Let’s get something straight: The Rotten Tomatoes website is a tool of evil. And yet, its editors sure have put together one helluva fun book in Rotten Movies We Love: Cult Classics, Underrated Gems, and Films So Bad They’re Good. Its cover is a good place to start this discussion, too, because what’s wrong with Step Brothers? Not one damn thing, and that’s entirely the point. See, for the most part, this Running Press release is not a nose-thumbing, Medved-style coal-raker, but an affection-overflowing celebration of movies the public embraced, even if critics failed to. Therefore, across all genres, prep for spirited defenses of members of the maligned, such as Dr. Giggles, MacGruber, Event Horizon, San Andreas and Bela Lugosi Meets a Brooklyn Gorilla, the latter from guest scribe Leonard Maltin. An absolute pleasure to read, it’s a keeper worth revisiting. More ’maters, please.

After penning a bestselling book about basketball (and other things), Shea Serrano follows it up with the similarly structured Movies (and Other Things). Published by Twelve, the colorful hardback finds Serrano posing 30 geekily theoretical questions (“Who gets it the worst in Kill Bill?”), each of which he answers in a sly, intelligent, knows-his-shit way, supplemented by charts, graphs and/or Arturo Torres illustrations. I only wished I were more willing to take part in the conversation. It’s not unlike Ryan Britt’s Luke Skywalker Can’t Read, but each essay tends to wear out its welcome before Serrano reaches his conclusion. With discussions of Denzel Washington, Booksmart, Kevin Costner, Selena, movie dogs, the Marvel Cinematic Universe and so much more, this book is destined to be beloved; I fully admit knowing my lukewarm response resides in the minority.

While 1939 and 1999 are often bandied about as the best years for movies, Brian Hannan makes the case for 1969 marking cowboy cinema’s sweet spot, in The Gunslingers of ’69: Western Movies’ Greatest Year. It’s hard to argue against that when you consider the staggering amount of masterpieces made, including The Wild Bunch, Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid and Once Upon a Time in the West. And there are 40 more Westerns where those came from (even the X-rated), with Hannan offering an inviting and well-balanced mix of history and criticism as he covers each film in a broad overview of what was perhaps the genre’s most transformative time: when revisionism hopped in the saddle. If you enjoy classic Westerns, this comes recommended, as does Hannan’s The Making of The Magnificent Seven (also published by McFarland & Company) from a few years ago.

Following similar genre-celebratory collections on vampires, zombies, ghosts, adventurers and pulp heroes (all from Vintage Crime’s Black Lizard line), anthologist extraordinaire Otto Penzler rounds up more than 60 pieces of short fiction for The Big Book of Reel Murders: Stories That Inspired Great Crime Films. Simply put, this hefty trade paperback is just that, with Ian Fleming’s “A View to a Kill,” Agatha Christie’s “The Witness for the Prosecution,” Richard Connell’s “The Most Dangerous Game,” Daphne du Maurier’s “Don’t Look Now,” Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Murders in the Rue Morgue.” Straddling the genres of mystery, thrillers, horror and more, Reel Murders also showcases Arthur Conan Doyle, Dashiell Hammett, Dennis Lehane, Edgar Wallace, Jack Finney, Joyce Carol Oates, Robert Louis Stevenson — not a single one to sneeze at. Whether you like to read source material of films you’ve seen or crime fiction in general, this bang-for-your-buck collection should be right up your shadow-strewn alley. —Rod Lott

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In a summer that has seen several sequels tank, at least one doesn’t disappoint: Make My Day: Movie Culture in the Age of Reagan, preeminent film critic J. Hoberman’s trilogy-capper. As An Army of Phantoms and The Dream Life considered American cinema in the Cold War and the 1960s, respectively, Make My Day looks to the late 1970s and the whole of the 1980s; as in those works, also from The New Press, American cinema is also considered through the lens of the era’s politics, and how one informed or reflected the other. With Ronald Reagan as movie star-cum-POTUS, Hoberman certainly has a wealth of material to parse, most notably in the “warnography” of Rambo: First Blood Part II, Top Gun, Iron Eagle and, to a lesser degree, WarGames. It’s not all jets and jocks, either, with everything from the narrative quilt of Nashville to the science-fried comedy of Ghostbusters and basically everything Steven Spielberg Midas-touched. The tour is fascinating, politically charged (yet fact-based) and even thrilling. An overuse of the prefix “crypto-” and a couple of names getting botched (as Jon Voigt, Gary Marshall and Christian Glover) do nothing to diminish its excellence.

Serious question: Does Roberto Curti ever sleep? The Italian film historian has been averaging two research-heavy books a year, with his latest being Italian Gothic Horror Films, 1980-1989. Those already familiar with Curti will know this is the third in the IGHF series, which began in 2015 (1957-1969) and continued in 2017 (1970-1979), all published by McFarland & Company. The VHS-weaned generation may have been waiting on this one all along, given that the video-store era coincided with the gore-heavy auteurist period of Dario Argento, Lucio Fulci, Lamberto Bava and others, who made some of their best work in this fertile period. Again going chronologically, Curti examines each notable title, with critical and historical appreciations that can run for multiple pages, if merited (the above men among those). If there’s a fly in this soup, it’s that Curti refers to films primarily by their Italian titles, which can get tricky if you’re not paying attention, assuming you’re also not bilingual. Molto bene!

Portable Press’ Strange Hollywood is not unlike an entry in the assumedly immortal Uncle John’s Bathroom Reader series: a chunky little book to absorb a page or two at a time, most likely during dumps, with contents only slightly less temporary. Thus, lists make up much of the 400-plus pages, from movie stars’ final roles and original titles of hit pictures to fun facts about The Muppets and memorable quips from TV’s Hollywood Squares. Occasionally, there’s even an anecdote worth your time, such as why Tommy Lee Jones couldn’t stand working with Jim Carrey on Batman Forever, resulting in the former telling the latter, “I cannot sanction your buffoonery.” All in all, the book is a novelty that might work as a stocking stuffer. —Rod Lott

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With Glenn Kay and Michael Rose’s wonderful Disaster Movies: The Ultimate Guide long out of print, the field has been open for a title to swoop in as a no-brainer purchase for those interested in navigating the oft-campy subgenre. I’m afraid Nik Havert’s bid, however, isn’t it.

As hinted by the title, The Golden Age of Disaster Cinema: A Guide to the Films, 1950-1979, his definition of the subject is perhaps too malleable, stretched to include alien invasions produced by George Pal and ecological-revenge fantasies, rather than sticking to the perils of Irwin Allen and others who either influenced or Xeroxed the projects of his reign.

Year by year, movie by movie, Havert ticks through offerings from screens big and small, but other than the occasional emailed remembrance by someone who worked on the film, his articles follow an unfortunate formula: brief remarks of innocuous criticism preceded by several paragraphs of beat-by-beat story synopsis, each maddeningly ending with a same-Bat-time/same-Bat-channel question as repetitive as it is needless. For example:
• “Will any of them make it out alive?” (Airport ’77)
• “Can any of them escape, and will the infection spread if they do?” (The Crazies)
• “Who will survive the wall of water rushing for Brownsville, and will the town ever be the same?” (Flood)
• “Will they make it, and will anyone else survive the aftermath?” (Avalanche)
• “Will either shelter be strong enough to hold off the attacks, and what awaits the survivors further down the mountain if they make it through the night?” (Day of the Animals)

While Havert is obviously passionate about disaster cinema, he is unable to convey that in a way that engages the reader, and calls too many films “lost” that are not (like This Is a Hijack). On the plus side, the McFarland & Company paperback is thorough, packed with obscurities — where else will one learn of Flug in Gefhar? —Rod Lott

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Although the back cover of Blood on Black Wax: Horror Soundtracks on Vinyl proclaims the book to be “long overdue,” I’d argue its timing couldn’t be better. As if the crush of hipsters on Record Store Day hasn’t clued you in, vinyl has made a startling, about-face comeback in this Spotify age, with limited pressings of fright-film soundtrack albums — from such niche labels as Death Waltz Recordings and Waxwork Records — among the most salivated-over collector’s items. Co-authors Aaron Lupton and Jeff Szpirglas take glorious advantage of this fan frenzy, striking while the iron is white-hot.

Following up the recent Ad Nauseam: Newsprint Nightmares from the 1980s, 1984 Publishing and Rue Morgue magazine collaborate again for a hardcover that is as much an objet d’art as the discs it celebrates, with color that pops off the page like so many zombies’ eyeballs. Although eschewing a countdown or list format, Lupton and Szpirglas spotlight one of roughly 200 slabs at a time, devoting no less than a full page to each.

Cover art is presented in a consistent span of left margin to right margin — look, Ma, no thumbnails! — with a brief article underneath reviewing the score and/or songs, giving background info and tracking the album’s release history. Some of the genre’s giants are interviewed about their compositions, most notably John Carpenter, but also Lalo Schifrin, Pino Donaggio, Henry Manfredini, Richard Band, Christopher Young and others.

You’ll find the expected classics, including John Williams’ Jaws and Bernard Hermann’s Psycho, but also cult favorites (Manfred Hübler and Siegfried Schwab’s Vampyros Lesbos), fresh cuts (Mica Levy’s Under the Skin), obscurities (Zdenek Liska’s The Cremator) and ungodly earworms (Robert Smith Jr. and Russ Huddleston’s Manos: The Hands of Fate). Contents are organized only by fairly broad categories, with the Goblin-strewn giallo earning special consideration.

The authors even go out of their way to invite a few choice compilations to the party, from Dick Jacobs and His Orchestra’s Themes from Horror Movies to the self-explanatory Bollywood Bloodbath: The B-Music of the Indian Horror Film Industry. Sporting a closing chapter on the current synthwave movement of faux soundtracks, the breadth of Blood on Black Wax’s curation is crazy impressive; the only platter I feel is sorely missing is Disasterpeace’s magnificent and moody It Follows soundscapes.

The turntable faithful and horror enthusiasts alike will treasure this book. Unlike many of the records featured, it won’t break the bank. —Rod Lott

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Teen Movie Hell, if released 20 or so years ago, would desperately sit on my shelf next to the various Psychotronics and Gore Scores, yellowing with useful age, pages dog-eared beyond belief. Sadly, it’s not 20 or so years ago, so this read — and what a great read it is — and its collection of movie reviews is mostly superfluous in the age of the internet.

Good thing that I — and mostly middle-aged shut-ins like me — still have those Psychotronics and Gore Scores in their bookcases, a little less used but still ultimately revered, and am still able to find a spot on the shelf for Mike “McBeardo” McPadden’s latest tome, even if its re-readability is strained in this modern day and age.

Still, McPadden does a good job of capturing those youthful urges and rejected dirges to see little darlings, party animals and bikini carwashes in their natural environment of toplessness, surrounded with plenty of suds — of both the beer and bathing variety — as a fat guy belly-flops into a pool while a dog with sunglasses covers his head in disbelief.

Dissecting the lesser-known trash — Computer Beach Party and Hamburger: The Motion Picture, for example — alongside the well-known flicks the cool kids favored — The Breakfast Club and Pretty in Pink ring a bell? — as well as a couple of questionable-but-welcome entries (including Police Academy, this former teen’s favorite) — Teen Movie Hell is definitely is a must-have for anyone with a nostalgic bent that begins in their pants and doesn’t go much further.

Enjoy your home on my shelf next to this stack of Re/Search books. —Louis Fowler

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