Recently I read Stefan Jaworzyn’s The Texas Chain Saw Massacre Companion, which sets out to cover the entire franchise (up to its 2004 publication date, at least), yet does it in a way that’s lazy, shoddy and unfriendly to the reader. By contrast, Paul Kane’s The Hellraiser Films and Their Legacy shows how a retrospective on a horror-film franchise — or on any genre, really — should be done. It’s not difficult.

Jaworzyn’s book is not new, and neither is Kane’s, but the latter is now available in a reprint — and in a much more affordable paperback edition, at that — from McFarland & Company. Needless to say, any Hellraiser fan worth his or her satanic salt should own it.

Benefitting from a wealth of interviews, Kane recounts Clive Barker’s creation of the world of the Cenobites in The Hellbound Heart and his aim to bring that novel to the big screen himself, having been less-than-enthused about what filmmakers had done with adapting his work prior (see: Transmutations or Rawhead Rex — or don’t, as Barker would prefer).

We now know he succeeded, but in real life, conclusions aren’t so foregone. Turns out, there’s a real story to be told of the 1987 hit’s making, including battles over the budget and its rating. Hollywood’s response was not to give Barker creative freedom on his next project … but to offer him Alien 3.

Kane could’ve stopped there, but instead continues giving the same thorough, behind-the-scenes treatment for each and every sequel (except 2011’s Hellraiser: Revelations, made after the book’s original 2006 publication), whether released theatrically or straight to home video. Among them, the greatest tale of production belongs to the tortured one of the series’ fourth, 1996’s Hellraiser: Bloodlines, the one that sent Pinhead into space and took three directors to complete, if you count the infamous Alan Smithee disowning pseudonym to whom it’s credited.

Smartly avoiding start-to-finish, beat-for-beat synopses, Kane instead follows each film’s story of conception with an exploration into the themes it presents and probes. Luckily, the author does a damn good job of it. Rounding out the book is a brief look at Hellraiser‘s entry into other media, most notably comics.

Jesus wept … for joy! —Rod Lott

Buy it at Amazon.

Fans of outré horror cinema are urged to order Zombi Mexicano right freakin’ now — not just because it’s an excellent publication, but because author/designer Keith J. Rainville has printed only 250 of these babies, with no plans for a wider run.

In other words: You snooze, you lose, and the trade paperback represents 20 of my dollars that were as hard-earned as they were well-spent.

¿Comprende?

Zombi Mexicano is not a definitive text on Mexican zombie flicks, nor is it intended to be (although now I’m convinced he should embark on that project immediately). It is an overview on a franchise that Rainville believes has been ignored, and he’s right; even a cult-film enthusiast such as myself hadn’t heard of the “Guanajuato mummies” movies, not to mention their producer, Rogelio Agrasánchez Linaje.

As Rainville writes, “Ever see a zombie use karate, then try to stomp a baby, all to the tune of a circus pipe organ?” I can’t say that I have, but I can say that I must.

Numbering roughly seven or so films, the series began with 1970’s The Mummies of Guanajuato, starring the “holy trinity of lucha-heroes: Santo, Blue Demon and Mil Mascaras.” Following in quick succession over the next five years were such sequels as Castle of the Mummies of Guanajuato, Mansion of the Seven Mummies and Macabre Legends of the Colonial Era.

I now need to see all of them.

Rainville runs through each with a spirited discussion that’s supplemented with scads and scads of crazy screen grabs, vintage posters and garish lobby cards. It’s laid out like a magazine, professionally and in eye-popping full color (except those instances where the source material was not).

The jam-packed 64-pager also contains an introductory essay that touches upon the movies you likely have heard of (i.e. the Aztec Mummy trilogy) and Mexico’s yesteryear comics featuring zombies and/or mummies.

So you don’t just have to take my near-worthless word for it, you can get a peek at Zombi Mexicano‘s insides here. Now go buy it, funky film fan, before that right is taken from you. I accept your thanks in advance. De nada. —Rod Lott

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This isn’t stated anywhere in You Won’t Believe Your Eyes!, but co-author Mark Thomas McGee holds such a deep and abiding love for the monster movies of the dawn of the Cold War era that he eventually created one of his own, in 1970’s Equinox. The only reason I bring it up is to assure readers they’re in good hands with this fond look back at so many of those science-fiction and horror matinees.

For the BearManor Media paperback, McGee’s co-writer is lifelong friend R.J. Robertson, who — we learn in the introduction — died two decades ago. That means much of the contents are older than that (McGee even mentions forgetting they wrote this until it was found in the garage), yet you wouldn’t know it, because invasions of saucer men, atomic submarines, incredible shrinking men and beasts of Hollow Mountain are timeless.

In 11 loosely themed chapters, the two review what has to be more than 100 B movies of interchangeable titles and painfully low budgets, bearing names of men like Roger Corman, Herman Cohen and Bert I. Gordon. The best entries arrive when the authors supplement their opinions — honest, it should be noted, as they’re unafraid to call crap “crap” — with the positions and perspectives of members from the cast and crew. In doing so, we learn a little more about what it took to get the American Godzilla to screen, not to mention Hammer Films co-founder James Carreras’ quote that at his studio, “we make the movies where the monsters bite the women’s titties.”

One knock on the book is such third-party inclusions are the exception rather than the rule. Fortunately, rarer are the times when McGee and Robertson have so little to say, you may wonder why the entry wasn’t excised entirely.

Most of the time, they have plenty worth sharing, including a playful fit. For example, of Patricia Laffan’s performance in Devil Girl from Mars, they write, “She looks like she hasn’t had a bowel movement for twenty years.” Such remarks make me willing to overlook the occasional movie that doesn’t seem to fit with the rest (the comedy Bell, Book and Candle?), in much the same way that the generous helping of photographs mitigates the sometimes-crowded layout. —Rod Lott

Buy it at Amazon or BearManor Media.

Perhaps being British has something to do with it, but Richard Gordon’s name is hardly a household one to fright-film connoisseurs, despite a body of work that would suggest otherwise. While hardly classics, the producer’s 14 films in the horror realm are well-known enough in cult circles that worship such low-budget efforts.

In his book-length interview with the man, author Tom Weaver hopes to change that. Unless I missed it, The Horror Hits of Richard Gordon does not state when the interview(s) took place, but Gordon passed away months after its release, so kudos to Weaver for getting these behind-the-scenes stories when he did.

I mean, it’s not like we need to know the ins, outs, ups and downs of shooting something like 1981’s Inseminoid, but I’m glad we now do.

Published by BearManor Media, Horror Hits is arranged chronologically. Made between 1958 and 1981, each film is introduced with a brief synopsis, followed by a transcript of Weaver and Gordon’s talks, presented in the easy-to-read Q&A format. With little prompting by the author, Gordon touches on all aspects imaginable, from the genesis of each project down to the salaries of all involved. It’s the anecdotes in between, however, that offer the meat, such as Boris Karloff acting like a saint, but Christopher Lee acting like anything but.

Weaver is unafraid to point out plot holes and other shortcomings, and Gordon doesn’t shy away from addressing them, which makes for a refreshing and frank discussion. Some of the questions that spark such talks are priceless, such as this query about 1958’s Fiend Without a Face: “Why do brains have heartbeats in your movie?”

Up until now, I’ve only seen one of the 14 films that make up this heavily illustrated, oversize volume (1970’s utterly bizarre Secrets of Sex), but that soon will change. In other words, prior exposure to these pictures is not required. —Rod Lott

Buy it at Amazon or BearManor Media.

In the introduction of The Films of Mamie Van Doren, author Joseph Fusco connects the dots to draw a line from Hollywood’s old-school vamps (such as Jean Harlow and Mae West) to the 1950s starlets Marilyn Monroe and Jayne Mansfield. With the latter two, Mamie Van Doren often is thought to form the third point of that era’s sex-bomb triangle.

As the title has it, this BearManor Media paperback pays tribute to the cinematic oeuvre of the lovely lady, who survived when her pulchritudinous peers did not, because, Fusco argues, of her powerful roles and sheer versatility. He may be overstating the case — after all, we’re talking about the likes of The Navy vs. the Night Monsters — but Van Doren, today a lively 82, is no doubt worth such fun, book-length honors.

Fusco devotes the book’s first 50 of 272 pages to a breezy overview of her entire career — not just the movies, but everything from dinner theater to disco albums. The rest goes film by film, a chapter apiece, full of photos and poster art.

Signed by Universal in 1953 as a purposeful rival to Monroe, Van Doren first was cast in a number of uncredited parts two years prior. Soon, the starlet found no shortage of work, arguably reaching an apex — by exploitation standards, at least — in her eight collaborations with producer Albert Zugsmith. While he stands dozens of rungs below D.W. Griffith or Josef von Sternberg on the filmmaker ladder, far more people remember the likes of High School Confidential today than the Griffith or von Sternberg films in which Van Doren briefly appeared.

Because of the brevity, we are unable to get a sense of what she did in her first few movies; how much of that fault is the author, I cannot tell. I can blame him for the irksome multiple spaces appearing at the end of each sentence, but that’s negligible. His book obviously does its job, as my Amazon orders of the sex comedy 3 Nuts in Search of a Bolt and the crime drama Vice Raid now attest. (Sadly, Sex Kittens Go to College and Girls, Guns and Gangsters are unavailable for purchase.) —Rod Lott

Buy it at Amazon or BearManor Media.