Now adults, the children of the 1980s clearly are nostalgic, judging from this past fall’s glut of books on that era’s teen movie. Hadley Freeman’s Life Moves Pretty Fast came first, followed closely by Kevin Smokler’s travel-leaning Brat Pack America. Now, journalist Jason Diamond joins the fray with Searching for John Hughes: Or Everything I Thought I Needed to Know About Life I Learned from Watching ’80s Movies, but stands out as unique because it’s a memoir. Hoo-boy, is it ever. As a Chicagoan, Diamond felt a particular kinship to Hughes’ movies — Sixteen Candles; Ferris Bueller’s Day Off; Planes, Trains & Automobiles; Home Alone, et al. — which tended to take place there, albeit in the fictional suburbia of Shermer, so the miserable barista longing to be a professional writer embarked on a biography of the iconic filmmaker. Instead, as we witness, the project morphed into this memoir of the author’s own terrible childhood and arguably even worse teenage years, during which Hughes’ CV offered a recurring temporary escape. The end result is raw, real, gut-wrenching and, like Hughes’ work, worthy of resonating with an entire generation. Oh, if only they read more than 140 characters!

With Applause’s paperback release of Film Noir Compendium: Key Selections from the Film Noir Reader Series, newcomers to the dynamic duo of cinematic historians Alain Silver and James Ursini can get a taste of the goods without having to wonder which prior volume to purchase or whether to buy them all. (You may find yourself doing the latter if you enjoy this lovingly oversized presentation, overflowing with hundreds of stills.) Compendium culls some 30 articles from 20 years worth of contents — all with an academic bent, but not to a point of inaccessibility. Standouts include Ursini’s visual breakdown of the Mike Hammer classic Kiss Me Deadly; Todd Ericsson’s 1990 examination of noir’s then-resurrection as a genre (e.g., Dennis Hopper’s The Hot Spot, Michael Mann’s Thief and William Friedkin’s To Live and Die in L.A.); and Paul Schrader’s well-informed “notes on film noir,” which is the equivalent of a master class — no surprise to readers of the Taxi Driver scribe’s Film Comment pieces, past or present. The book’s layout could stand a sharper design, but the words are what really matter here — especially when you have Stephen Farber putting “the bitch goddess” under a microscope.

Which horror films feature the most of Mr. Mephistopheles? Which horror soundtracks are the scariest? Who draws horror comics best? The answers to these and many other superlative-determining questions await in The Thrill of Repulsion: Excursions into Horror Culture. For the Schiffer-pubbed hardcover, Horror News Network contributor William Burns presents nearly two dozen essays on terror-related topics primarily concerning movies, but also not ignoring TV, music and books (comics included). Nearly all of the chapters are presented in the ever-popular list format, each cleverly and consistently going to 13, rather than the standard, ho-hum 10. I was unfamiliar with Burns’ name or work, so I don’t know how much critical credibility he brings to the project, but he obviously is well-versed in cinema that goes bump in the night. I especially enjoyed his countdown of horror films “That Deserve Better,” because his selections prove him right, from The Boy Who Cried Werewolf to the top-slotted The Spider Labyrinth. —Rod Lott

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Hands down and no question about it: For me, the entertainment book of 2016 is A Thousand Cuts: The Bizarre Underground World of Collectors and Dealers Who Saved the Movies. Written by Trapped Ashes screenwriter Dennis Bartok and collector extraordinaire Jeff Joseph, the University Press of Mississippi hardcover shines a light on the rarest of film subcultures: one I didn’t know existed!

There’s a whole history of FBI arrests and/or investigations into film obsessives who sold and/or traded actual prints — typically 35mm and often stolen from studios and theaters. They range from Hollywood’s own (Roddy McDowall and Rock Hudson) to two-bit ex-cons, and nearly two dozen of them have their colorful stories told here, run-ins and close calls included.

Rather than attempt to weave them all into one continuing narrative, Bartok and Joseph wisely divvy them up into their own chapters. Among them are men whose names you may know, like Gremlins director Joe Dante, RoboCop producer Jon Davidson and Something Weird Video founder Mike Vraney (who, as with an alarming number of subject, since has passed).

But outnumbering them are those whose names you do not, like Joseph, who did time behind bars for his cinematic misdeeds; Rik Lueras, who hand-paints poster art onto the cans of films in his collection; and Mike Hyatt, whose life’s work, more or less, has been devoted to rescuing 1962’s The Day of the Triffids from vinegar syndrome and eventual oblivion. Each profile is fascinating, making A Thousand Cuts an essential work, its contents now preserved for generations to come. Highly, highly recommended! —Rod Lott

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After reading Michael Adams’ yearlong diary of bad-movie-watching, titled Showgirls, Teen Wolves, and Astro Zombies, I found that I enjoyed it, but not quite enough to keep it for posterity’s sake. My home office has an entire shelf devoted to books on less-than-stellar films that often are more entertaining than watching the flicks they discuss. Although mostly all out-of-print, the volumes below — in order indicative of nothing, once you get past the first one — are well worth owning for the connoisseur of cinema’s cheesiest. Happy hunting!

The Psychotronic Encyclopedia of Film by Michael J. Weldon — As anyone who has this already knows, this 1983 volume is the Holy Grail of this genre. I first stumbled upon it college while visiting a friend of a friend’s apartment, where the book lie dog-eared atop the TV. Having just gotten into Mystery Science Theater 3000, I was immediately captivated and knew I had to have my own copy. Unfortunately — and this was pre-Internet 1991 — it wasn’t all that easy to find. Waldenbooks — remember them? — had to special-order it for me. It took months, but it was worth the wait. I read it cover to cover a couple of times, and still consult it to this day. Soon, I also discovered the magazine from which it came, and a couple years later, even had an article published in its issue #22, when I interviewed Don “The Dragon” Wilson. (My payment? More free copies than I had friends.)

The Psychotronic Video Guide To Film by Michael J. Weldon — Since the first Psychotronic book happened before the VHS explosion, a sequel was a sure thing. It took seemingly forever for Weldon to get around to it, but again, delayed gratification proved most satisfying when it finally hit in 1996, and I spent many a weekend night thereafter reading this alphabetically, probably much to the chagrin of my then-wife (yeah, I’m boring). My release-date enthusiasm for acquiring it during a lunch hour from work on its was only slightly dampened when I returned to my car, to find it wouldn’t start, and it wasn’t the battery. At least I had something to read while I waited for a ride.

The Phantom’s Ultimate Video Guide by The Phantom of the Movies — At the end of my first semester in college in 1989, I took my history final, then drove home, went to the dentist, caught a matinee of The War of the Roses, and then wandered into Waldenbooks, to see if they had this book, which I had read about that morning in USA Today while waiting for said history final to begin. They did, and while The Phantom didn’t quite dig as deep as Weldon, but his approach is indispensable, full of some great sidebars and with reviews organized by genre instead of the ABCs. Better yet, I aced that final.

The Phantom of the Movies’ Videoscope: The Ultimate Guide to the Latest, Greatest, and Weirdest Genre Videos by Joe Kane — By the time The Phantom got around to delivering a sequel of his own in 2000, he no longer was hiding behind a pseudonym. Also by then, Kane was taking a page from Weldon by independently publishing his own zine, Videoscope, from which probably all these reviews first appeared. This one’s not nearly as much fun as its big brother, probably because the Internet was starting to render these guides irrelevant. There was much less to “discover” in the decade-plus that had passed. It’s still never leaving my shelf, however.

The Mystery Science Theater 3000 Amazing Colossal Episode Guide — I do not hide that MST3K is my all-time favorite television series. It got me — and many of my friends — into watching bad and B-level movies on purpose, with or without robot hosts, and that extends into today. But I know purists who think MST3K ruined the films. Lighten up! If you have many a fond memory of an afternoon spent watching the crew of the Satellite of Love, odds are you already have this 1996 guide, show by show, season by season. Every page is hilarious; the only drawback is that it only goes through the sixth season. I’d kill a hobo for an update.

Mike Nelson’s Movie Megacheese by Michael J. Nelson — After MST3K called it quits in 1999, host/head writer Mike Nelson was the first to jump into publishing, with this 2000 collection of essays. Basically, he does in here what he did on TV: ripping bottom-of-the-barrel cinema a new one, just all by himself. It made me so laugh so hard and so often, I kind of got tired of laughing. That make any sense?

Videohound’s Cult Flicks & Trash Pics by Carol A. Schwartz with Jim Olenski — The VideoHound brand issued a ton of terrific, wonderfully designed genre guides, from horror and sci-fi to more niche subjects like martial arts and vampires. But only this 2001 title focused specifically on the bad (updated from a lesser 1996 edition). Like all its other siblings, the thick-as-a-phone-book effort rates movies on a scale of bones, rather than stars, and numerous spotlights on infamous actors, directors and producers fill out page after page of lively reviews. Man, I miss these.

Bad Movies We Love by Edward Marguiles and Stephen Rebello — Back in the late ’80s and early ’90s, Movieline was one hell of a magazine. One of its regular features was the “Bad Movies We Love” column. In the periodical, if I recall, it barely merited half a page, but in this 1993 collection, the skewerings seem expanded, with exponentially more acidic wit. I read much of it when it came out in August 1993 as I took a road trip to the Grand Canyon with my girlfriend, and I still have it … the book and the girl.

Bad TV by Craig Nelson — Yeah, this 1994 book is about television, but since part of casts its lasso to round up some truly terrible made-for-TV movies, I’m including it. (My website, my rules.) As wretched as some films are, the boob tube is an even bigger wasteland of dreck, and Nelson eviscerates much of its poisoned landscape with glee. That’s what I got when I read it while out of town for a wedding I had no interest in attending, but for which my (now ex-)wife served as maid of honor; while everyone else was rehearsing and fretting over details like flowers, I was in the parking lot, sweating in the car, but laughing my ass off.

Joe Bob Goes to the Drive-In and Joe Bob Goes Back to the Drive-In by Joe Bob Briggs — A roundup of this kind wouldn’t be complete without the king of the drive-in movies, Joe Bob Briggs. I bet many of you didn’t even know this 1986 book and its 1990 sequel even existed. They weren’t exactly the easiest to find even then; I had to special-order them from my local Waldenbooks at the time, and I’ve never seen them on a shelf anywhere since. Too bad, because they’re absolutely awesome. If you’re familiar with his legendary syndicated columns, then you’re familiar with the contents here — why mess with perfection? You should also check out Joe Bob’s Profoundly Disturbing and Profoundly Erotic essay collections from 2003 and 2005; they’d merit their own entry, if not for focusing on mostly good movies.

Sleazoid Express: A Mind-Twisting Tour Through the Grindhouse Cinema of Times Square by Bill Landis and Michelle Clifford — Like the Psychotronic testaments books, this 2002 book was born from a zine. Unlike most everything else here, it’s not really a movie guide, but a spare-no-gory-detail history of New York City’s grimy grindhouse-theater experience, right down to the sperm puddles on the floor. On one hand, I’d be afraid to visit such a filthy, dangerous venue; on the other hand, Landis (who passed away recently) and Clifford cover their territory with such nostalgia, it’s hard not to get caught up in their fervor.

RE/Search #10: Incredibly Strange Films by V. Vale and Andrea Juno — When I first stumbled upon this 1986 book in a secondhand record store in Dallas in 1989, I remember thinking, “Holy crap, not only have I never heard of this, but there are nine more volumes! I’ll go broke getting them all!” Untrue; this was the only RE/Search-branded book dealing with the subject. But it did so wonderfully, with exhaustive interviews with trash cinema’s finest (?) purveyors, and loaded with titillating photos and vintage ads as illustrations.

Video Trash & Treasures and Video Trash & Treasures II by L.A. Morse — Probably the rarest books on this list, 1989’s Video Trash and its 1990 sequel stand out for being issued as mass-market paperbacks, instead of the usual trade editions like everything else above. Don’t assume they’re disposable; Morse is funny, and every page comes with a quote from one awful film or another. The first book focuses on monsters and serial killers; the second, titty flicks and action extravaganzas. Get both, if you can find them. Me? I located them in some mail-order joke/prank/novelty catalog in 1993. Never saw them anywhere else again.

Yep, I know there are more, and someday I’ll compile a “Son of 15 Great Books About Bad Movies” follow-up. In the meantime, discuss your favorites in the comments. —Rod Lott

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In Sinister Urge: The Life and Times of Rob Zombie, metal music bio specialist Joel McIver considers the career of the Renaissance man not content to constrain his talents to just one medium. If the Backbeat Books hardcover focused solely on Rob Zombie’s music — from White Zombie to his current solo act — I wouldn’t have been interested, but luckily, his forays into filmmaking are covered almost in as much depth. While the weight given to each movie is wildly off-balance, fans can learn a lot about the battles to make 2003’s controversial House of 1000 Corpses and the even more controversial 2007 remake of Halloween, and yet may be left wanting more about comparatively glossed-over subjects, such as the film-within-a-film excised from 2012’s The Lords of Salem or the clashes with David Caruso while shooting a CSI: Miami episode — I mean, tell me you don’t wanna hear everything about that! I assume this is because McIver had to draw upon existing sources since Zombie was not interviewed specifically for the book, so to judge what is there, which includes his absolutely crazy comics, I give it a thumb up rather than a middle finger.

Women? Gotta love ’em. Women in spy movies? Gotta lust over ’em! And Tom Lisanti and Louis Paul’s tag-teaming of Film Fatales: Women in Espionage Films and Television, 1962-1973 damn near covers every one of the genre’s notable and/or nubile beauties: Raquel Welch, Lana Wood, Diana Rigg, Ann-Margret, Ursula Andress, Susan Hart, Honor Blackman, Tina Louise, Stella Stevens, Anne Francis … it’s the rare book that prompts the need of a cold shower. More than 100 of these starlets — seemingly half of them from James Bond adventures — are featured in their own few-pages-apiece chapters, profiling their careers overall and specific highlights from their filmographies. Generously supplemented with a nice photograph, they’re like IMDb entries with more depth and more flesh. Because of this setup, few will want to tackle Film Fatales cover to cover, opting instead to read up on the women with whom they’re most, um, “familiar.” But trust me: You’ll want to thumb through all the pages just for the photos alone. Unfortunately, so will your teenage brother/nephew/whoever, so hide it if you can. And if you cannot, good news: Originally published in 2002, this new reissue from McFarland & Company is close to half the price in paperback.

Also from McFarland, Lost Souls of Horror and the Gothic: Fifty-Four Neglected Authors, Actors, Artists and Others does just what it says. Edited by Elizabeth McCarthy and Bernice M. Murphy, this collection of biographical sketches is all over the place, but I suppose that is its point. While genre fans are likely to already know Rosemary’s Baby novelist Ira Levin, 1936 Sweeney Todd star Tod Slaughter and Just Before Dawn director Jeff Lieberman, even the most ardent enthusiasts may not be aware of the more obscure subjects, like illustrator Sidney Sime and author Marie Corelli. Bold choices include pop singer Danielle Dax, After Hours screenwriter Joseph Minion, Ghostwatch creator Stephen Volk and the team behind the Silent Hill franchise. Although the typical essay runs four pages, not even 100 times that amount would convince me that the legendary, double Oscar-winning actress Ingrid Bergman deserves a place among these Lost Souls.

This is a review of This Is a Book About the Kids in the Hall, John Semley’s unimaginatively titled but perfectly readable biography of the venerable Canadian comedy troupe whose HBO series found a considerable cult. Published by ECW Press, the paperback delves expectedly into the Kids’ formation, dissolution and eventual reunion, but also reveals more about the members’ personal lives than I would have thought, particularly their upbringings, in which the running thread is “shitty dads.” The most interesting chapter chronicles the highly contentious making of the Kids’ first — and to date, only — feature film, the misunderstood 1996 flop Brain Candy (a movie I will defend to my dying day). Although the author inserts himself into the book too often and takes occasionally superfluous sojourns — the weak Kids in the Hall Drinking Game being the worst offender — I recommend any self-respecting KITH fan snap it up all the same, lest he or she risk a well-deserved head-crushing. —Rod Lott

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Methinks this coloring-book craze for adults has gotten way out of hand, and it was questionable to begin with. Now we have Die Hard: The Authorized Coloring and Activity Book welcoming itself to the party, pal, and it is at once a coattails-riding cash grab for 20th Century Fox and a knowing parody of the fad by stand-up comedian Doogie Horner, who wrote and illustrated and clearly has more talent than should be allowed for one human.

Here, in 80 oversized pages, Horner (author of 2010’s amusing Everything Explained Through Flowcharts) retells the tinsel-and-terrorists tale of Bruce Willis’ smash hit of the summer of 1988, through ready-to-color iconic scenes of the Christmas Eve siege on Nakatomi Plaza.

What sells the joke, however, are its activity pages, such as:
• connecting the dots to find out what message Willis’ John McClane wrote on a dead terrorist’s shirt,
• maneuvering a barefoot McClane through a maze of broken glass,
• and “John just killed Karl’s brother. Draw Karl’s face to show how he feels about that.”

While not quite a yippee-ki-yay, it would make a fine gift for rounds of Dirty Santa this coming holiday season. —Rod Lott

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