenes to Godard, Pasolini, Scorcese, and Polanski, to name a few. This is done on such a regular basis as to come across almost defensive, as if throwing these other great director's names into the mix will somehow legitimize Ferrara (not that he needs any legitimizing).

I also found that Johnstone's eagerness to interpret every single scene in a film sometimes caused him to conjecture to the point of stretching his credibility. He attempts to draw conclusions amongst several films that simply cannot be drawn without more evidence. It's as if he wants the reader to appreciate Ferrara so badly, he is willing to extend his conclusions to the point of unreality. Simply put, in some cases, Johnstone can over-analyze a film to death.

While the text can sometimes be tough to wade through, Johnstone does clearly know his subject matter and has obviously done massive preparation for this book. Overall, I found the book enjoyable, and--as any good book on film criticism should do--I found myself wanting to track down Ferrara's films I haven't seen and to reevaluate the ones I have seen. I have never been a huge fan of Driller Killer, but I own the Cult Epics version just on the basis of the film's status. I have watched it several times over the years and have never been very impressed, but this book has me wanting to watch it again with the added value of Johnstone's context. On the other hand, films such as Bad Lieutenant were obviously fantastic filmmaking from the first viewing, and Johnstone's analysis helped me to catch nuances I hadn't caught even after multiple viewings.

Surprisingly, as in-depth as the book is, it is a very quick read and I knocked it out in less than a week, along with a couple of others. Despite the flaws, I quite enjoyed the book. It gave me plenty of food for thought, even if I didn't agree with all of Johnstone's conclusions and has given me a chance to reevaluate some of Ferrara's work. In the end, isn't that what makes a book on film analysis successful?

I'm a huge fan of Dario Argento. Well, let me amend that statement: I am a huge fan of Argento's work through 1987's Opera (AKA Terror at the Opera). In my opinion, his work generally took a downturn at that point until just recently with his two Masters of Horror films, Jenifer (2005) and Pelts (2006) as well as 2007's Mother of Tears: The Third Mother. It seems he may be on an upswing again, which is terrific, because I truly love his early work and have been pleased with much of his 21st century output.

I ran across James Gracey's book, published by Kamera Books, in a magazine and was intrigued, but also wary. One of my biggest complaints with filmmaker biographies or books on a particular director's films is that oftentimes they are written by a fanboy. I don't mind fanboys, but they aren't always very objective about their chosen subject which seems to make them less credible. If nothing else, it's irritating to read a fanboy's gushing prose about a project that you know was a complete train wreck; at worst, it destroys any respect one may have for the writer or his/her ideas.

So it was that I plunged into Gracey's Dario Argento with interest as well as a little bit of trepidation, hoping I hadn't wasted $15 on something I wouldn't like. Gracey covers all of Argento's films in chronological order, including his one foray outside of the mysterious, The Five Days of Milan. Included are his two television projects (produced strictly for Italian audiences, although Door Into Darkness is now available in a poor-quality DVD). While Gracey is obviously an Argento-phile he is also well-versed in the critical analysis of films and doesn't come across as just another gushing fan.

The book begins with a mini-biography of Argento as well as a brief overview of the history and general themes along with the various criticisms that have been leveled at Argento and is filmic work. Included in this informative essay is a short history and explanation of giallo films (which is most likely a bit redundant for most people reading a book on Argento), a brief explanation of how art has affected Argento's life and career, particularly the writings of Edgar Allan Poe, a short section addressing the claims of misogyny in Argento's films, and a brief commentary addressing the extreme violence that tends to permeate his films. The essay ends with a short summary of some of the big names in film today that have been influenced by Argento, arguing for the "Garlic Hitchcock's" relevancy over four decades after his directorial debut.

The comments on each film are divided into separate sections which begin with the major credits for each film, date of production, some of the more common alternate titles for the film, and a brief synopsis. This is followed by a section entitled "Background", which describes how each film was developed and the thinking Argento had as he wrote and directed each film, along with filming locations and general time periods. While this was generally a fairly short section about each film, it was also usually fascinating, describing some of the goings-on that helped shape the film such as which actors and actresses turned down the film or couldn't participate, the relationship Argento had with various others involved in the project, and studio financing as well as meddling by studio executives.

The next section is comprised on some general comments of the film in discussion followed by what I would consider the 'meat' of each discussion, sections on the each film's style as well as an in-depth discussion of the themes present in each film. While the first sections are interesting and entertaining and contain some fun trivia, the sections on technical style and film themes are where Gracey really shine. Gracey's discussions about Argento's camera style, editing techniques and use of color palettes is astute and had me wanting to go back and look at some of the films to catch these techniques that I sometimes missed while being immersed in the film itself. While it wasn't anything most Argento fans weren't already aware of--Argento is famous for his use of color, light and shadow, and his incredibly innovative camera angles and shots--I found it informative to have many of these specific scenes highlighted so I could go back and watch the scenes to admire the technique. The trouble with watching Argento--especially early Argento--is that you become so involved in the film that you sometimes completely miss the wonderful techniques being used to manipulate the audience. While that is, of course, exactly what a good director is aiming for, I also find it fun to watch these particular scenes more critically instead of just as a fan.

The section on themes is also informative, although again, many Argento-philes already know a good deal of this information as well. I've already mentioned the brief introductory comments on Argento's seeming misogyny; Gracey continues his discussion throughout this particular section for each film, quoting Argento on his views of misogyny and violence against women in general, pointing out that a good number of the director's films have strong female protagonists, and also discussing the intriguing notion that Argento has abused, raped and killed all of his real-life lovers as well as both living daughters in his films. This last point has been a particular sore spot for many film critics as well as professional psychologists who argue that Argento has a difficult time dealing with family (he also famously has ended his relationship with his brother/producer Claudio Argento on numerous occasions, although at this time they have reconciled and are actively making films together...again). Other themes include the use of art as a weapon, the idea of voyeurism, the use of funny but strange character quirks, much sexual/phallic imagery, the use of graphic and explicit violence, nonlinear plot elements, and murderers who kill due to some derangement caused by psychic trauma as a child, among others. In fact, and most Argento fans know this piece of trivia as well, the filmmaker typically films the black-gloved hands of the killer slashing, stabbing and strangling his hapless victims using his own hands for these scenes. While Argento claims this is because he knows just how he wants the highly stylised murders filmed, critics often claim it has more to do with Argento's fractured psyche than merely an expedient filmmaking technique.

The remaining sections include a brief discussion of the musical score for each film and a "verdict", Gracey's summation of the effectiveness and quality of each film. It is this final section I found to be the most interesting for me for several reasons. First, I was astonished to see that Gracey also mentioned that 1987's Opera was considered by many fans his last truly great film. I have always felt that way, but not knowing many fans of the director, I had never had that discussion with anyone. In a way, it legitimized my feelings of his work and I have to admit I was happy to read those comments. Secondly, I was also pleasantly surprised to read how closely my feelings for many of the films matched Gracey's "verdicts". I was especially happy to read the lukewarm reviews for many of Argento's films of the nineties. Not that I want everyone to dislike those particular films, but again, it somewhat legitimized my feelings. My only real complaint with this section was that I felt like Gracey was a little soft in his negative criticism for some of these films. I mean, 1998's The Phantom of the Opera is one of the worst films ever to be committed to celluloid, while The Card Player (2003) is so dull it remains the only Argento film I have actually turned off in the middle of the movie. I just couldn't take it, although it's still pretty incredible to me that I made it through Phantom of the Opera! But instead of just calling a spade a spade, Gracey feels a need to defend each title somewhat which was a bit annoying to me.

The book ends with a brief discussion of the films Argento has produced, including Lamberto Bava's Demons and Demons II as well as Michele Soavi's The Church and The Sect, among several others. The final chapter is a listing of Argento's scripts that were turned into films by other directors. These were all made in the late sixties, before the master hit it big with his debut directorial effort, The Bird with the Crystal Plumage (1970).

Overall, I was pleased with this book. It is filled with fun and intriguing facts about some of my favorite films as well as some very astute film criticism. Reading this book has made me want to rewatch some of these films and perhaps try to reevaluate some of them. While the author does tend to do some minor sugar-coating for some of the films, his critical analysis is usually dead-on. Recommended.

Like so many other film movements, the American “indie film” is a frequently applied term to a range of films, but what is not so frequently discussed is just what is meant by the term in the first place.

Michael Z. Newman does a superb job of contextualizing the idea of the “indie” film in his book, Indie: An American Film Culture (Columbia University Press, 2011). More than just a way of describing a film’s production circumstances, Newman suggests that the label “indie” has come to represent a distinct group of films, especially in the era of independent divisions within the major studios – among them, Miramax, Fox Searchlight, and Sony Pictures Classics. Newman’s discussion focuses on key works in the “indie” movement – films by people like Tarantino and the Coen Brothers, and recent pictures such as Juno and Happiness.

In discussing trends in distribution, festivals, and even the theaters in which they play, Newman gives readers a fuller picture of the independent film culture beyond just the movies themselves. In this regard, his book is an excellent record of the moviegoing experience, offering insights into how and where these films are received. Newman considers these aspects in order to arrive at a better understanding of what is meant by the concept of “indie”, beyond just aesthetic issues of genre and narrative (though he discusses these concerns, too, specifically the ideas of realism, pastiche, and narrative form, all supported with examples from the films themselves).

Newman provides a much-needed survey of the contemporary American “indie” film scene in this well-researched and thoughtful book that deals with the films that have come to represent the movement over the past 20 or so years.

For more information on Indie: An American Film Culture, visit the website at Columbia University Press: http://cup.columbia.edu/book/978-0-231-14464-3/indie

Joe Bob Briggs is well-known as a lovable backwoods redneck critic of classic and not-so-classic exploitation films. But some people may not know that Joe Bob Briggs is the pseudonym for John Irving Bloom, a college graduate (from Vanderbilt University, no less) and well-regarded film critic first based in Dallas, Texas and later syndicated across the country. It wasn’t until the mid-1980’s that Bloom, who had a natural predilection for exploitation cinema, created his alter-ego in an effort to separate his viewing habits—and reviews—into two separate categories: the “regular” cinema (what he refers to as “indoor bullstuff”) and exploitation flicks (what he refers to collectively as “drive-in movies” even though drive-in theaters are, for all intents and purposes, dead).

In Profoundly Disturbing, Bloom's alter ego Briggs tackles 15 films that changed the history of cinema forever due to their level of sex and/or violence. But even though the name on the book cover is Briggs, who is famous for ranking movies based on the number of breasts exposed, the number of sex scenes (which he euphemistically called "aardvarking"), and the number of decapitations in a film, the writing is clearly Bloom’s. Featuring 15 relatively long essays, Bloom excels at not only analyzing each film and its impact on American cinema, but does so in a manner that is accessible for both students of film as well as the merely curious. Along the way, we get highly engaging back stories on the making of each film, background on the major players both in front of and behind the camera, and extremely thorough filmographies of similar movies in case the reader wants to do any further exploration of that particular theme.

While the book is arranged chronologically, beginning with The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari in 1919 and ending with David Cronenberg’s controversial Crash (1996), you don’t have to read the book from front to back; rather, you can pick and choose what chapter you would like to read first. Some of the films discussed are obvious choices such as Blood Feast, The Curse of Frankenstein, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, Ilsa, She-Wolf of the S.S., and Deep Throat. Others are more unique—and sometimes questionable, but always interesting—choices, like the sex education film Mom and Dad (1947), The Creature from the Black Lagoon, Jackie Chan’s Drunken Master, and Tarantino’s breakout film, Reservoir Dogs. The other films included are Sam Peckinpah’s excellent The Wild Bunch, the star-making Bridgett Bardot vehicle And God Created Woman, The Exorcist, and the blaxploitation epic, Shaft.

Each chapter begins with a wonderful two-page, black-and-white (or sepia-toned) reprint of the movie poster before delving into a wildly entertaining examination of the film. While there are few illustrations in this 250-page, oversized tome, the written content more than makes up for the lack of movie stills. The discussions are frank and can occasionally become explicit (especially when discussing Deep Throat and Linda Lovelace’s infamous porn loop called “Dogarama”...I’ll let you imagine the content of this film reel), so this isn't necessarily a book for everyone. I also take some issue with the choices he made for these 15 "profoundly disturbing" titles. I can think of at least 15 more that could replace what I feel are some of the lesser titles in this book. In some cases, it feels as if Briggs is just trying to give the reader a well-rounded lesson in exploitation (we have a genuine film classic in Caligari, the first big sex ed film with Mom and Dad, the first gore film in Blood Feast, plus films representing exploitation subgenres such as nazisploitation, blaxploitation, and even kung fu films, along with foreign "art" films, westerns, and so on). But everyone has their own opinion and Joe Bob does make an excellent case for each film. Besides, who would have thought that Creature from the Black Lagoon was so subversive? I've seen the film--along with my young kids--dozens of times. Joe Bob has singlehandedly forced me to reevaluate what I thought was merely a campy sci-fi/horror classic. Now I have an explanation for what is wrong with my son....

This is a must-have book for anyone that is more than just a passing fan of exploitation films or even someone wanting to expand their viewing list from the typical Hollywood fare that is constantly pushed onto movie-goers. Briggs proves once and for all that exploitation flicks aren't always "crap;" at their best, they can push the boundaries of what the viewing public finds acceptable and change the viewing habits for generations to come.

George Romero has always been hit-and-miss with me. For every terrific movie he's done, he's also come up with an absolute stinker. Still, the man behind Night of the Living Dead, Dawn of the Dead, and Day of the Dead (all instant classics in my book) as well as the original The Crazies, Martin, and Creepshow, is a genre hero in my book. While I didn't much care for Land of the Dead, I thought Diary of the Dead was a good move and Survival of the Dead was fun, low-budget popcorn if not on a par with the original trilogy. So it was that I snapped up a cheap copy of this Pocket Essential on Romero's films.

The authors, Tom Fallows and Curtis Owen, have essentially written a guide which includes a discussion of each of Romero's films in chronological order. Beginning with a short general summary of Romero's major films and a mini-biography, the authors then turn their attention to each film in turn, starting of course, with 1968's seminal Night of the Living Dead. For each film, the writers offer a brief synopsis, stories about how the film was made, commentary on the visual style as well as the special effects used in the film, and a short analysis of each film along with a rating on a scale of 1 to 5. Since Romero is well known for adding pertinent socio-political context into his films, there is also a discussion of these themes in each entry.

While there isn't much new information about Romero's major films for the Romero enthusiast, there are some good pieces of information about the lesser films. The authors' writing style is easily understood and not terribly academic, so the analysis of each film is accessible for the average reader and not as dry as many books are that analyze film. While I didn't necessarily agree with every opinion the authors had on each film (I still don't care for Bruiser or Monkeyshines but I did enjoy Diary of the Dead), I did generally agree with the authors' opinions and comments. In some cases, their analysis was interesting enough to make me want to reevaluate some of Romero's films that I may have dismissed the first time while some comments helped me to better understand what Romero was attempting to do with other films. By and large, the analysis, stories, and commentary were interesting and entertaining.

The book takes the reader up to 2007's Diary of the Dead, but the authors aren't done yet. They include a chapter of major films that were influenced by Romero, including Zombie, Return of the Living Dead, 28 Days Later, and Shaun of the Dead, among others. To wrap things up, the last chapter is entitled "No More Room in Hell" and enumerates all of Romero's "lost" projects that were never made for one reason or another. Some sound very interesting indeed, such as Diamond Dead, which is billed as a "horror-comedy-musical about a resurrected heavy metal band." The likes of David Bowie, Johnny Depp, and Marilyn Manson (as Jesus Christ!) were contemplated. There is also a list of references as well as a bibliography for those who just can't get enough of Romero.

The book is short and a quick read, even for me--and I am a notoriously slow reader. For most, it would make a fun and interesting weekend read, and if you weren't interested in some of the films, you could skip those sections and not really miss anything. Overall, I found The Pocket Essential George A. Romero to be a quick and easy read, with plenty of "making of" tales and interesting analysis.

Monsters: zombies, werewolves, vampires, creatures from beyond the grave or not of this Earth. Whatever they are, one thing is for certain - they are a part of our culture, a shared fascination with the things that go bump in the night. Artist Billy Tackett knows monsters. Monsters speak to him. Not in the way the White Album spoke to Charles Manson, but in the way any muse might speak to an artist, in a stirring of the imagination. Billy’s art often depicts monsters, but he interprets them in his own way, bringing them to life in his drawings and paintings. He takes the familiar, such as the image of Uncle Sam from old army recruiting posters, and twists it into something new, a dark reflection that is uniquely his own.

Now Billy Tackett has released a book that showcases his art. “For the Love of Monsters” is done in the graphic novel format. Each page either tells something about Billy, about his art, or showcases his work. And what a body of work it is: paintings, drawings, t-shirt designs, the covers of books; Billy Tackett has draw them all and his book highlights some of the best. Zombie Sam, Fannie the Flesheater, Cannibal Claus - some of the works he’s best know for are in there. But that’s not all. The book also shows his roots, sketches of his family, places from his childhood, images of his life outside the world of monsters; art that, side by side with his work in horror, paints a picture of the man behind the paintbrush and how his talent for the macabre came to be.

“For the Love of Monsters” is a unique book that gives the reader a chance to admire some of Billy Tackett’s best work, while at the same time learning about the man himself. Printed on high quality paper, each page is a story unto itself that looks fit for framing. In fact, Billy put his creativity to work not just in the images for the book but its design as well. Each page has a weathered look that, combined with the old style typeset and ‘scrapbook notations’ create a sense that you’re looking through something personal rather than something published, perhaps a journal or family album. It is difficult to say more about the book, because although it does contain many insightful anecdotes and interesting facts, it is a book of art and as such must be seen to be fully appreciated. If you have an eye for ‘dark art’ or if the monsters still speak to you, then you should take a look at “For the Love of Monsters.” It’s more than just the art of Billy Tackett; it’s a peek behind the curtain at the mind behind the macabre.

Although I would never go out of my way to consider myself an expert in the field, I have been a fan of blaxploitation cinema for many years now. The genre, like many, can be as vast and expansive as you could possibly want to get, but depending on the viewer it can also be a very niche and subjective series of films made within a select period of time. For those of you unaware of blaxploitation as a genre, these are films that essentially feature a black cast during the 1970's and in some form or another usually feature a theme of black-power or show the plight of urban life. There have been countless films made since the 1970's that have featured predominately black casts and shot within a "ghetto" environment however, so what is it about these films that we consider "blaxploitation" that makes them so special? Although this isn't a issue that Mikel J. Koven's book "Blaxploitation Films" explicitly looks to answer, it is something that the audience should fully understand after reading through his informative introduction to black action films of the seventies. A guide that finds the texture of the genre as well as the walls that surround it, Koven's work here is commendable in finding the roots of this "genre" and helping define it while also giving detailed and informative opinions on the various films that make up this movement.

Koven's book, which has been revised by the author to include new events and changed opinions in the years since its original release, is an academic guide to black exploitation that doesn't talk down to the audience but also does not treat the films in question as surface level pieces of pure entertainment. His book looks to deal with the sociological meaning behind the various films as well as the political aspirations that any number of the movies may have looked to espouse. Koven develops a unique format throughout the book. He opens up each section, which generally covers a select ideal that a group of films might share such as "sticking it to the man" or films where our protagonist may be "working for the man", with a small essay on the importance of that ideal and where it then places our films in relation to the genre and political climate of the time. Koven tackles many issues before and after his reviews, and his thoughts on the boundaries of blaxploitation film are quite interesting. He places an importance on the time and era when these films were released (the early 1970's), but he isn't afraid to discuss some newer films that have tried to join in one the genre including The Hebrew Hammer and I'm Gonna Get You Sucka!.

Koven's biggest editorial comments come when he discusses how fair the title "blaxploitation" really is. I have heard the argument before, as Fred "The Hammer" Williamson and various others often took offense to the term. After all, these were films that often showed positive things about the African American community and they gave black America a chance to fight back against social prejudice in a time when such actions simply were not possible. Also, these were films that gave black actors and actresses a chance at success that they normally would not have had! Koven's examination of the title is focused, similar to the rest of the book and always remains on-point. The reviews are the true meat of the book here however, as they are what will draw in most readers looking for recommendations and new outlooks on this wild genre. Koven does not disappoint either. Although the book is not a 'complete' record of all things blaxploitation, Koven picks out many films that have defined the genre for good and for bad. If you are going to delve into films such as Super Fly and The Mack, then you owe it to the audience to point out the atrociousness of Blackenstein!

Blaxploitation Films is a short read, to be sure, but Koven does well in painting a picture of the genre so that those who are new to the genre can fully get a grasp of the themes and ideas being handled within many of these pictures. His addition to the reviews where he focuses only on the subtext, even in motion pictures such as Welcome Home Brother Charles aka: Soul Vengeance about a genetically engineered black man who in one scene strangles a man with his mutated giant penis, is worth enough reason to pick up the book immediately. At an affordable price, you really can't go wrong picking up this brilliant examination of the genre that will prove to be an informative affair even for those who are already well versed in the blaxploitation arena. A well written and thought provoking film book, I simply adored Blaxploitation Films and chances are you will as well!

Few films have been as sought after as Thomas Edison's 1910 version of Mary Shelley's Frankenstein. Perhaps "Life Without Soul" (1915), Lon Chaney's "London After Midnight" (1927), and Erich von Stroheim's 1924 epic, the 42-reel, nine hour version of "Greed," which today is only available in a four-hour version, the rest of the film known to have been destroyed to obtain the silver used in the film stock.

But in the late eighties, a nearly complete print of Edison's Frankenstein was discovered languishing in a private collection in Wisconsin. The owner was an eccentric and egomaniacal old man who refused to release the film and only showed it in public with a hideous, self-produced watermark that continuously scrolled across the film as it played to keep it from being bootlegged. But now, for the first time ever, Edison's Frankenstein has been publicly released. Not only has it been released, but it has been released in the most complete version, the highest possible quality (remember, the film is nearly 101 years old now!), and with no visible watermarks. How was this lost film rediscovered? How is it that it is now finally being released to the public? These questions as well as many others are answered in the E-book and companion DVD entitled Edison's Frankenstein, by Frederick C. Wiebel, Jr.

While the book is also released in hard print, the only way to get the DVD of the film is by ordering the E-book. It comes with a CD that includes the 200-page text in both Word format and PDF, so it should be easily accessed by any computer. And, as mentioned before, the second disc is a DVD-R of the long-lost film itself, complete with new intertitles, original tints, and clocking in at just under 15 minutes.

Wiebel's book has been exhaustively researched over nearly two decades. The first chapter is devoted to a discussion of Edison and his film company and traces the development of "moving pictures" from the first two-minute Nickelodeon shorts and the one-reelers of the 1910's all the way to full-length silent films. If ever you had an interest in the development of the American film industry, this initial chapter provides an illuminating and fascinating description of silent film development. Along the way, Wiebel explains how not just Edison's Frankenstein, but literally hundreds, if not thousands, of silent films were lost forever. Whether it be production companies destroying backlogs to make room for new films, the original nitrate prints literally melting away through time, or disasters such as fire and flood destroying these films, I was quite surprised to learn just how many early films have been lost through the ages.

Not merely content to discuss Edison's film and the American film industry in general, Mr. Wiebel also includes a chapter on Mary Shelley herself and a very complete description of how the novel came to be. We all know that one rainy night Shelley, her new husband, Percy Shelley, and some friends decided to each write a ghost story to read to the others. But there is much more to it than that simplified version, and Wiebel describes all the events in meticulous detail. Not content to limit his commentary on Shelley's novel, Wiebel spends a chapter discussing the various 19th and early 20th century stage adaptations of the novel and comparing and contrasting these various versions of book and stage to Edison's cinematic version.

Wiebel then spends another chapter chronicling the filmmakers directly responsible for producing Edison's Frankenstein (many people erroneously believe Edison to be the director due to the title of "Edison's Frankenstein" but the reality is that it was produced for the movie division of Edison's company which is the cause of the reference to Edison) as well as the actual production of the film and its reception by both critics and audiences alike.

My least favorite chapter involves the exhaustive--and exhausting--chapter on the three leads of Edison's Frankenstein. Charles Ogle plays the monster, Augustus Phillips plays Frankenstein, and Mary Fuller as Frankenstein's bride-to-be. There are many sidebars on other actors and actresses like Mary Pickford and Fatty Arbuckle that, while interesting, are only indirectly relevant to the real story. Wiebel also insists on listing dozens of films that each actor was in which causes a bit of eye strain. Much of this information would have been better suited in an appendix at the end of the manuscript.

There is also a section where Wiebel attempts to make dozens of parallels between Edison's Frankenstein and Universal's Frankenstein of 1931. Some of these connections are easy to make while others seem to have Wiebel overreaching a bit. This section comes across as portraying Wiebel as a fanboy who is dead set on proving that Universal's Frankenstein was nothing but a copy of Edison's Frankenstein. This may have been the least interesting part of the book for me, as I did not care about how Karloff's movements in this scene or that scene paralleled Ogle's movements or that the burning windmill at the end of the Universal film was similarly-shaped to the creation of the monster in the Edison film (an assertion that is tenuous at best).

By far the most interesting part of the book for me--and the reason I bought the book in the first place--was to hear the story of how the movie was found and finally released on DVD. And it's a terrific story, too. It seems our crotchety old man in Milwaukee didn't realize what he had until someone told him. Then, out of a sense of greed--for money, for fame--he held onto the sole remaining copy, selling short clips for upwards of $2,000 to companies who wanted it for their video compilations or horror documentaries. Occasionally, he attended a horror convention, dragging the ancient nitrate print with him, crassly unspooling it and handling it with not a care in the world. On even rarer occasions, if his mood was right, he would even show the film at a Halloween bash at a local or regional cinema. But always, he selfishly kept the film for himself, going so far as placing a horrendous watermark that continually scrolled across the film, ostensibly to prevent bootlegging of the film as it played, but also ruining the viewing pleasure of the paying customers who were constantly irritated by the watermark.

Mr. Wiebel himself cultivated a relationship with the man over many years, eventually receiving a watermarked VHS copy to use for his lectures and for research purposes. The film's owner is now dead and his children have not been forthcoming with the film, but Mr. Wiebel has spent a good deal of time and his own money to have the watermark painstakingly removed, have new intertitle cards inserted, and even have a score based upon the original made for the film.

The whole story of Edison's Frankenstein is absolutely amazing, from its production to how it became a lost film, to its rediscovery and finally to its first official public release in nearly a century. Wiebel's book is also authoritatively researched and is just chock-full of information and details, many of them obscure.

While the writing is accessible and is told almost as a narrative, my one big complaint is that Mr. Wiebel needs a good editor. The punctuation and grammatical mistakes are numerous and embarrassing. Some words are accidentally repeated while others are missing altogether. And in at least one case, Wiebel refers to Karloff's Frankenstein film as being produced in 1932, an unforgivable mistake to we horror film fans (everyone knows it was produced and released in 1931). Practically every page has several mistakes, and the mistakes are so numerous as to be distracting. Unfortunately, while there is no doubt that Wiebel is an authority on Edison's Frankenstein--and Frankenstein in general--the writing and the sheer number of mistakes erodes his credibility and gives the entire project a decidedly amateurish feel. This isn't helped by the fact that while the book is illustrated with hundreds of very nice color and black-and-white photos, many of the photos are so blurry the reader can't tell what is in the picture. At least one of the photos of the author is so blurry it makes it difficult to recognize him by the picture. It's almost as if he scanned the photos on his computer then inserted them with no touch-ups at all. Again, it gives the book an amateurish, homemade feel.

But perhaps I'm being a bit too harsh. Maybe it's just the teacher in me. The book is solidly entertaining, exhaustively researched, and absolutely fascinating. Even if you aren't interested in the story of this film, it's worth purchasing just to own a copy of history--a nearly complete and very watchable version of Edison's Frankenstein, the first time Shelley's story was told on film and a movie that is now over a century old.

Love is a complicated affair. Work in werewolves, fire elementals, murder, political intrigue, revenge, jealousy, obsession, drug addiction, mental disorders, financial problems, curses, werewolf hunters and a band called “Yum Yum Sugary Smacks” and it gets even more complex. Martin Millar takes all these elements and drops them into the mix in his novel “Curse of the Wolf Girl”.

A follow up to his novel “Lonely Werewolf Girl”, “Curse” finds teenage werewolf Kalix MacRinnalch still living in London with her human friends Daniel and Moonglow. Kalix, born in wolf form on the night of a full moon, is possibly the most powerful werewolf alive today. Unfortunately, when she’s not in werewolf form, Kalix is a depressed anorexic, a mostly illiterate teen with an addition to laudanum.

But Kalix is doing her best to get by. She and her friend Vex, the nearly adopted niece of Malveria, Queen of the Hiyasta Fire Elementals, have even started remedial studies at a local college. Unfortunately for Kalix, she’s made many enemies in her short life. The Great Council of Clan MacRinnalch want her brought in to face justice for the murder of her father the Thane. Several of her late brother’s lovers, including a Hainusta Fire Elemental Princess and Marwanis, a member of the Great Council, just want her dead. Kalix, for her part, wants to be left alone, and maybe to see her former love Gawain again.

Whatever she wants, Kalix is at the center of a web of political intrigue that could lead to the fall of the Hiyasta Queen, the rise of the werewolf hunting Avaris Guild to unprecedented power, her own death, and possibly worst of all (at least to her fashionista sister Thrix) the end of her sister’s fashion design business.

�gCurse of the Wolf Girl” is a wild and humorous ride through the world of the supernatural. Millar expertly mixes action and humor to keep the reader hooked from start to finish. The book is broken down to over 200 short chapters, which at first may seem odd, but it works well to allow the story to skip from one story to another much the way a film would cut from scene to scene. Despite the large number of characters and the complex web of plots they are all involved in, Millar ties them all together nicely. He also resists the urge to neatly solve every problem. Like life, some things just don’t seem to work themselves out, and for everything that does, there are consequences. The characters, although many of them are supernatural, are very human with flaws and complexities that defy the stereotypical mold that some of them are cast in. Ultimately, “Curse of the Wolf Girl” is a good book which, despite its complex storyline, is generally easy to read and follow. So if you are a fan of the supernatural, fashion, werewolves, action, humor or all of the above, check out Martin Millar’s “Curse of the Wolf Girl” a fun novel with great characters. What more do you need?

In the classic 1941 W.C. Fields feature NEVER GIVE A SUCKER AN EVEN BREAK, Fields admonishes young co-star Gloria Jean for not wanting to attend school by stating, "You wanna grow up and be dumb like ZaSu Pitts?" Gloria quickly responds, "She only acts like that in her pictures. I like her."

In the late 1960s through about the mid-1970s, Fields became an icon for young people, and films like NEVER GIVE A SUCKER AN EVEN BREAK were shown constantly on TV and at revival houses on college campuses. His mention of ZaSu Pitts would get a laugh due to her amusing name (which Fields mis-pronounced, but we didn't realize it).

Author Charles Stumpf has given us Fields fans information about this fine comedy actress whose work dates back to silent films and lasted well into the television era in his biography ZASU PITTS: THE LIFE AND CAREER for McFarland and Company publishers.

This writer is most familiar with Ms. PItts for her teaming with Thelma Todd in a series of comedy short films at the old Hal Roach studios during the early 1930s. ZaSu and Thelma (who pronounced her co-star's name correctly) were often called a female Laurel and Hardy (albeit both were slim), and their comical give-and-take were an interesting portent to the Lucille Ball-Vivien Vance type skits that would hit television in the 50s and 60s. Pitts also lent her comic presence to such films as RUGGLES OF RED GAP (1935), and even played opposite Fields himself in MRS. WIGGS OF THE CABBAGE PATCH (1934).

Usually cast as the ditzy counterpart to Thelma's more solid approach, or the prissy spinster type, Ms. Pitts actually began her screen career doing heavy drama in such films as Erich Von Stroheim's GREED (1924) and THE WEDDING MARCH (1928). During the silent era, Ms Pitts played opposite actors like Douglas Fairbanks, Mary Pickford, and Buck Jones; and was directed by the likes of King Vidor, Allen Dwan, and D.W. Griffith.

Stumpf's book covers all of this material, right up to Pitts' later cameos in films like Norman Jewison's THE THRILL OF IT ALL (1963) and Stanley Kramer's IT'S A MAD MAD MAD MAD WORLD (1963), released the year of her death; as well as starring opposite Gale Storm on the TV series OH SUSANNAH (1956-1960).

How Ms. Pitts went from solid dramatic work in films to making something of a name for herself in ditzy comic roles is covered very clearly in Stumpf's study, which combines interesting biographical information with thoughtful assessments of her screen work. Pitts learned a great deal from her myriad of experiences working in movies of different genres, with different leading actors, and various directors. Debuting in 1917, she was a notable presence by the earliest talkies.
The fact that W.C. Fields felt that name-dropping in a 1941 feature would get laughs of recognition shows how Ms. Pitts was a formidable and established comic character actress with a discernible role in entertainment at the time.

Little has been known about ZaSu Pitts own life. She had a son and a daughter, for instance. They lived next door to Shirley Temple who often played with the Pitts children and remained friends with them into adulthood. There was some level of controversy in ZaSu's life, including the still unsolved murder of Thelma Todd and some tabloid fodder. But Pitts was also listed among the highest paid film performers in an article from the early 1930s.

For those of us who delight in the unforgettable performances of Hollywood supporting players during cinema's golden age, Charles Stumpfs book on one of the most likeable comedy actresses from that era is a most welcome addition to any library.

Sadly, Mr. Stumpf passed away in 2009 at the age of 80.

For more information:
http://www.mcfarlandpub.com/book-2.php?id=978-0-7864-4620-9