It’s Christmas in (almost) July! But no matter the season, Matthew C. DuPée’s A Scary Little Christmas is the book fans of holiday horror have been waiting years for.

Subtitled A History of Yuletide Horror Films, 1972-2020, the book groups some 200 movies (including sci-fi entries, despite the title) across such subgenres as slashers, anthologies, zombies, hauntings, elves, Krampus, sharks — even killer trees!

Fittingly, a deep dive into the Silent Night, Deadly Night pentalogy — and its reboot — kicks off the contents. It’s an ideal start, allowing DuPée to showcase everything his book does well in one spot: interviews with cast and crew, historical context, thoughtful commentary, God-honest criticism and — oh, yeah — fun! His introductory note of actively avoiding an academic approach isn’t just talk.

All the movies you’d expect are here — Black Christmas, Christmas Evil, Gremlins (which a disproportionate amount of filmmakers cite as an influence and/or inspiration) — but also the ones you don’t. That means recent indies like Ugly Sweater Party get their fair share of ink, because nothing celebrates the birth of the Christ child quite like “genital-ripping, baseball bat beatings and violent diarrhea explosions.”

That also means movies that aren’t explicitly festive get their due. Falling into this category are the overlooked thrillers ATM, P2 and While She Was Out; their inclusion cements DuPée’s book as essential. The appendix allows him to go even further with capsule reviews of additional titles that didn’t make the initial cut, such as Sheitan and The Lodge.

Errors number few (the most glaring suggests the Oscars are awarded for TV shows) because the book is near-exhaustively researched. While the interviews with cast and crew members could be trimmed of redundancy, they are enlightening — and often unguarded and candid. DuPée navigates his cinematic sleigh ride with good taste and no blinders, willing to give anything a fair shot. He’s unafraid to call out the crap (“a cascade of subpar independent horror schlock”), yet also acknowledges “sometimes you need some cheese with your wine.”

Where else are you going to get four pages of behind-the-scenes stories of Puppet Master vs. Demonic Toys? —Rod Lott

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Commented one skeptical reader on a Facebook post about Ski Films: A Comprehensive Guide, Bryan Senn’s latest book, “Ski films!?! Uhh … I’m not knocking it but I think people are running out of genres to write about??! Just an observation.”

A fair observation, but one that misses the point. The majority of Senn’s bibliography explores the niche of the niche, from voodoo and werewolves to human-hunting and horror/sci-fi double features. Each of those subjects holds tremendous interest for him — more than evident by the passion on each page, even in each review. So naturally, Ski Films finds Senn traversing an equal path of adoration, this one down the slopes!

At a heavy 400-plus pages, the McFarland & Company trade paperback looks at more than 200 titles in depth. The books is neatly sliced into halves: full ski films (for which the sport is “integral”) and semi-ski films (for which it is not). Of course you have your top-of-mind usual skiing suspects, including Downhill Racer, Aspen Extreme, Better Off Dead and, as the action-packed cover colorfully promises, James Bond working On Her Majesty’s Secret Service.

But you also get 005 other 007 adventures, a third of Olympic skater Sonia Henie’s filmography and scads more T&A on the menu beyond Hot Dog … the Movie. Plus, you’ll find several beach parties in snowbound settings, natural disasters, slashers, Bigfoot films, Roger Corman cheapies and Hallmark rom-coms. When Abbott and Costello, Greta Garbo, Jackie Chan, Klaus Kinski, Inspector Clouseau, Pope John Paul II and a pig named Scrapple have popped on planks, it’s clear more movies qualify as “ski films” than one assumes.

Even if you have zero interest in skiing (as I do), Ski Films isn’t alienating. Doling out background info and thoughtful, often humorous criticism, Senn first covers each film as if the entry could be published anywhere, then considers the quality of athleticism — or lack thereof — on display. Speaking as someone who will never shove his feet into the sticks, it’s still highly amusing to read major studio productions called out for using improper equipment.

Because movie guides are ultimately about discoveries, Ski Films can be judged on whether you found any on your way to the finish line. My short answer is “many,” capped by the 1972 heist movie Snow Job and the 1974 thriller The Ultimate Thrill, both featuring some of the best skiing in fictional film, per Senn. (The worst? xXx.) If you haven’t seen Adam Green’s Frozen, the terrifically tense thriller about a three friends stuck on a ski lift overnight in subzero temps, Senn makes a case for its greatness I wholeheartedly second. I’m also eager to see a few of the failures, like former Bond Roger Moore in the misguided Fire, Ice and Dynamite.

Although he’s far more forgiving on lodge-set sex comedies than I, Ski Films: A Comprehensive Guide is yet another solid, illustrated and well-researched effort by the ever-reliable author — one of cult film’s best critics. He clearly knows his crud. —Rod Lott

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Sopranos castmates Michael Imperioli (Christopher Moltisanti) and Steve Schirripa (Bobby Baccalieri) host the popular podcast Talking Sopranos. The results of their numerous interviews with the HBO show’s cast and crew are collected in Woke Up This Morning: The Definitive Oral History of The Sopranos. It is an informative and revealing look at the creation and production of the innovative and enduring cable TV series.

Many of the revelations are humorous. For example, Lorraine Bracco (psychiatrist Dr. Melfi) tells what the late James Gandolfini (mobster Tony Soprano) would do to distract her during their scenes in the therapy office. Or why Jamie-Lynn Sigler thought she had to sing during her audition for the role of Tony’s daughter, Meadow Soprano.

Others are more somber, such as series creator David Chase describing what it felt like to tell a performer their character was being killed off. Many of those performers also share their reactions when informed their parts were being whacked.

The structure generally follows the six seasons. The authors often alert readers to the cast or crewmember being interviewed, and the subject they discuss. Technical terms are defined for the benefit of the reader. One chapter is devoted entirely to the writers’ room and details how stories and scripts were developed. It ends with Schirripa’s top 10 best Sopranos quotes. A later chapter discusses how pop music was used to enhance episodes. A photo section near the middle features photos on the set or at various production-related events.

Throughout, Imperioli, Schirripa and those interviewed stress how the cable series stretched the boundaries of television. The effort was always to make scenes more cinematic, and the characters more diverse than usual. Readers will discover things they neither knew nor noticed during their initial viewing.

Woke Up This Morning comes highly recommended — and essential reading for all Sopranos fans. You’ll soon find yourself streaming specific episodes to take advantage of the authors’ insights. —Alan Cranis

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Whether you love, hate or tolerate the movies of Charles Band, there’s no denying the man has no shortage of terrific offscreen stories to share. Otherwise, his autobiography, Confessions of a Puppetmaster, would not exist — or at least not be a must-purchase.

Subtitled A Hollywood Memoir of Ghouls, Guts, and Gonzo Filmmaking and written with three-time Emmy nominee Adam Felber, the book opens with a line all but scientifically calculated to hook and retain: “Unaware of just how insane things had gotten outside her door, Barbie took a shower.” Move over, “Call me Ishmael”!

Having played a pioneering part in sell-through VHS, video stores, license-based video games, the special-features market and, the name “Harry Potter” and toilet-based advertising campaigns, Band takes the reader on the near-Gumpian journey that is his life thus far — a merry-go-round of risk that has earned him as many fortunes as he’s lost, not to mention wives. You’ll learn about him being babysat by Marilyn Monroe, his affair with the very married Demi Moore, his battles with Klaus Kinski and Gary Busey, and his recalibration with director David DeCoteau after finding his erotic flicks “too damn gay!” (Hilariously, DeCoteau prefers to call them “tighty whitey frighties.”)

He may be the only person to go on record as having nice things to say about Helen Hunt. Outside of his actors, cameos include Liberace, Michael Jackson, John Carpenter, Barbra Streisand and “ancient Japanese horse piss.”

While not quite up there with the autobios of Roger Corman and William Castle (to name two filmmakers as beholden to ballyhoo), Band’s collected Confessions make for a delightful afternoon. While he and/or Felber show too much distrust of the reader (“We’ll get to that,” “More on that in a moment,” et al.), the book flies at 288 pages. I would welcome triple that, easily. —Rod Lott

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Sean Egan is hardly the first damn, dirty human to chronicle what is arguably sci-fi’s smartest film franchise, but his Planet of the Apes: The Complete History has the benefit of recency other notable overviews have not. Thus, it’s able to cover the celebrated trilogy that followed the fumbled footsteps of Tim Burton’s remake.

Er, sorry: reimagining.

Published by Applause, Egan’s book works well as a crash(-land?) course in All Things Apes. Beginning with Pierre Boulle’s source novel and moving movie to movie from there, he examines each work, smoothly weaving in insight on how societal changes influenced the story.

Don’t dismiss this as stuffy academia; despite overuse of the word “putative,” Egan’s book is the very definition of accessible, not to mention unafraid to wonder how the monkeys took care of, well, business — toilet business, that is. Speaking of crap, in his chapter involving the short-lived Saturday morning cartoon, the author rightly dubs it “anti-animation.” He’s more enthusiastic about the live-action series, which deserved a better shot; Egan shares all the forces working against it.

Elsewhere, readers will find a near-forensic breakdown of the origin of the 1968 film’s classic twist ending. Many have laid claim to birthing that shocker, including Pink Panther shepherd Blake Edwards, briefly attached as director. Egan considers several what-ifs — that is, unmade Apes iterations and sequels, from Edwards’ own take to Boulle’s out-of-touch Planet of the Men submission and ’89 Batman scribe Sam Hamm going full Howard the Duck with a script that sees the simians patronizing the likes of fast-food chain BK — that’s Banana King to you and me. (Groan.)

Even POTA’s various video games, soundtrack albums, comic books, novelizations and tie-in novels (the latter “an exercise in plugging holes”) earn considerable ink. I can’t imagine someone unfamiliar with the storied franchise would want to go in cold, but as a fan, I’m glad Egan has done more than his fair share to keep it alive. —Rod Lott

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