With the much-awaited No Time to Die just a few weeks several months away from hitting theaters, the flood of 007-related books has begun, with none more desirable than Nobody Does It Better: The Complete, Uncensored, Unauthorized Oral History of James Bond. If you’re familiar with co-writers Mark A. Altman and Edward Gross’ previous treatments on Star Trek, Battlestar Galactica and Buffy the Vampire Slayer, you know what you’re in for: a real wrist-strainer! But also your money’s worth — and then some. From Forge Books, the 720-page behemoth takes the reader through the making of all the Bond films, one by one — yep, even those deemed unofficial — using interviews from the actors, filmmakers and fans. The latter group can offer the occasional bit of fluff, like this contribution from Spy Kids papa Robert Rodriguez in full: “I love James Bond movies.” Wow, what insight! (Note that weird bit of italics, too — a practice carried throughout as if “James Bond” were part of the films’ titles … which they are not.) Other than that, Miss Moneypenny, the book is almost as much fun as a roll in the hay with Pussy Galore.

The story of the late Burt Reynolds can be told through the man’s filmography: He paid his dues (TV’s Gunsmoke), became a star (Deliverance), achieved box-office superstardom (Smokey and the Bandit), squandered it with baffling vanity vehicles (Stroker Ace), paid his dues again (Breaking In), landed a comeback with his finest role (Boogie Nights) and squandered it with baffling choices all over again (Cloud 9, anyone? Anyone?). Okay, so there is more to it than that, which I leave to Wayne Byrne, who spells it all out in Burt Reynolds on Screen. This retrospective of Reynolds’ career takes a chronological look at the legendary actor’s work on screens large and small, from the bit parts to big hits to roughly a decade and a half’s worth of movies you’ve never heard of. While each entry stands on its own, a full read paints a richer picture as Byrne is concerned not with synopses, but critiques of the work and considerations of their time in Reynolds’ life. Sprinkled throughout are interviews with a few former co-workers, but don’t expect Loni or Sally; the biggest names belong to Rachel Ward and Bobby Goldsboro.

Many years ago, renegade filmmaker Alex Cox (Repo Man) wrote an embarrassing, half-assed book about spaghetti Westerns. Hey, don’t shoot the messenger! Those are his own words, right on the back cover to this, the second edition of 10,000 Ways to Die: A Director’s Take on the Italian Western; with the benefit of 30 years having passed, Cox has updated the book to add entries, alter opinions and correct errors (but didn’t catch them all, cries one “Gordon Herschell Lewis”). As published by Kamera Books, the paperback is more compact and reader-friendly than the heavier edition of the past. What’s not changed? Cox’s enormous passion for these pictures, which carries over to the reader, whether he’s discussing Dashiell Hammett’s influence on the genre, the transgressive violence of Sergio Leone’s Fistful of Dollars, Terence Hill and Bud Spencer as the Italian Laurel and Hardy, or the terrifying prospect of Peter Bogdanovich nearly directing Leone’s Duck, You Sucker! Speaking not only as a fan but a filmmaker, his insight is more interesting — and entertaining — than the average bear: “Why does a producer do such things? Why does a dog lick his balls? Because he can.” —Rod Lott

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Right on the jacket, Flatiron Books makes a so-bold-it’s-ballsy claim about Sam Wasson’s The Big Goodbye: Chinatown and the Last Years of Hollywood: that it “will take its place alongside classics like Easy Riders, Raging Bulls and The Devil’s Candy as one of the great movie-world books ever written.”

I can’t go that far. But I will call The Big Goodbye one of the best-written movie-world books (and yes, there is a difference). Consider this bit on Jack Nicholson, which reads like the very thing it describes: “Amazed by his staggering ability to draw out the shortest line of dialogue, to make a meal of crumbs, he realized that Nicholson’s innate mastery of suspense, of making the audience wait and wait for him reach the end of a line, added drama to the most commonplace speech, and Nicholson’s monotone, rather than bore the listener, inflected the mundane with an ironic tilt.”

That’s poetry! And yet, to be honest, I found more delight in Wasson’s 2010 bestseller, Fifth Avenue, 5 A.M.: Audrey Hepburn, Breakfast at Tiffany’s, and the Dawn of the Modern Woman, even though I have no strong affection for the Blake Edwards romantic comedy at its chewy center.

But let’s leave “Moon River” for an L.A. reservoir. Instead of a linear chronicle of the making of Paramount Pictures’ 1974 classic, Chinatown, the author uses The Big Goodbye to tell the making of four key creatives — Nicholson, director Roman Polanski, writer Robert Towne and studio exec Robert Evans — and how their individual histories informed the shared one they would create.

Polanski is first up; unfortunately, his story is the one least in need of retelling — especially this year, in the wake of the Manson murders’ 50th anniversary, the release of Quentin Tarantino’s Once Upon a Time … in Hollywood and the ongoing furor over his crimes of sexual abuse, both alleged and proven.

Nicholson’s story is one of temper and talent, indelibly linked. Evans’, one of legendary largesse, which puts the jacket flap’s boast right in line with his wavelength of exaggerated arrogance: “You know I’ve gotten more women pregnant than anyone in history. You know how? Love Story!”

Naturally, the tale that’s most interesting among these highly, highly flawed men is the one least known to the public: the lower-than-low-profile Towne. Wasson paints a full portrait of the enigmatic man and the screenplay’s long gestation period, abandoned plot points and characters and all. The most revelatory aspect of The Big Goodbye is the issue of Chinatown’s authorship, with Towne relying heavily on longtime friend Edward Taylor on building the noir-soaked narrative of the SoCal water wars — a backdrop Polanski more or less turned into a MacGuffin. Read The Big Goodbye for this story, if no other.

Oh, and in case you’re wondering, although she’s not one of the four focal points, Faye Dunaway does play a part … and doesn’t emerge as a saint, either. Then again, she never does. —Rod Lott

Get it at Amazon.