Twilight of the Gods is a funny exploration of classic rock and anyone who grew up listening to the music on the radio, as author Steven Hyden did, will enjoy it--whether or not you actually enjoy the music itself. Now, you might wonder, what exactly IS classic rock? Is it just "music that is played on stations that call themselves 'classic rock'?" Well, yeah, kind of. Hyden attempts to define the oft-nebulous world of this genre in a series of loosely connected essays, drawing heavily on his own personal experiences to create an enlightening and amusing book.
Now, I will admit that for a while Twilight wasn't exactly gripping me the way I hoped, but I believe that is on me, not on Hyden. I was anticipating something a bit more like Chuck Klosterman's work. Hyden doesn't exactly have a lot of the deep (or faux-deep) insights that pop up in Klosterman's work, and for a bit I was a little disappointed that Hyden wasn't really defining classic rock the way I was expecting. However, the more I got into the text, the more I enjoyed it. In the end, I think maybe it's more "just" a collection of interesting chapters about different aspects of classic rock rather than one "grand unified theory." But so what? It's a lot of fun.
Hyden puts all of himself into the book, building it around his own experiences attending shows, interviewing musicians (in addition to hosting the Celebration Rock) podcast, he writes for Uproxx and has been a writer and music critic for outlets like Grantland, The AV Club, and many more), and, yes, listening to the radio! As a devoted radio listener back in the day, including the local station that billed itself as "classic rock," I identify with many of Hyden's experiences. He shows how what we consider classic rock is in large part a function of what a group of programmers decided to play.
Younger music fans might not understand what the big deal is and why we would ponder why REP Speedwagon and Styx are lumped in the same category as Led Zeppelin, but I find the labels and sublabels (corporate rock, anyone?) fascinating. Along the way here, Hyden explores the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, the enduring fervent niche appeal of Phish, and the difference between supergroups and "shrunkgroups" (the latter includes the likes of Axl/DC and the Dead and Company--"aging bands break down and then melt into one another").
Maybe my favorite chapter is So Bad, in which Hyden explains how the "worst" parts of a band's discography actually come all the way around to being good. I think this is the quintessential section in Twilight, with Hyden's creative analysis laying out an entertaining case for appreciating things others label as garbage. He talks about the stages in which this happens--completism; in which he has to seek out everything a band does; grudging appreciation, in which some of the more unconventional aspects of the work become appealing; and what he calls "brainwashing." As he once summarized the notion of a good bad record for The AV Club: "a record that you talk yourself into loving after you've grown tired of all the acknowledged masterpieces and respected second-tier releases in a legendary artist's discography." Hyden's chapter-length elaboration of this is hilarious, drawing on examples from the Rolling Stones, Paul McCartney, and Neil Young among others.
Ultimately, I am not sure that Hyden really determines why rock is on the downslope or whether it will last forever, but he ties it all together at the end by bringing it back to his personal experience and reflections. More importantly, Twilight of the Gods is packed with enough provocative insights and humor to make it a great read for any serious rock music fan.
Showing posts with label Brooks on Books. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Brooks on Books. Show all posts
Monday, November 19, 2018
Monday, September 10, 2018
Brooks on Books: Caddyshack: The Making of a Cinderella Story
One thing that stands out after reading Entertainment Weekly critic Chris Nashawaty's outstanding account of the making of the beloved comedy Caddyshack is the darkness. Oh, sure, we quote lines from the movie, we think of what a lark it must have been to be with all those funny people, we crack up at the sheer unhinged nature of Rodney Dangerfield...BUT...
But the movie was not a success when it premiered.
But not all the performers had a great time. It strikes me that Cindy Morgan, so sly and charismatic as Lacey in the film, had some terrible experiences during shooting, like being bullied by Jon Peters into doing nudity. Straight arrow and early riser Ted Knight resented his castmates' partying and didn't mesh with Dangerfield.
But the movie's co-writer/producer Doug Kenney died in a mysterious fall in Hawaii--way too young and believing his big project was a failure, never knowing the cultural icon it would become.
But rampant drug use throughout production may have seemed harmless at the time but casts a bit of a pall over the story now, especially considering the fate of the heavy abuser Kenney.
But if you sit and watch the movie now with fresh eyes, it's funny and memorable and a great time...but it's not really that great a movie. Even the people most involved in the production, like the late director Harold Ramis, admit it's a mess. The finished product in some ways reflects the inexperience of the filmmakers and the chaos caused by people winging it while fueled by various illicit substances.
Having said all that, I did rewatch it right after reading this book, and I had a good time. It's not a great movie, but it's a great watch, and the Dangerfield scenes are as funny as ever. Bill Murray is funny. Ted Knight is a tremendous slimy heel.
Let's talk about the book itself, though. Nashawaty began his research on Caddyshack when doing an article on the movie, then expanded it into this book. The good thing about the work's origins is that he was able to talk to Ramis before he died way too young. The author hustled and spoke to just about everybody important who was still around--yes, including Bill Murray, and, yes, there is a story behind it--and did a tremendous job shaping a focused, sharp narrative out of such a wild production.
One thing that stands out is that after a prelude, we don't really get into Caddyshack itself for over 100 pages. That's because Nashawaty goes all the way back to the beginning, telling the story of National Lampoon in great and compelling detail, then transitioning to a lively account of the making of National Lampoon's Animal House. 40% of the book is done before Caddyshack begins, but that makes perfect sense because, as Nashawaty shows, the film is a direct result of Kenney, Ramis, and co-writer Chris Miller wanting more control over their work after feeling director John Landis ended up with most of the responsibility (and power) on the smash hit Animal House.
There are many great "characters" in the narrative--Dangerfield, the volatile Chevy Chase (whose feud with Murray actually cooled during the movie), controversial producer Jon Peters...but perhaps the most intriguing is Kenney. The writer is lauded as a comic genius time and again in the text, yet his drug use spirals out of control as the book advances, ending up in death and confusion for friends like Chase, who left him in Hawaii days before his death. The realization that the troubled creative force never realized what an impact the movie had makes a bittersweet conclusion to the book.
Make no mistake, though, you get great stories about drugs, sex, and rock and roll (yes, you get the story of how Kenny Loggins came to write the movie's theme song). You learn about the original direction of the screenplay, with all those caddies whose scenes wound up shredded to ribbons. You read about the massive overlong early cuts and how editing saved the movie (with Peters, of all people, contributing the idea of using the gopher as a narrative throughline to pull things together).
It's a tremendous read, well written and backed by great research and interviews. I think the story of Caddyshack captures the highs (no pun intended) and lows of an era of comedy, and the bittersweet feeling at the end is appropriate. If you do need a solid laugh, though, just put on the movie and head right to the Al Czervik scenes.
But the movie was not a success when it premiered.
But not all the performers had a great time. It strikes me that Cindy Morgan, so sly and charismatic as Lacey in the film, had some terrible experiences during shooting, like being bullied by Jon Peters into doing nudity. Straight arrow and early riser Ted Knight resented his castmates' partying and didn't mesh with Dangerfield.
But the movie's co-writer/producer Doug Kenney died in a mysterious fall in Hawaii--way too young and believing his big project was a failure, never knowing the cultural icon it would become.
But rampant drug use throughout production may have seemed harmless at the time but casts a bit of a pall over the story now, especially considering the fate of the heavy abuser Kenney.
But if you sit and watch the movie now with fresh eyes, it's funny and memorable and a great time...but it's not really that great a movie. Even the people most involved in the production, like the late director Harold Ramis, admit it's a mess. The finished product in some ways reflects the inexperience of the filmmakers and the chaos caused by people winging it while fueled by various illicit substances.
Having said all that, I did rewatch it right after reading this book, and I had a good time. It's not a great movie, but it's a great watch, and the Dangerfield scenes are as funny as ever. Bill Murray is funny. Ted Knight is a tremendous slimy heel.
Let's talk about the book itself, though. Nashawaty began his research on Caddyshack when doing an article on the movie, then expanded it into this book. The good thing about the work's origins is that he was able to talk to Ramis before he died way too young. The author hustled and spoke to just about everybody important who was still around--yes, including Bill Murray, and, yes, there is a story behind it--and did a tremendous job shaping a focused, sharp narrative out of such a wild production.
One thing that stands out is that after a prelude, we don't really get into Caddyshack itself for over 100 pages. That's because Nashawaty goes all the way back to the beginning, telling the story of National Lampoon in great and compelling detail, then transitioning to a lively account of the making of National Lampoon's Animal House. 40% of the book is done before Caddyshack begins, but that makes perfect sense because, as Nashawaty shows, the film is a direct result of Kenney, Ramis, and co-writer Chris Miller wanting more control over their work after feeling director John Landis ended up with most of the responsibility (and power) on the smash hit Animal House.
There are many great "characters" in the narrative--Dangerfield, the volatile Chevy Chase (whose feud with Murray actually cooled during the movie), controversial producer Jon Peters...but perhaps the most intriguing is Kenney. The writer is lauded as a comic genius time and again in the text, yet his drug use spirals out of control as the book advances, ending up in death and confusion for friends like Chase, who left him in Hawaii days before his death. The realization that the troubled creative force never realized what an impact the movie had makes a bittersweet conclusion to the book.
Make no mistake, though, you get great stories about drugs, sex, and rock and roll (yes, you get the story of how Kenny Loggins came to write the movie's theme song). You learn about the original direction of the screenplay, with all those caddies whose scenes wound up shredded to ribbons. You read about the massive overlong early cuts and how editing saved the movie (with Peters, of all people, contributing the idea of using the gopher as a narrative throughline to pull things together).
It's a tremendous read, well written and backed by great research and interviews. I think the story of Caddyshack captures the highs (no pun intended) and lows of an era of comedy, and the bittersweet feeling at the end is appropriate. If you do need a solid laugh, though, just put on the movie and head right to the Al Czervik scenes.
Wednesday, August 29, 2018
Brooks on Books: "Mary and Lou and Rhoda and Ted" by Jennifer Keishin Armstrong
Note: This post appeared originally on battleofthenetworkshows.com, the home of our podcast covering television of the 70s and 80s. Check the site for more posts like this in addition to episodes of the show!
I'll check out just about any book-length treatment of 1970s and 1980s TV, but when this book came out in 2013, some negative reviews (particularly a few on Amazon) scared me away. I revisited this after we covered The Mary Tyler Moore Show earlier this season, though, and I recommend it for any fan of the series. It has its flaws and quirks, but it also has tons of great info and is a fun read.
First, let me mention those quirks: The book starts off reading like an agenda-driven effort to focus on the female writers who worked on the show. Oddly, that emphasis fades once the book gets going, and while Armstrong does keep checking in on some of the women who helped craft the series, it's not like they overshadow co-creators James L. Brooks and Allen Burns. Feminism is absolutely a big part of the series' story and appeal, but it feels like there is an inconsistent approach to it in the book, and MTM is maybe inflated a bit to seem like more of a singular advancement for women that it was.
More importantly, there are some strong factual errors, especially early in the book (a misidentification of Room 222 jarred me), that make you wonder about the rest of it. Some of the choices are a little odd, like the decision to tell so much of the story of a dedicated fan who grew to knew the show's principals but comes off kind of like a stalker.
That said, the book is really easy reading with lots of cool details. We've alluded to some of them here on the site, like the complex relationship between Ted Knight and Ed Asner. The saga of how MTM was cast makes a fascinating story in itself. Gavin MacLeod read for Lou Grant before asking, almost as an afterthought, to read for Murray. Asner himself struggled to get the Lou character down. Producers were skeptical of Cloris Leachman but casting exec Ethel Winant pushed for her.
Armstrong does a great job of chronicling the establishment of the series and how it takes off. Her sections on iconic episodes like the finale and the Chuckles the Clown funeral make me wish she spent more time talking about specific installments. The decision to semi-focus on the lives of some of the key female scribes may mean less time for more of the actual goings-on of the series during its prime years.
Overall, though, the anecdotes and info in here make this a must-read for MTM fans and a recommended one for fans of era TV in general, with the caveat that there are some inaccuracies and misleading bits in the text (see those Amazon reviews for more). I personally think Mary and Lou and Rhoda and Ted improves as it gets going, and I will likely seek out Armstrong's recent book on Seinfeld.
I'll check out just about any book-length treatment of 1970s and 1980s TV, but when this book came out in 2013, some negative reviews (particularly a few on Amazon) scared me away. I revisited this after we covered The Mary Tyler Moore Show earlier this season, though, and I recommend it for any fan of the series. It has its flaws and quirks, but it also has tons of great info and is a fun read.
First, let me mention those quirks: The book starts off reading like an agenda-driven effort to focus on the female writers who worked on the show. Oddly, that emphasis fades once the book gets going, and while Armstrong does keep checking in on some of the women who helped craft the series, it's not like they overshadow co-creators James L. Brooks and Allen Burns. Feminism is absolutely a big part of the series' story and appeal, but it feels like there is an inconsistent approach to it in the book, and MTM is maybe inflated a bit to seem like more of a singular advancement for women that it was.
More importantly, there are some strong factual errors, especially early in the book (a misidentification of Room 222 jarred me), that make you wonder about the rest of it. Some of the choices are a little odd, like the decision to tell so much of the story of a dedicated fan who grew to knew the show's principals but comes off kind of like a stalker.
That said, the book is really easy reading with lots of cool details. We've alluded to some of them here on the site, like the complex relationship between Ted Knight and Ed Asner. The saga of how MTM was cast makes a fascinating story in itself. Gavin MacLeod read for Lou Grant before asking, almost as an afterthought, to read for Murray. Asner himself struggled to get the Lou character down. Producers were skeptical of Cloris Leachman but casting exec Ethel Winant pushed for her.
Armstrong does a great job of chronicling the establishment of the series and how it takes off. Her sections on iconic episodes like the finale and the Chuckles the Clown funeral make me wish she spent more time talking about specific installments. The decision to semi-focus on the lives of some of the key female scribes may mean less time for more of the actual goings-on of the series during its prime years.
Overall, though, the anecdotes and info in here make this a must-read for MTM fans and a recommended one for fans of era TV in general, with the caveat that there are some inaccuracies and misleading bits in the text (see those Amazon reviews for more). I personally think Mary and Lou and Rhoda and Ted improves as it gets going, and I will likely seek out Armstrong's recent book on Seinfeld.
Wednesday, July 4, 2018
Brooks on Books: "Slugfest: Inside the Epic 50-Year Battle Between Marvel and DC" by Reed Tucker
I love this book. It's just the right blend of taking the subject seriously and having fun with it, just the right combination of facts and opinion, just the right amount of reportage and gossip.
As a DC guy for all my comic book life, though--which is close to 100% of my total life--it pains me to read it. Oh, I'm not one of the hyperpartisan fans mentioned in the text who support one of the Big Two comic publishers at the expense of the other. I have always read both, and when I bought comics and stayed "current" in the hobby, I bought both. But my heart has always been with DC, and my favorite characters are the ones controlled by that company.
So it's tough reading so many anecdotes about Marvel surpassing DC in commercial and critical success, Marvel being perceived as the cooler and hipper outfit as DC time and again tries to imitate it and play catch-up. It hurts, I tells ya.
It's a lot of fun, though. Tucker, a former New York Post staffer and freelancer who is not in the industry, offers an evenhanded but lively account of the decades-long rivalry between DC and Marvel. The former company got a 20-plus-year head start, but when Stan Lee and Jack Kirby invigorated the field with Fantastic Four and other creations, the tides turned and the game was on.
At times it does seem like a game, with publishers, editors, and creators taking playful snipes at each other but still socializing and competing in friendly softball games. At other times, it feels more like a cold war, with personal animosity driving business and creative decisions (like DC and its executive Paul Levitz's anger at Marvel executive Joe Quesada's brash, insulting interview blocking efforts for a Batman/Daredevil team-up). Over the years, though, the two companies managed to cooperate on special projects, share talent, and work together on relevant issues. In Tucker's narrative, there is always at least an undercurrent of rivalry, though.
Tucker spoke with many comic book notables and also gathered info from sources like mainstream newspapers and fanzines and comic book magazines. His skillful integration of that research makes for a smooth read. The history of the medium has been told (and told well) before, but Tucker offers a unique slant on the saga. His focus on the relationship between the two largest publishers mean there is a lot here for people who have read other tomes. Sean Howe's excellent Marvel Comics: The Untold Story is similarly compelling and gossip-flavored, but there is a lot new in here even if there is some overlap in the themes.
If Jim Shooter, former Marvel editor-in-chief, was a controversial figure in Howe's book, he may be topped by former Marvel president Bill Jemas in Tucker's. One of my favorite moments, even though I am a DC guy, is when the publishers meet for a Comics Code Authority conference and Jemas makes it a point to bring a bunch of guys he just hired away from DC just to stick it to the other side. DC has two reps there, Archie Comics has one. When DC squawked about the unnecessary entourage, "Jemas contended that the number of people from each company was in direct correlation to sales."
That's a great example of the kind of tidbit you get in Slugfest, but most of the time, the feud is friendlier. Tucker shows how the underlying tensions remain even as the specific dynamics often change. In the 1960s, it's the upstarts at Marvel against the staid, conservative DC. Both companies get new corporate overlords and flirt with financial disaster. DC finds licensing success and movie success with Superman while Marvel tries again and again to get some movies off the ground. Now, of course, Marvel Cinematic Universe releases are massive events while DC struggles to find consistent success despite its favorable results on the small screen.
And of course, the battle wages on in the comics itself despite a landscape that is much different than it was in the 1960s. After years of skirmishes in areas like price increases, page counts, variant covers, etc., the two publishers seem like intellectual property farms in an increasingly narrow market for readership. They are still around, though, and still competing not only against all of the other entertainment options out there, but against each other.
Tucker offers valuable perspective on the epic rivalry while wisely refraining from choosing sides. He references the sniping between fans of DC and Marvel but concentrates on the people actually working for the two companies. Slugfest shows that the giant adversaries have a symbiotic but contentious relationship and that their conflict has been an entertaining driver of change in the medium for years and will continue as such. Anyone who grew up on comics and took a side in the eternal DC or Marvel debate will love this, but so will those who always made room for both. Tucker's book is strong enough to bring everyone together--maybe even Paul Levitz and Joe Quesada.
As a DC guy for all my comic book life, though--which is close to 100% of my total life--it pains me to read it. Oh, I'm not one of the hyperpartisan fans mentioned in the text who support one of the Big Two comic publishers at the expense of the other. I have always read both, and when I bought comics and stayed "current" in the hobby, I bought both. But my heart has always been with DC, and my favorite characters are the ones controlled by that company.
So it's tough reading so many anecdotes about Marvel surpassing DC in commercial and critical success, Marvel being perceived as the cooler and hipper outfit as DC time and again tries to imitate it and play catch-up. It hurts, I tells ya.
It's a lot of fun, though. Tucker, a former New York Post staffer and freelancer who is not in the industry, offers an evenhanded but lively account of the decades-long rivalry between DC and Marvel. The former company got a 20-plus-year head start, but when Stan Lee and Jack Kirby invigorated the field with Fantastic Four and other creations, the tides turned and the game was on.
At times it does seem like a game, with publishers, editors, and creators taking playful snipes at each other but still socializing and competing in friendly softball games. At other times, it feels more like a cold war, with personal animosity driving business and creative decisions (like DC and its executive Paul Levitz's anger at Marvel executive Joe Quesada's brash, insulting interview blocking efforts for a Batman/Daredevil team-up). Over the years, though, the two companies managed to cooperate on special projects, share talent, and work together on relevant issues. In Tucker's narrative, there is always at least an undercurrent of rivalry, though.
Tucker spoke with many comic book notables and also gathered info from sources like mainstream newspapers and fanzines and comic book magazines. His skillful integration of that research makes for a smooth read. The history of the medium has been told (and told well) before, but Tucker offers a unique slant on the saga. His focus on the relationship between the two largest publishers mean there is a lot here for people who have read other tomes. Sean Howe's excellent Marvel Comics: The Untold Story is similarly compelling and gossip-flavored, but there is a lot new in here even if there is some overlap in the themes.
If Jim Shooter, former Marvel editor-in-chief, was a controversial figure in Howe's book, he may be topped by former Marvel president Bill Jemas in Tucker's. One of my favorite moments, even though I am a DC guy, is when the publishers meet for a Comics Code Authority conference and Jemas makes it a point to bring a bunch of guys he just hired away from DC just to stick it to the other side. DC has two reps there, Archie Comics has one. When DC squawked about the unnecessary entourage, "Jemas contended that the number of people from each company was in direct correlation to sales."
That's a great example of the kind of tidbit you get in Slugfest, but most of the time, the feud is friendlier. Tucker shows how the underlying tensions remain even as the specific dynamics often change. In the 1960s, it's the upstarts at Marvel against the staid, conservative DC. Both companies get new corporate overlords and flirt with financial disaster. DC finds licensing success and movie success with Superman while Marvel tries again and again to get some movies off the ground. Now, of course, Marvel Cinematic Universe releases are massive events while DC struggles to find consistent success despite its favorable results on the small screen.
And of course, the battle wages on in the comics itself despite a landscape that is much different than it was in the 1960s. After years of skirmishes in areas like price increases, page counts, variant covers, etc., the two publishers seem like intellectual property farms in an increasingly narrow market for readership. They are still around, though, and still competing not only against all of the other entertainment options out there, but against each other.
Tucker offers valuable perspective on the epic rivalry while wisely refraining from choosing sides. He references the sniping between fans of DC and Marvel but concentrates on the people actually working for the two companies. Slugfest shows that the giant adversaries have a symbiotic but contentious relationship and that their conflict has been an entertaining driver of change in the medium for years and will continue as such. Anyone who grew up on comics and took a side in the eternal DC or Marvel debate will love this, but so will those who always made room for both. Tucker's book is strong enough to bring everyone together--maybe even Paul Levitz and Joe Quesada.
Friday, June 22, 2018
Brooks on Books: Based on a True Story--A Memoir by Norm Macdonald
Norm Macdonald, standup, host of "Weekend Update" on SNL, and all-around wise-ass, is a funny dude, and it's no surprise that he has written a funny book. The nature of it is a real surprise, though. I guess I should have been tipped off by--oh, the title, for example, and maybe by the fact it was in the non-fiction section at the library instead of in the biography section. Yet I was taken aback that it wasn't actually a memoir.
If you are smarter than me and can pick up on such subtle clues earlier, this is a great read if you understand what he's doing. There are some stories from Macdonald's early life (not a lot) and from his showbiz career, and some of them may even be true, but mostly it's a narrative of a wild, drug-fueled adventure he and sidekick Adam Eget (always referred to by first and last names like that) undergo in an attempt to gamble into enough money to open a ranch. Along the way, Norm tells stories of his life to Adam Eget. Even weirder, there is a ghostwriter character who appears and sometimes writes short chapters as himself. I really don't want to give away more except to say that there is indeed a narrative here, and Macdonald ties all of it together.
The writing is much like you would expect a Macdonald book to be--extremely dry with all kinds of off-kilter jokes. Much of the humor comes from Macdonald staying in character and treating fictional stories like his attempt to court Sarah Silverman as if they were not only true stories, but also as if his own view on them was sincere. For example, he mentions a restraining order she filed and says he couldn't understand it because he was in her bushes and following her every day but never saw a stalker.
Speaking of tying it all together, one of the brilliant aspects of the text is how it rewards you. There are setups that pay off sentences, pages, even chapters later. I also think the book gets better as it goes along. He dispatches his childhood quickly, and things pick up once he starts to explain his career in show business.
There are tidbits about Saturday Night Live, but only casual references to The Norm Show and nothing about hilarious appearances on Late Night with Conan O'Brien. You will be disappointed if you want to hear "the real story" of his dismissal from Weekend Update for making too many O.J. Simpson jokes, but his version in this book is so hilarious, I say, who needs the truth? Some of what he says about the making of cult movie Dirty Work may be true, but a lot of it is "just" funny stories.
I would almost be stunned if Norm took himself seriously, but I didn't expect him to treat his whole life as such a farce. I hope the morphine habit isn't as true as the gambling, at least, but who knows? I don't think I want or need to know. Based on a True Story is a unique and addictive (not as much as morphine and gambling) "memoir" that will please anyone who enjoys Macdonald's type of comedy. What is that type? Ah, don't ask me. Let's just go with "funny" and say that you know what I mean if you like him.
If you are smarter than me and can pick up on such subtle clues earlier, this is a great read if you understand what he's doing. There are some stories from Macdonald's early life (not a lot) and from his showbiz career, and some of them may even be true, but mostly it's a narrative of a wild, drug-fueled adventure he and sidekick Adam Eget (always referred to by first and last names like that) undergo in an attempt to gamble into enough money to open a ranch. Along the way, Norm tells stories of his life to Adam Eget. Even weirder, there is a ghostwriter character who appears and sometimes writes short chapters as himself. I really don't want to give away more except to say that there is indeed a narrative here, and Macdonald ties all of it together.
The writing is much like you would expect a Macdonald book to be--extremely dry with all kinds of off-kilter jokes. Much of the humor comes from Macdonald staying in character and treating fictional stories like his attempt to court Sarah Silverman as if they were not only true stories, but also as if his own view on them was sincere. For example, he mentions a restraining order she filed and says he couldn't understand it because he was in her bushes and following her every day but never saw a stalker.
Speaking of tying it all together, one of the brilliant aspects of the text is how it rewards you. There are setups that pay off sentences, pages, even chapters later. I also think the book gets better as it goes along. He dispatches his childhood quickly, and things pick up once he starts to explain his career in show business.
There are tidbits about Saturday Night Live, but only casual references to The Norm Show and nothing about hilarious appearances on Late Night with Conan O'Brien. You will be disappointed if you want to hear "the real story" of his dismissal from Weekend Update for making too many O.J. Simpson jokes, but his version in this book is so hilarious, I say, who needs the truth? Some of what he says about the making of cult movie Dirty Work may be true, but a lot of it is "just" funny stories.
I would almost be stunned if Norm took himself seriously, but I didn't expect him to treat his whole life as such a farce. I hope the morphine habit isn't as true as the gambling, at least, but who knows? I don't think I want or need to know. Based on a True Story is a unique and addictive (not as much as morphine and gambling) "memoir" that will please anyone who enjoys Macdonald's type of comedy. What is that type? Ah, don't ask me. Let's just go with "funny" and say that you know what I mean if you like him.
Wednesday, February 21, 2018
Brooks on Books: Boys' Toys by Jed Novick
I found this compact 128-page 2005 hardcover at the liberry and couldn't resist exploring the world of classic "boys' toys" like G.I. Joe, Lionel Trains, and even less stereotypically gender-specific items like Viewmaster. Jed Novick's text is sharp, and the design is outstanding. I just wish the book were bigger.
128 pages, including an index, intro, and table of contents, doesn't leave a lot of room. Novick includes a lot of mostly Baby Boomer-era toys, but he lacks the space to really get into them. So each section has a brief origin of the toy and maybe a fun fact or two, plus a picture, but, man, it really leaves you wanting more.
Novick's a clever writer who could do a lot more, and he tries to make the most of the limitations. It's amazing that the book reads as a tribute to All-American childhoods when he himself is English and the book was developed in the U.K. Many toys don't even get a full page, though, and few get more than one. We're not talking about one specific thing, either--I mean, like, Matchbox cars get a two-page spread. It's frustrating to see a reference to a rare variant or a famous action figure in a line and not see a pic.
Let's focus on the positive, though: Boys' Toys shows affection for its subject but is not too reverent. Novick keeps things light and includes some funny comments but strikes the right tone and doesn't sacrifice information. As I said, the design is eye-catching, loaded with color and vivid photographs.
Subtitled "An Illustrated History of Little Things That Pleased Big Minds," Boys' Toys succeeds in providing an attractive survey of famous playthings like Mego figures, board games, and erector sets It doesn't aim to be encyclopedic, and it serves as a great gift item or appetizer for people wanting a warm blast of nostalgia. It sure would be great to see Novick get a chance to do something a little more detailed, though!
128 pages, including an index, intro, and table of contents, doesn't leave a lot of room. Novick includes a lot of mostly Baby Boomer-era toys, but he lacks the space to really get into them. So each section has a brief origin of the toy and maybe a fun fact or two, plus a picture, but, man, it really leaves you wanting more.
Novick's a clever writer who could do a lot more, and he tries to make the most of the limitations. It's amazing that the book reads as a tribute to All-American childhoods when he himself is English and the book was developed in the U.K. Many toys don't even get a full page, though, and few get more than one. We're not talking about one specific thing, either--I mean, like, Matchbox cars get a two-page spread. It's frustrating to see a reference to a rare variant or a famous action figure in a line and not see a pic.
Let's focus on the positive, though: Boys' Toys shows affection for its subject but is not too reverent. Novick keeps things light and includes some funny comments but strikes the right tone and doesn't sacrifice information. As I said, the design is eye-catching, loaded with color and vivid photographs.
Subtitled "An Illustrated History of Little Things That Pleased Big Minds," Boys' Toys succeeds in providing an attractive survey of famous playthings like Mego figures, board games, and erector sets It doesn't aim to be encyclopedic, and it serves as a great gift item or appetizer for people wanting a warm blast of nostalgia. It sure would be great to see Novick get a chance to do something a little more detailed, though!
Friday, January 5, 2018
Brooks on Books: Of All the Gin Joints: Stumbling Through Hollwood History by Mark Bailey and Edward Hemingway
This is a delightful and unique blend of vintage Hollywood history, gossip, and, yes, booze. I'm no expert on alcoholic beverages, and I thought the drinking content might dominate the text. However, much to my surprise, there is every bit as much pure movie gossip, including some outrageous stories. It's one of the most entertaining showbiz books I read in recent years.
You lushes know who you are, but I am not judging. I think I AM gonna judge old Hollywood, though, which consists of nothing but depraved drunkards. OK, I exaggerate a bit. And the tone of the book is decidedly on the lighter side of binge imbibing and chronic alcoholism. Still...sheesh!
The book divides Hollywood into 4 distinct eras, ending in 1979. Each mini-sized chapter begins with a profile of an individual--actor, screenwriter, director, etc.--and is "chased" with a look at a bar/lounge/some other place where drinks were imbibed. Often a cocktail recipe closes out the section. Hemingway provides brilliant illustrations while Bailey writes the witty and savvy text. Behind-the-scenes accounts of specific productions like Beat the Devil, loaded with anecdotes, make for amusing sidebars.
Yes, everything revolves around alcohol, but, wow, when we talk about movies and booze, we are covering a lot of ground. One way or another, most of the big names and faces in the history of the medium find their way into their book, whether they were alcoholics or not (and many were). You get all kinds of debauchery and bad behavior; a lot of it is hilarious, but some of it is quite sad, even tragic.
A lot of this is familiar to enthusiasts--stories include the trial of Fatty Arbuckle, the near-fatal car crash that forever altered Montgomery Clift's appearance, and Frank Sinatra and Joe DiMaggio's ill-fated attempt to bust into a reputed dalliance of Marilyn Monroe's. Yet the telling of it all is concise and enlightening, and besides, there is a lot on here that is less familiar, at least to me.
There's Steve McQueen taking LSD with Mamie Van Doren, William Holden dangling from a 14th-floor windowsill, Charles Butterworth dressing in drag to enter the Garden of Allah, and Talullah Bankead wooing Johnny Weismuller. There are great mini-histories of long-vanished hotspots like Romanoff's and places that are still around in some form, like the Polo Lounge.
My guess is that the connossieurs out there won't need the recipes for the drinks (many of which were invented by figures in the book), but they will be amused by their origins and the details. The rest of us can sit back and enjoy this tour through the wetter side of filmdom, and if we are inspired to pick up an adult beverage, what's the harm? Apart from some of the terrible things that happen to people who drink too much in the anecdotes in the book?
You lushes know who you are, but I am not judging. I think I AM gonna judge old Hollywood, though, which consists of nothing but depraved drunkards. OK, I exaggerate a bit. And the tone of the book is decidedly on the lighter side of binge imbibing and chronic alcoholism. Still...sheesh!
The book divides Hollywood into 4 distinct eras, ending in 1979. Each mini-sized chapter begins with a profile of an individual--actor, screenwriter, director, etc.--and is "chased" with a look at a bar/lounge/some other place where drinks were imbibed. Often a cocktail recipe closes out the section. Hemingway provides brilliant illustrations while Bailey writes the witty and savvy text. Behind-the-scenes accounts of specific productions like Beat the Devil, loaded with anecdotes, make for amusing sidebars.
Yes, everything revolves around alcohol, but, wow, when we talk about movies and booze, we are covering a lot of ground. One way or another, most of the big names and faces in the history of the medium find their way into their book, whether they were alcoholics or not (and many were). You get all kinds of debauchery and bad behavior; a lot of it is hilarious, but some of it is quite sad, even tragic.
A lot of this is familiar to enthusiasts--stories include the trial of Fatty Arbuckle, the near-fatal car crash that forever altered Montgomery Clift's appearance, and Frank Sinatra and Joe DiMaggio's ill-fated attempt to bust into a reputed dalliance of Marilyn Monroe's. Yet the telling of it all is concise and enlightening, and besides, there is a lot on here that is less familiar, at least to me.
There's Steve McQueen taking LSD with Mamie Van Doren, William Holden dangling from a 14th-floor windowsill, Charles Butterworth dressing in drag to enter the Garden of Allah, and Talullah Bankead wooing Johnny Weismuller. There are great mini-histories of long-vanished hotspots like Romanoff's and places that are still around in some form, like the Polo Lounge.
My guess is that the connossieurs out there won't need the recipes for the drinks (many of which were invented by figures in the book), but they will be amused by their origins and the details. The rest of us can sit back and enjoy this tour through the wetter side of filmdom, and if we are inspired to pick up an adult beverage, what's the harm? Apart from some of the terrible things that happen to people who drink too much in the anecdotes in the book?
Thursday, December 7, 2017
Brooks on Books: The Platinum Age of Television by David Bianculli
Longtime TV critic (NPR's Fresh Air, TVWorthWatching.com, previously newspapers like the Philadelphia Inquirer and New York Daily News) David Bianculli aims to tell the story of, as his subtitle puts it, "TV became terrific." His approach is to focus on the "evolution" of quality television, choosing 5 or 6 examples that represent a given genre and attempting to connect them to show how they helped advance the medium. Some connections are looser than others, but he weaves in frequent references to other programs and comments from TV talent (especially producers) to support his focus on evolutionary progress.
For example, a chapter on medical shows moves from Dr, Kildare to St. Elsewhere to ER to House to Grey's Anatomy. It also mentions Medical Center, Medic, and Scrubs, among others. One of the interesting categories is "Splitcoms," used to describe comedies that split time between the workplace and domestic life (He includes shows like The Andy Griffith Show and Seinfeld here).
I would suggest that you don't get too hung up on the gimmick, though it works pretty well and offers an interesting framework for the book. The enjoyment here is just reading about so many great TV shows. There is a lot of history, though due to the broadness of the content covered, it's hard to get too much in depth on any particular program. You get some great details about the origins of the best shows on TV, and there are also short chapters profiling notable creators like David Simon, Matt Groening, Vince Gilligan, and many others. Hardcore TV fans and historians may find a lot of the information familiar, but Bianculli is such a skilled writer that it's a pleasure to read the way he arranges all of it.
He adds a personal touch to many of the chapters. For example, he builds his interview with Louis C.K. around the revelation that the comedian's reaction to the critic's harsh assessment of HBO's Lucky Louie was an essential ingredient to the creation of FX's Louie. Well, that's what Louis himself says, anyway. Bianculli relates other anecdotes, both from his personal life of watching television and his professional life of covering it.
He keeps most of the focus on the work itself, though, and it's hard to argue with his choices. He doesn't give every great show its own little section, but he makes so many references to so many different programs that it's hard to think of too much that is left out. I personally would give more credit to Get a Life than just a casual mention in the Judd Apatow profile, but it WAS a low-rated sitcom. Bianculli concedes that some readers will wish there were evolutionary chapters devoted to game shows, anthologies, and TV movies, among others, but says TV is just too broad to cover everything, and I don't fault him for not attempting to include everything.
Some of the chapter organization seems a bit odd at first--for example, the author combines fantasy/sci-fi/horror in one broad section--but he does a good job explaining all of his decisions, though it does seem like the chapters get shorter as the book progresses, almost as if it were running a bit low on steam.
Game of Thrones gets what feels like a cursory mention despite the acknowledgement of its popularity and growing influence. I also question the amount of ink devoted to Larry Wilmore, who is talented but not yet as influential as many of the others profiled in their own chapters.
Overall, though, Platinum Age is a great read that delivers well over 500 pages of intelligent but not academic writing about quality television. It's a delight to see the emphasis on older shows, too, and not just modern work like Mad Men. Bianculli identifies The Sopranos as the true launching point of the modern "platinum age" of excellence, but he gives equal time to the likes of Hill Street Blues, The Dick Van Dyke Show, and Your Show of Shows.
This book will spark interest in digging up all kinds of new-to-the-reader programs or maybe just rewatching familiar ones. Bianculli does a fine job of telling the history of television--specifically, quality television--through the evolution of its programming. It's a fresh approach that pays off in this compelling and entertaining read.
For example, a chapter on medical shows moves from Dr, Kildare to St. Elsewhere to ER to House to Grey's Anatomy. It also mentions Medical Center, Medic, and Scrubs, among others. One of the interesting categories is "Splitcoms," used to describe comedies that split time between the workplace and domestic life (He includes shows like The Andy Griffith Show and Seinfeld here).
I would suggest that you don't get too hung up on the gimmick, though it works pretty well and offers an interesting framework for the book. The enjoyment here is just reading about so many great TV shows. There is a lot of history, though due to the broadness of the content covered, it's hard to get too much in depth on any particular program. You get some great details about the origins of the best shows on TV, and there are also short chapters profiling notable creators like David Simon, Matt Groening, Vince Gilligan, and many others. Hardcore TV fans and historians may find a lot of the information familiar, but Bianculli is such a skilled writer that it's a pleasure to read the way he arranges all of it.
He adds a personal touch to many of the chapters. For example, he builds his interview with Louis C.K. around the revelation that the comedian's reaction to the critic's harsh assessment of HBO's Lucky Louie was an essential ingredient to the creation of FX's Louie. Well, that's what Louis himself says, anyway. Bianculli relates other anecdotes, both from his personal life of watching television and his professional life of covering it.
He keeps most of the focus on the work itself, though, and it's hard to argue with his choices. He doesn't give every great show its own little section, but he makes so many references to so many different programs that it's hard to think of too much that is left out. I personally would give more credit to Get a Life than just a casual mention in the Judd Apatow profile, but it WAS a low-rated sitcom. Bianculli concedes that some readers will wish there were evolutionary chapters devoted to game shows, anthologies, and TV movies, among others, but says TV is just too broad to cover everything, and I don't fault him for not attempting to include everything.
Some of the chapter organization seems a bit odd at first--for example, the author combines fantasy/sci-fi/horror in one broad section--but he does a good job explaining all of his decisions, though it does seem like the chapters get shorter as the book progresses, almost as if it were running a bit low on steam.
Game of Thrones gets what feels like a cursory mention despite the acknowledgement of its popularity and growing influence. I also question the amount of ink devoted to Larry Wilmore, who is talented but not yet as influential as many of the others profiled in their own chapters.
Overall, though, Platinum Age is a great read that delivers well over 500 pages of intelligent but not academic writing about quality television. It's a delight to see the emphasis on older shows, too, and not just modern work like Mad Men. Bianculli identifies The Sopranos as the true launching point of the modern "platinum age" of excellence, but he gives equal time to the likes of Hill Street Blues, The Dick Van Dyke Show, and Your Show of Shows.
This book will spark interest in digging up all kinds of new-to-the-reader programs or maybe just rewatching familiar ones. Bianculli does a fine job of telling the history of television--specifically, quality television--through the evolution of its programming. It's a fresh approach that pays off in this compelling and entertaining read.
Thursday, November 30, 2017
Brooks on Books: "Mr. Novak: An Acclaimed Television Series" by Chuck Harter
These days, I am thankful for any appreciation of the history of classic television, let alone a book-length analysis of an unheralded gem. So while I was provided a review copy of Mr. Novak: An Acclaimed Series, any predisposition I have to view it favorably is due to...well, just due to its existence. Fortunately, author Chuck Harter excels at telling the story of one of TV's forgotten classics, supplementing a thorough and engaging history of its production with an episode guide and a host of appendices. The result is a must-read for those with fond memories of Mr. Novak and an irresistible package even for television fans who have never seen the series.
I suspect there are many in that category. Mr. Novak ran from 1963 to 1965 on NBC Sunday nights at 7:30. As the titular rookie high school English teacher, James Franciscus won over many younger viewers l with his charm and good looks, but the show was far more ambitious than just a vehicle for creating a teen idol. Principal Albert Vane (Dean Jagger) was an integral part of the premise, with his wise authority figure offering a distinct counterpart to the fresh-faced newbie.
Creator E. Jack Neuman was determined to create a realistic and relevant drama about the world of secondary education. As Harter relates, a host of awards and acclaim from scholastic organizations indicate he succeeded. Similarly, the show drew kudos from most critics. Ultimately, a variety of factors--creative and cast changes, timeslot competition, and others--held Novak to only two seasons, which is a shame.
The series has had a limited afterlife, with its highest-profile run a stint as late-night/early-morning programming and filler in the early days of TNT. Scuttlebutt has it that Warner Archive will finally release Novak in 2018; I'd love to see it on Warner Instant before then, but if not, I'll be tempted to pre-order as soon as it's announced. The handful of episodes I've seen back up Harter's assertion of the series' quality. As a big fan of Dr. Kildare, many episodes of which were written by Neuman and which features a similar mentor/pupil dynamic between Raymond Massey and Richard Chamberlain (to whom the media often compared Franciscus), my wheelhouse has plenty of room for a thoughtful "social issues" drama like this one, and I can't wait for more.
Harter begins the text by talking about just how he got hooked on the series and why he went to Bear Manor with this project. Then he gets right into the history of the show itself, explaining Neuman's ambitions and how he put the project together. Most every major detail of Novak's creation is recounted in detail, and Harter's impressive research is evident.
Though most of the show's principals had passed away years earlier, Harter spoke with many key figures, such as Franciscus' widow, production personnel like director Richard Donner (who contributes an introduction) and guest stars like Martin Landau and Walter Koenig (who write the foreword and afterword, respectively--Landau died not long after his contribution). He makes excellent use of earlier interviews publications such as The TV Collector conducted with the likes of Franciscus and Neuman.
In addition to those valuable first-person accounts, Mr. Novak: An Acclaimed Television Series benefits from the vast array of contemporary articles and reviews Harter has gathered. Newspapers, teen magazines, and other sources give valuable context and a sense of time and place for a series that aired over 50 years ago.
However, the book isn't just a triumph of research; Harter's writing is crisp and effective, and he makes the saga of the short-lived series a compelling one. There is an air of regret throughout the book, though, as many of Novak's staff, fans, and the author himself lament what feels like a missed opportunity. The show "should have" lasted longer. Neuman turned his attention away to other projects in season two, and more of a "suit" type came in to oversee production. Leonard Freeman was more concerned with budget issues and other matters compared to the intense attention to verisimilitude preached by Neuman. Jagger, suffering from health issues, left the series, and replacement Burgess Meredith didn't get enough time to fully click.
Harter traces all these developments and interjects some opinions where appropriate, and he offers letter grades and capsule reviews for each installment in the episode guide after the main text. Yet he keeps the focus on the series itself along with its principles, offering insight in a balanced manner.
Novak won a Peabody award and was critically respected, but it was also beloved by its loyal audience, and I think it's important to note that it is a fun show to watch. It has a sense of humor even as it discusses serious topics like alcoholism, the death of a teacher on school grounds, and even less melodramatic issues like the difficulty students can have in choosing a vocation. Similarly, Harter gives you all the facts and then some, but his chronological telling of the series' tale is easy to follow and a pleasurable read.
The book is loaded with vintage photographs, advertisements, and production ephemera. An essay from Neuman to potential writers, something like what would be called a "series bible" today, is fascinating. My favorite of the extra material is the rules and description of the 1963 Mr. Novak board game!
Mr. Novak: An Acclaimed Television Series is a triumph that does justice to its excellent subject. I think the only negative I can give is that I am now frustrated I am unable to see all of Mr. Novak. Here's hoping Warner Archive does indeed release the show soon. In the meantime, classic TV lovers can tide themselves over with Chuck Harter's excellent comprehensive guide to the show.
(Come back tomorrow for an email interview I conducted with the author, who was kind enough to answer some of my questions on his passion for the series, why it only lasted two seasons, the fake "feud" between the two stars, and more!)
 |
Creator E. Jack Neuman was determined to create a realistic and relevant drama about the world of secondary education. As Harter relates, a host of awards and acclaim from scholastic organizations indicate he succeeded. Similarly, the show drew kudos from most critics. Ultimately, a variety of factors--creative and cast changes, timeslot competition, and others--held Novak to only two seasons, which is a shame.
 |
The series has had a limited afterlife, with its highest-profile run a stint as late-night/early-morning programming and filler in the early days of TNT. Scuttlebutt has it that Warner Archive will finally release Novak in 2018; I'd love to see it on Warner Instant before then, but if not, I'll be tempted to pre-order as soon as it's announced. The handful of episodes I've seen back up Harter's assertion of the series' quality. As a big fan of Dr. Kildare, many episodes of which were written by Neuman and which features a similar mentor/pupil dynamic between Raymond Massey and Richard Chamberlain (to whom the media often compared Franciscus), my wheelhouse has plenty of room for a thoughtful "social issues" drama like this one, and I can't wait for more.
Harter begins the text by talking about just how he got hooked on the series and why he went to Bear Manor with this project. Then he gets right into the history of the show itself, explaining Neuman's ambitions and how he put the project together. Most every major detail of Novak's creation is recounted in detail, and Harter's impressive research is evident.
Though most of the show's principals had passed away years earlier, Harter spoke with many key figures, such as Franciscus' widow, production personnel like director Richard Donner (who contributes an introduction) and guest stars like Martin Landau and Walter Koenig (who write the foreword and afterword, respectively--Landau died not long after his contribution). He makes excellent use of earlier interviews publications such as The TV Collector conducted with the likes of Franciscus and Neuman.
 |
| Alexander Scourby and Sherry Jackson in one standout episode |
In addition to those valuable first-person accounts, Mr. Novak: An Acclaimed Television Series benefits from the vast array of contemporary articles and reviews Harter has gathered. Newspapers, teen magazines, and other sources give valuable context and a sense of time and place for a series that aired over 50 years ago.
However, the book isn't just a triumph of research; Harter's writing is crisp and effective, and he makes the saga of the short-lived series a compelling one. There is an air of regret throughout the book, though, as many of Novak's staff, fans, and the author himself lament what feels like a missed opportunity. The show "should have" lasted longer. Neuman turned his attention away to other projects in season two, and more of a "suit" type came in to oversee production. Leonard Freeman was more concerned with budget issues and other matters compared to the intense attention to verisimilitude preached by Neuman. Jagger, suffering from health issues, left the series, and replacement Burgess Meredith didn't get enough time to fully click.
Harter traces all these developments and interjects some opinions where appropriate, and he offers letter grades and capsule reviews for each installment in the episode guide after the main text. Yet he keeps the focus on the series itself along with its principles, offering insight in a balanced manner.
Novak won a Peabody award and was critically respected, but it was also beloved by its loyal audience, and I think it's important to note that it is a fun show to watch. It has a sense of humor even as it discusses serious topics like alcoholism, the death of a teacher on school grounds, and even less melodramatic issues like the difficulty students can have in choosing a vocation. Similarly, Harter gives you all the facts and then some, but his chronological telling of the series' tale is easy to follow and a pleasurable read.
 |
| Robert Culp is excellent in an episode that also features Harry Townes, Tony Dow, and Johnny Crawford |
The book is loaded with vintage photographs, advertisements, and production ephemera. An essay from Neuman to potential writers, something like what would be called a "series bible" today, is fascinating. My favorite of the extra material is the rules and description of the 1963 Mr. Novak board game!
Mr. Novak: An Acclaimed Television Series is a triumph that does justice to its excellent subject. I think the only negative I can give is that I am now frustrated I am unable to see all of Mr. Novak. Here's hoping Warner Archive does indeed release the show soon. In the meantime, classic TV lovers can tide themselves over with Chuck Harter's excellent comprehensive guide to the show.
(Come back tomorrow for an email interview I conducted with the author, who was kind enough to answer some of my questions on his passion for the series, why it only lasted two seasons, the fake "feud" between the two stars, and more!)
Wednesday, November 15, 2017
Brooks on Books: Film and TV Locations: A Spotter's Guide by Lonely Planet
This is a slim little softcover of a book, but the photography is beautiful, and I think it makes a nice gift or read for movie lovers who dream of visiting some of the famous locales they have seen all screen. I'm not sure how useful it is, or if these Lonely Planet "Spotter's Guides" are even supposed to be more than just pretty to look at and enjoy, but, yeah, this is pretty much just pretty to look at and enjoy.
The 128-page volume contains shots of real-life settings of notable films (some TV series, but the vast majority are from the cinema). Each one is accompanied by the longitude and latitude, which I guess gives a veneer of something or other, and also some often-irreverent brief text descriptions by Laurence Phelan. Each entry also has a little illustration placing the locale on a portion of a global map.
Even if you linger on the photos, it won't take much more than a half-hour to go through the book, but it does look nice. There is a good variety of places, too--both in terms of diverse geography and in terms of the types of movies selected. The guide takes you from The Man with the Golden Gun (Thailand) to Moonrise Kingdom (Rhode Island) to When Harry Met Sally (Katz's deli in NYC). TV shows like Seinfeld, Game of Thrones, and even long-running Australian soap Neighbours (the company still has a big office there, after all) have entries.
There are mostly picturesque scenes here, but the occasional urban landscape adds some variety to the gorgeous array of lighthouses, beaches, and mountains. It's not a weighty book, but it sure is purdy.
The 128-page volume contains shots of real-life settings of notable films (some TV series, but the vast majority are from the cinema). Each one is accompanied by the longitude and latitude, which I guess gives a veneer of something or other, and also some often-irreverent brief text descriptions by Laurence Phelan. Each entry also has a little illustration placing the locale on a portion of a global map.
Even if you linger on the photos, it won't take much more than a half-hour to go through the book, but it does look nice. There is a good variety of places, too--both in terms of diverse geography and in terms of the types of movies selected. The guide takes you from The Man with the Golden Gun (Thailand) to Moonrise Kingdom (Rhode Island) to When Harry Met Sally (Katz's deli in NYC). TV shows like Seinfeld, Game of Thrones, and even long-running Australian soap Neighbours (the company still has a big office there, after all) have entries.
There are mostly picturesque scenes here, but the occasional urban landscape adds some variety to the gorgeous array of lighthouses, beaches, and mountains. It's not a weighty book, but it sure is purdy.
Wednesday, November 1, 2017
Brooks on Books: In Such Good Company by Carol Burnett
I remember The Carol Burnett Show as a fixture in syndication...for a few years. Then, when I got older, the show disappeared from my area. I was never a big fan, and I think my dislike of the Mama character and the subsequent Mama's Family spinoff soured me on the whole program.
It's still difficult to see the program in its original form; the syndication package trimmed the hourlong program to a half-hour, deleting most of the musical segments and focusing on the sketches. Time Life helped initiate a mini-revival of the series in recent years by issuing some DVD releases. Unfortunately, it created dozens of different packages, making collecting the show on disc a confusing task and maybe making a lot of people just throw their hands up and forget about it. You can still see the show on Me-TV, though, and many, many sketches are available online. Maybe that's the best way to enjoy it, cherry-picking individual segments, but it's a shame the original version is mostly gone.
In Such Good Company: Eleven Years of Laughter, Fun, and Mayhem in the Sandbox, a warm and enjoyable account of the show's production, rekindled my interest in the long-running classic and inspired me to seek out some of its memorable moments. The book is a must for folks who do love and remember the show. You may know a lot of the stories behind its creation, but Burnett adds a lot of details, and her love of the experience and affection for her coworkers--not just the cast, but everyone involved--is palpable. It began almost as an afterthought as her contract required CBS to give her a series if she requested it, but it lasted 11 seasons and is the obvious centerpiece of the legendary comedienne's legacy.
After a brief look at her early days in showbiz, Burnett takes us through the origins of her show and then discusses individual co-stars, guests, and specific segments. We get a strong sense of what it was actually like to put the variety show together, with rundowns of the rehearsal and shooting schedule and glimpses into facets such as costuming (Bob Mackie plays a big role in the book, just as he did in creating famous outfits like the curtain rod ensemble in "Went with the Wind"). Burnett takes us inside her head as she and her team developed segments like the audience Q&As. Along the way, there are many humorous anecdotes and quality insights about the routine of working in television.
A nice touch is the appendix listing show and guest details. In fact, I am impressed by the work Burnett put into this. She went back and watched the episodes, which means she provides many details (maybe too many for some) in recounting some of the sketches. The entire book sounds like her. It's very conversational and anecdotal, but it feels genuine. If Carol Burnett didn't actually do the writing, someone did a heck of a job talking with her and shaping this book.
In Such Good Company is a fun read and very, very positive. Don't expect dirt, as Burnett takes the high road, and besides, she doesn't seem to have too many negative memories, anyway. It's disappointing but understandable that she relates one involving a guest as a "blind item." She talks about an issue with Harvey Korman, but the way she sets it up and explains it makes clear she is taking pains not to denigrate him in any way. In short, the book may leave hardcore fans hoping for a third-party effort with a more critical view, but what Burnett herself has written is as classy as we presume she is.
It's still difficult to see the program in its original form; the syndication package trimmed the hourlong program to a half-hour, deleting most of the musical segments and focusing on the sketches. Time Life helped initiate a mini-revival of the series in recent years by issuing some DVD releases. Unfortunately, it created dozens of different packages, making collecting the show on disc a confusing task and maybe making a lot of people just throw their hands up and forget about it. You can still see the show on Me-TV, though, and many, many sketches are available online. Maybe that's the best way to enjoy it, cherry-picking individual segments, but it's a shame the original version is mostly gone.
In Such Good Company: Eleven Years of Laughter, Fun, and Mayhem in the Sandbox, a warm and enjoyable account of the show's production, rekindled my interest in the long-running classic and inspired me to seek out some of its memorable moments. The book is a must for folks who do love and remember the show. You may know a lot of the stories behind its creation, but Burnett adds a lot of details, and her love of the experience and affection for her coworkers--not just the cast, but everyone involved--is palpable. It began almost as an afterthought as her contract required CBS to give her a series if she requested it, but it lasted 11 seasons and is the obvious centerpiece of the legendary comedienne's legacy.
After a brief look at her early days in showbiz, Burnett takes us through the origins of her show and then discusses individual co-stars, guests, and specific segments. We get a strong sense of what it was actually like to put the variety show together, with rundowns of the rehearsal and shooting schedule and glimpses into facets such as costuming (Bob Mackie plays a big role in the book, just as he did in creating famous outfits like the curtain rod ensemble in "Went with the Wind"). Burnett takes us inside her head as she and her team developed segments like the audience Q&As. Along the way, there are many humorous anecdotes and quality insights about the routine of working in television.
A nice touch is the appendix listing show and guest details. In fact, I am impressed by the work Burnett put into this. She went back and watched the episodes, which means she provides many details (maybe too many for some) in recounting some of the sketches. The entire book sounds like her. It's very conversational and anecdotal, but it feels genuine. If Carol Burnett didn't actually do the writing, someone did a heck of a job talking with her and shaping this book.
In Such Good Company is a fun read and very, very positive. Don't expect dirt, as Burnett takes the high road, and besides, she doesn't seem to have too many negative memories, anyway. It's disappointing but understandable that she relates one involving a guest as a "blind item." She talks about an issue with Harvey Korman, but the way she sets it up and explains it makes clear she is taking pains not to denigrate him in any way. In short, the book may leave hardcore fans hoping for a third-party effort with a more critical view, but what Burnett herself has written is as classy as we presume she is.
Tuesday, August 29, 2017
Brooks on Books: Bloom County: Episode XI A New Hope
Back in the 1980s, I loved the Bloom County newspaper comic strip by Berke Breathed. I like to think of myself as being a fairly attentive youth, but even if I hadn't known who the likes of Jeanne Kirkpatrick were, I would have found them out so I could understand the political references. Those strips are of their time, for sure, but they hold up better than, say, Outland or the Opus strip that Breathed did in later years.
Well, somehow, I forgot all about the Bloom County revival Breathed started on Facebook (well, maybe I ignored it because it was on Facebook) until I saw this collection at the local liberry. Much to my delight, this new incarnation FEELS like Bloom County. It makes some tweaks and adjustments to the characters and the setting, but it doesn't feel forced like earlier attempts to bring it all back did.
It's tempting to make a parallel between the current political climate and events of the 1980s, but I think it's more than that. Breathed alludes to being more comfortable revisiting this world now in his intro, and I think it shows. The result is a lively, funny, relevant collection that recaptures the spirit of the original strip but places it firmly in modern times.
Opus is front and center, but so is Binkley and his anxiety closet. Steve Dallas is more or less the same, as is Bill the Cat. Milo and Oliver return along with Cutter John. It's not just nostalgia that makes the book so enjoyable, though. These comics are funny.
The one thing I dislike about this book is the oddly self-congratulatory tone of it. I am sure Breathed means well by touting his friendship with Harper Lee as one of the reasons he brought back the strip, but it feels kind of weird. Also, many pages feature comments from Facebook originally posted by Bloom County fans. I think maybe a section in the back of the book would have sufficed, but seeing these with some of the actual comics gives an unfortunate "patting ourselves on the back vibe."
I do think Breathed deserves a pat on the back, though, and this collection really surprises me. I thought Bloom was a relic of the 1980s, if a fondly remembered one, and I hadn't been eager to see a revival. Yet it's here, and it belongs.
Well, somehow, I forgot all about the Bloom County revival Breathed started on Facebook (well, maybe I ignored it because it was on Facebook) until I saw this collection at the local liberry. Much to my delight, this new incarnation FEELS like Bloom County. It makes some tweaks and adjustments to the characters and the setting, but it doesn't feel forced like earlier attempts to bring it all back did.
It's tempting to make a parallel between the current political climate and events of the 1980s, but I think it's more than that. Breathed alludes to being more comfortable revisiting this world now in his intro, and I think it shows. The result is a lively, funny, relevant collection that recaptures the spirit of the original strip but places it firmly in modern times.
Opus is front and center, but so is Binkley and his anxiety closet. Steve Dallas is more or less the same, as is Bill the Cat. Milo and Oliver return along with Cutter John. It's not just nostalgia that makes the book so enjoyable, though. These comics are funny.
The one thing I dislike about this book is the oddly self-congratulatory tone of it. I am sure Breathed means well by touting his friendship with Harper Lee as one of the reasons he brought back the strip, but it feels kind of weird. Also, many pages feature comments from Facebook originally posted by Bloom County fans. I think maybe a section in the back of the book would have sufficed, but seeing these with some of the actual comics gives an unfortunate "patting ourselves on the back vibe."
I do think Breathed deserves a pat on the back, though, and this collection really surprises me. I thought Bloom was a relic of the 1980s, if a fondly remembered one, and I hadn't been eager to see a revival. Yet it's here, and it belongs.
Wednesday, August 23, 2017
Brooks on Books: Comic Book Fever by George Khoury
Is it hyperbole to claim this is the greatest book ever published?
Perhaps it is overpraise, but this is a fun, fun book. It's another knockout package from the fine folks at TwoMorrows Publishing, a company dedicated to making periodicals and books about pop culture, with an emphasis on comic books. In Comic Book Fever, George Khoury examines an era right in my wheelhouse. The subtitle is: "A Celebration of Comics 1976 to 1986."
This 239-page softcover celebration consists of scores of short, punchy chapters focusing on different topics or individuals. A section might look at a specific comic title like Marvel Team-Up, an iconic creator like Neal Adams, or a memorable part of culture like the ubiquitous Hostess Fruit Pie ads. Khoury conducts interviews with connected individuals and tells the stories of all of these cool things that people like me loved so much growing up.
The writing is compelling if a bit breathless at times. Khoury comes at this with pure nostalgic love for just about everything in here, and he ends many chapters with declarations of how much better our lives were due to the presence of, say, DC's Dollar Comics line. You know what, though? He's not wrong.
It's all supplemented with typical eye-catching TwoMorrows design. Vintage comic pages, ads, original art, and photographs fill Comic Book Fever. The pages pop with color, and frequent sidebars flesh out the chapters and give the sense that the whole thing is packed and a good value.
I admit I questioned some of the space allocations. For example. Love and Rockets and Elfquest get a lot more pages than many of the one- and two-pagers that interested me more. However, Khoury has a great eye for interesting facets of comic culture. I loved reading about the origins of the Marvel series about the Human Fly or the Spalding ads. It's great to learn about Dynamite magazine, ICEE superhero cups, and so much more.
Ever wonder what the deal was with those ads for the original Heroes World stores with all that sweet merchandise? Or the "Sell GRIT" ads? I did, and Comic Book Fever explains all.
There is also some hardcore comic book history here, like the beginnings of The New Teen Titans, Neal Adams' efforts for creator rights, and even indies like Nexus. The variety of material covered is impressive. For example, you read about famous icons like Alan Moore and John Byrne (conspicuous by his absence since so many other living "Icons" apparently spoke with Khoury) but also important but less famous figures like Jose Garcia-Lopez.
In short, Comic Book Fever does justice to the awesome era it explores, and if you grew up loving any of this stuff, you will love this book. I give it my strongest recommendation.
(NOTE: This post was edited slightly after the comment below by the author, who graciously noted that Alan Moore did indeed participate in an interview for the book)
Perhaps it is overpraise, but this is a fun, fun book. It's another knockout package from the fine folks at TwoMorrows Publishing, a company dedicated to making periodicals and books about pop culture, with an emphasis on comic books. In Comic Book Fever, George Khoury examines an era right in my wheelhouse. The subtitle is: "A Celebration of Comics 1976 to 1986."
This 239-page softcover celebration consists of scores of short, punchy chapters focusing on different topics or individuals. A section might look at a specific comic title like Marvel Team-Up, an iconic creator like Neal Adams, or a memorable part of culture like the ubiquitous Hostess Fruit Pie ads. Khoury conducts interviews with connected individuals and tells the stories of all of these cool things that people like me loved so much growing up.
The writing is compelling if a bit breathless at times. Khoury comes at this with pure nostalgic love for just about everything in here, and he ends many chapters with declarations of how much better our lives were due to the presence of, say, DC's Dollar Comics line. You know what, though? He's not wrong.
It's all supplemented with typical eye-catching TwoMorrows design. Vintage comic pages, ads, original art, and photographs fill Comic Book Fever. The pages pop with color, and frequent sidebars flesh out the chapters and give the sense that the whole thing is packed and a good value.
I admit I questioned some of the space allocations. For example. Love and Rockets and Elfquest get a lot more pages than many of the one- and two-pagers that interested me more. However, Khoury has a great eye for interesting facets of comic culture. I loved reading about the origins of the Marvel series about the Human Fly or the Spalding ads. It's great to learn about Dynamite magazine, ICEE superhero cups, and so much more.
Ever wonder what the deal was with those ads for the original Heroes World stores with all that sweet merchandise? Or the "Sell GRIT" ads? I did, and Comic Book Fever explains all.
There is also some hardcore comic book history here, like the beginnings of The New Teen Titans, Neal Adams' efforts for creator rights, and even indies like Nexus. The variety of material covered is impressive. For example, you read about famous icons like Alan Moore and John Byrne (conspicuous by his absence since so many other living "Icons" apparently spoke with Khoury) but also important but less famous figures like Jose Garcia-Lopez.
In short, Comic Book Fever does justice to the awesome era it explores, and if you grew up loving any of this stuff, you will love this book. I give it my strongest recommendation.
(NOTE: This post was edited slightly after the comment below by the author, who graciously noted that Alan Moore did indeed participate in an interview for the book)
Friday, July 14, 2017
Brooks on Books: Golden Girls Forever
(Note: this post originally appeared yesterday on Battle of the Network Shows, where you can hear our podcast episode covering The Golden Girls)
Every TV show that runs, oh, more than 5 seasons and 125 episodes or so ought to have its own definitive book, but not many are that lucky. Despite its continued success in reruns and its appeal to multiple demographic groups, I was surprised to see a thick, fancy-looking hardback book devoted to the long-running NBC hit The Golden Girls. Jim Colucci has created what is surely the most comprehensive print collection of information on the show. It's a slam dunk for anyone who loves the series, but even casual fans will find a lot of interest in here.
The first thing that stands out content-wise about the volume is the access Colucci has gained. Despite its release coming after the death of several key figures, the text makes frequent use of interviews with everyone. He personally interviews bea Arthur, Betty White, and Rue McClanahan and uses archival material for some thoughts of Estelle Getty. He also talks to the producers, writers, and many of the more notable guest stars and supporting players involved with the show during its 8 seasons.
It starts off with a general history of the show and continues with a selective episode guide. It's surprising that such a hefty book does not include a comprehensive episode guide, but Colucci is not just listing the plots. Rather, he uses the episode chapters to work in other details about the series, how it was made, and the many guests who appeared. If you have a favorite episode, chances are it's included in this section.
Several things stand out from reading this book: 1) Everyone working on The Golden Girls took pride in it and felt they did good work. 2) Bea Arthur could be really prickly as a collaborator. Many stories in here begin with someone talking about how she was cold or distant to them, though they often take pains to say she was a real pro. 3) Estelle Getty's memory issues plagued her from the beginning. Several anecdotes center around her inability to remember lines, an unfortunate circumstance which often annoyed others on the set (including, yes, Arthur).
And I'm not saying this because the author happens to be gay (he mentions this), but there is a significant amount of coverage of the show's appeal in "the gay community," and there is extensive coverage of the fate of Coco, the live-in housekeeper who was axed after the pilot. There are a few appendices asking "Which Golden Girl Are You?" or questions like that, with the respondents being gay showbiz figures. It's no secret that the show has a following in that sector, and I am not complaining, but I will say that while any fan will love this book, gay fans will really love it.
It's an outstanding piece of work by Colucci and a valuable source of info about a beloved sitcom. The commentary from the cast and creative team is useful, of course, but this book goes the extra mile by getting info from the likes of guest stars (Debbie Reynolds) and even bit players like Quentin Tarantino. I'd be a happy man if every show we covered on the podcast inspired this kind of book--well written, detailed, and offering attractive design and fine production values.
Every TV show that runs, oh, more than 5 seasons and 125 episodes or so ought to have its own definitive book, but not many are that lucky. Despite its continued success in reruns and its appeal to multiple demographic groups, I was surprised to see a thick, fancy-looking hardback book devoted to the long-running NBC hit The Golden Girls. Jim Colucci has created what is surely the most comprehensive print collection of information on the show. It's a slam dunk for anyone who loves the series, but even casual fans will find a lot of interest in here.
The first thing that stands out content-wise about the volume is the access Colucci has gained. Despite its release coming after the death of several key figures, the text makes frequent use of interviews with everyone. He personally interviews bea Arthur, Betty White, and Rue McClanahan and uses archival material for some thoughts of Estelle Getty. He also talks to the producers, writers, and many of the more notable guest stars and supporting players involved with the show during its 8 seasons.
It starts off with a general history of the show and continues with a selective episode guide. It's surprising that such a hefty book does not include a comprehensive episode guide, but Colucci is not just listing the plots. Rather, he uses the episode chapters to work in other details about the series, how it was made, and the many guests who appeared. If you have a favorite episode, chances are it's included in this section.
Several things stand out from reading this book: 1) Everyone working on The Golden Girls took pride in it and felt they did good work. 2) Bea Arthur could be really prickly as a collaborator. Many stories in here begin with someone talking about how she was cold or distant to them, though they often take pains to say she was a real pro. 3) Estelle Getty's memory issues plagued her from the beginning. Several anecdotes center around her inability to remember lines, an unfortunate circumstance which often annoyed others on the set (including, yes, Arthur).
And I'm not saying this because the author happens to be gay (he mentions this), but there is a significant amount of coverage of the show's appeal in "the gay community," and there is extensive coverage of the fate of Coco, the live-in housekeeper who was axed after the pilot. There are a few appendices asking "Which Golden Girl Are You?" or questions like that, with the respondents being gay showbiz figures. It's no secret that the show has a following in that sector, and I am not complaining, but I will say that while any fan will love this book, gay fans will really love it.
It's an outstanding piece of work by Colucci and a valuable source of info about a beloved sitcom. The commentary from the cast and creative team is useful, of course, but this book goes the extra mile by getting info from the likes of guest stars (Debbie Reynolds) and even bit players like Quentin Tarantino. I'd be a happy man if every show we covered on the podcast inspired this kind of book--well written, detailed, and offering attractive design and fine production values.
Wednesday, June 28, 2017
Brooks on Books: Tetris: The Games People Play by Box Brown
I am no "video game guy," but I have loved playing Tetris for years. I had no idea reading about it would be so much fun or that the addictive puzzle game had such a fascinating backstory. Box Brown, who earlier produced an outstanding biography of Andre the Giant, delivers another fantastic graphic novel with this enthralling story of the game.
Brown starts with a brief illustrated history of games in general--how they started, why they appeal to people, and so forth. It's a fine beginning that provides context and sets the stage for the tangled account of Tetris itself.
The deceptively simple-looking game of the falling puzzle pieces was created by Soviet software developers. How it made its way to the USA and around the world is an incredible story you have to read to believe. It involves bureaucracy, geopolitics, foreign intrigue, corporate chicanery, and so much more.
I really don't want to give anything away, but just know that Brown's skillful rendering of the story draws you right in and doesn't let go. He manages to make the human "characters" stand out, and the real-life twists and turns of this saga have a big impact due to the quality of the storytelling.
I figured that reading this would make me want to go play some more Tetris again. What I didn't know was just how much I would love this book. I highly recommend Brown's brilliant adaptation of a surprisingly complex real-life story of business, one told against a backdrop of the timeless appeal of playing games.
Brown starts with a brief illustrated history of games in general--how they started, why they appeal to people, and so forth. It's a fine beginning that provides context and sets the stage for the tangled account of Tetris itself.
The deceptively simple-looking game of the falling puzzle pieces was created by Soviet software developers. How it made its way to the USA and around the world is an incredible story you have to read to believe. It involves bureaucracy, geopolitics, foreign intrigue, corporate chicanery, and so much more.
I really don't want to give anything away, but just know that Brown's skillful rendering of the story draws you right in and doesn't let go. He manages to make the human "characters" stand out, and the real-life twists and turns of this saga have a big impact due to the quality of the storytelling.
I figured that reading this would make me want to go play some more Tetris again. What I didn't know was just how much I would love this book. I highly recommend Brown's brilliant adaptation of a surprisingly complex real-life story of business, one told against a backdrop of the timeless appeal of playing games.
Friday, June 2, 2017
Brooks on Books: Hark, a Vagrant by Kate Beaton
This book is awesome, Kate Beaton is awesome, and I only wish there were more collections from her available. I see she has done a children's book and is working on a graphic novel, and I'm sure they are/will be great, but I would love to see more of this stuff.
Hark consists of an assortments of original cartoons Beaton has done, many with a historical/literary bent. I have to say that just the fact that there are comics like this is enough to amuse me, but Beaton's askew sensibility makes the source material even funnier. Also, it's great that she pulls so many random references out of her hat. Well, I say random, but she is not just leafing through books and pointing her fingers at names. She has a history degree, worked in a museum, and is an unabashed lover of what she is covering.
Also, Beaton is Canadian, so prepare yourself for some obscure Canadian references. It's a nice touch that the strips are annotated. Many feature "artist commentary" notes explaining her thinking, what strikes her as interesting about the topic, or sometimes just who the subjects are.
Here's another nice touch: There is an index! It's just a cool little bonus for a work that blends fiction and nonfiction.
A lot of the humor centers on putting modern attitudes in older situations, but it never gets old in this book. She includes a couple of Hamlet-themed comics late in the collection, and "the ghost" arrives and tells his son, "Obviously I died of poison." A shocked Hamlet says he didn't know, so the king says, "Was there no autopsy? What did everyone think I died of?" Hamlet: "Uh, this is still the middle ages or something. They just thought you died from being alive."
I am totally not doing it justice. Something about Beaton's style, the look of the drawings, and the overall attitude makes all of this hilarious, and it gets better if you just throw yourself into it. I could write out more of the strips, but just go to her site and see some samples. I see she has a similar collection, and I need to get my hands on that one because Hark is 166 pages of fun, off-kilter send-ups of mostly "scholarly" topics.
Hark consists of an assortments of original cartoons Beaton has done, many with a historical/literary bent. I have to say that just the fact that there are comics like this is enough to amuse me, but Beaton's askew sensibility makes the source material even funnier. Also, it's great that she pulls so many random references out of her hat. Well, I say random, but she is not just leafing through books and pointing her fingers at names. She has a history degree, worked in a museum, and is an unabashed lover of what she is covering.
Also, Beaton is Canadian, so prepare yourself for some obscure Canadian references. It's a nice touch that the strips are annotated. Many feature "artist commentary" notes explaining her thinking, what strikes her as interesting about the topic, or sometimes just who the subjects are.
Here's another nice touch: There is an index! It's just a cool little bonus for a work that blends fiction and nonfiction.
A lot of the humor centers on putting modern attitudes in older situations, but it never gets old in this book. She includes a couple of Hamlet-themed comics late in the collection, and "the ghost" arrives and tells his son, "Obviously I died of poison." A shocked Hamlet says he didn't know, so the king says, "Was there no autopsy? What did everyone think I died of?" Hamlet: "Uh, this is still the middle ages or something. They just thought you died from being alive."
I am totally not doing it justice. Something about Beaton's style, the look of the drawings, and the overall attitude makes all of this hilarious, and it gets better if you just throw yourself into it. I could write out more of the strips, but just go to her site and see some samples. I see she has a similar collection, and I need to get my hands on that one because Hark is 166 pages of fun, off-kilter send-ups of mostly "scholarly" topics.
Wednesday, May 17, 2017
Brooks on Books: The Who: The Story of the Band That Defined A Generation
When I saw this sharp-looking hardcover on the New Releases shelf at my local liberry, I was a bit confused. Something seemed off. It didn't look like something I expected to see there, but it sort of looked familiar. I grabbed it and took it home. Well, I checked it out with my card first, of course. I could have been more "rock and roll" and stole it or smashed it on the ground, but I went the conventional route.
Turns out this is a repackaging of the Treasures of the Who collection that combined a book with all kinds of goofy crap--reproductions of handbills, photos, and stuff like that. This is just the book--no crap. I remember seeing the Treasures and thinking it was pretty cool but not wanting to pay for it. I'm sure it ended up in the "bargain bin" at Barnes and Noble like all those books do, and it was probably worth it at that point.
Chris Welch's text in this "unofficial and unauthorized" volume is lively and surprisingly critical of the music. It doesn't delve much into the personal lives of the band members, but there isn't a lot of space for that. The emphasis is on the band as a band, and each album gets a brief section with commentary on the album as a whole and the individual tracks.
Along the way, Welch tells the basic story of the band's origins and its high and low points, with several "chapters" (each chapter in this book is a few pages) devoted to biographical sketches of the individual members. It's an entertaining and brisk overview of The Who for non-experts.
Arguably the main attraction for aficionados of The Who, if they aren't disappointed at the exclusion of the goofy crap, is the wealth of photos of ephemera like letters to fans, original concert tickets, and the like. There are outstanding action shots and publicity pics as well, and it's all vivid and eye-pleasing in the smartly designed book.
Turns out this is a repackaging of the Treasures of the Who collection that combined a book with all kinds of goofy crap--reproductions of handbills, photos, and stuff like that. This is just the book--no crap. I remember seeing the Treasures and thinking it was pretty cool but not wanting to pay for it. I'm sure it ended up in the "bargain bin" at Barnes and Noble like all those books do, and it was probably worth it at that point.
Chris Welch's text in this "unofficial and unauthorized" volume is lively and surprisingly critical of the music. It doesn't delve much into the personal lives of the band members, but there isn't a lot of space for that. The emphasis is on the band as a band, and each album gets a brief section with commentary on the album as a whole and the individual tracks.
Along the way, Welch tells the basic story of the band's origins and its high and low points, with several "chapters" (each chapter in this book is a few pages) devoted to biographical sketches of the individual members. It's an entertaining and brisk overview of The Who for non-experts.
Arguably the main attraction for aficionados of The Who, if they aren't disappointed at the exclusion of the goofy crap, is the wealth of photos of ephemera like letters to fans, original concert tickets, and the like. There are outstanding action shots and publicity pics as well, and it's all vivid and eye-pleasing in the smartly designed book.
Wednesday, May 10, 2017
Brooks on Books: Green Lantern: A Celebration of 75 Years
This book is PURTY. Is it worth $40 MSRP (significantly less at Amazon)? Well, it's PURTY. It's a sturdy hardcover with 400 pages of DC Comics Green Lantern stories from all throughout the hero's career. Actually, it's HEROES' CAREERS, but more on that in a minute. I got this book from my friendly neighborhood liberry and therefore paid $0 RPP (Rick's Preferred Price) and found it an enjoyable read well worth the investment.
Believe it or not, I'm walking on air--no, that's a different costumed hero. Believe it or not, there are many incarnations of Green Lantern besides Ryan Reynolds, and this book gets the big ones. In fact, there is a whole CORPS of GLs, some with fish heads, some who are whole planets, and some who just look totally precious. This volume focuses on the Earth Green Lanterns, though--namely Alan Scott of Earth-2 (the first), Hal Jordan of Earth-1 (the most iconic), Guy Gardner (the most jerk-ish), John Stewart (the most black-ish), and Kyle Rayner (the most I-wasn't-really-reading-comics-then-ish).
There is a wide assortment of eras, stories, and styles in here. You get the origin stories and first appearances, some memorable one-shots, and a few stories that are in the middle of the now-standard multi-issue arcs. Creators like John Broome, Geoff Johns, and Gil Kane are well represented, and you get a sample of the famous "socially relevant" era that teamed GL with buddy Green Arrow for some 1970s-style consciousness...man! I don't know enough GL history to argue about the lack of particular stories, but I do question the inclusion of Geffen and Maguire's Justice League #1 only because it's a team book and a solo Gardner story could have taken its place.
The collection is heavy on first appearances, and I wonder if maybe someone should have just focused on memorable stories, period, but I don't have any true complaints considering this isn't titled Green Lantern: The Greatest Stories Ever. I suppose diehard Lantern fans will have plenty of suggestions and may have seen all of these stories already. But do they own them all in one nifty (and purty) hardcover package? If not, this might be the ticket even for the serious collector. For the casual fan, if the price doesn't intimidate you, or if you aren't a cheapskate like me willing to once again sponge off the library, this is an attractive addition to your own bookshelf, loaded with fun stories.
Believe it or not, I'm walking on air--no, that's a different costumed hero. Believe it or not, there are many incarnations of Green Lantern besides Ryan Reynolds, and this book gets the big ones. In fact, there is a whole CORPS of GLs, some with fish heads, some who are whole planets, and some who just look totally precious. This volume focuses on the Earth Green Lanterns, though--namely Alan Scott of Earth-2 (the first), Hal Jordan of Earth-1 (the most iconic), Guy Gardner (the most jerk-ish), John Stewart (the most black-ish), and Kyle Rayner (the most I-wasn't-really-reading-comics-then-ish).
There is a wide assortment of eras, stories, and styles in here. You get the origin stories and first appearances, some memorable one-shots, and a few stories that are in the middle of the now-standard multi-issue arcs. Creators like John Broome, Geoff Johns, and Gil Kane are well represented, and you get a sample of the famous "socially relevant" era that teamed GL with buddy Green Arrow for some 1970s-style consciousness...man! I don't know enough GL history to argue about the lack of particular stories, but I do question the inclusion of Geffen and Maguire's Justice League #1 only because it's a team book and a solo Gardner story could have taken its place.
The collection is heavy on first appearances, and I wonder if maybe someone should have just focused on memorable stories, period, but I don't have any true complaints considering this isn't titled Green Lantern: The Greatest Stories Ever. I suppose diehard Lantern fans will have plenty of suggestions and may have seen all of these stories already. But do they own them all in one nifty (and purty) hardcover package? If not, this might be the ticket even for the serious collector. For the casual fan, if the price doesn't intimidate you, or if you aren't a cheapskate like me willing to once again sponge off the library, this is an attractive addition to your own bookshelf, loaded with fun stories.
Friday, April 7, 2017
Brooks on Books: Poking a Dead Frog by Mike Sacks
Like Sacks' previous "And Here's the Kicker," "Poking a Dead Frog" is a great read, a fun and illuminating collection of interviews, short essays, and lists featuring comedy writers. It's partly designed to provide practical advice to aspiring professionals, but it's entertaining for anyone. I'm no comedy writer, nor do I want to be one (though I won't object if someone chuckles every now and then at things on this blog), but I tore through the book anyway.
The breadth of names interviewed for this book is impressive. Some names are bigger than others, but there's a great variety of talents included. I am struck by the number of aspects of comedy that are represented. You hear from a cartoonist (Roz Chast), a short story writer (George Saunders), old time radio vet Peg Lynch, and current TV showrunner Michael Schur.
The book alternates long interviews with shorter pieces written in first person and titled "Ultraspecific Comedic Knowledge," in which you might get advice on being a script doctor. Also scattered throughout the text are short sections called "Pure Hard Core Advice" from names like Stephen Merchant.
One of the most unique and delightful chapters is a sample submission packet to a late night show, presented by Conan writer Todd Levin with retrospective commentary analyzing what works and what doesn't. It's the kind of thing you don't really see anywhere else outside "the biz" and offers a fascinating window into the process.
Lest ye think this book is a mere job seeker's manual, let me assure you these are great interviews with funny people, and Sacks get a lot of good stuff out of them. There are plenty of anecdotes about working in comedy as well as amusing stories about the backgrounds of the subjects. Poking a Dead Frog is nearly 450 pages but is easily burn-through-able (Maybe I should be a writer with vocabulary like that), and I give it my highest rating to anyone interested in the process of creating comedy.
Lest ye think this book is a mere job seeker's manual, let me assure you these are great interviews with funny people, and Sacks get a lot of good stuff out of them. There are plenty of anecdotes about working in comedy as well as amusing stories about the backgrounds of the subjects. Poking a Dead Frog is nearly 450 pages but is easily burn-through-able (Maybe I should be a writer with vocabulary like that), and I give it my highest rating to anyone interested in the process of creating comedy.
Friday, March 10, 2017
Brooks on Books: Fast Food Maniac by Jon Heim
Some books are meant to be fun, and I don't mean that as a negative. Jon Hein's Fast Food Maniac is a fast read, filled with bite-size chapters loaded with tidbits and trivia. It's not a scholarly nor a comprehensive look at our country's fast food restaurants, but it satisfies. It's entertaining and packed with interesting information, and if you enjoy fast food--or you just do but pretend not to, like so many--this is a great read.
Hein lists a large number of national fast food chains, plus some regional favorites, and offers their origins, their secret menu items and specialties, and ranks them in a variety of categories. Along the way he shares his own takes on each one, often peppered with anecdotes from years of unhealthy eating.
(Seriously, I wondered how Hein wasn't 500 pounds after I read this, and then I found out that he's diabetic, which makes it even more interesting)
There's a nice assortment of pictures, many showing logos and storefronts, some showing Heim and his family members indulging at various locales. Hein doesn't claim to be all-inclusive in his look at fast food joints, but given the criteria he uses, I can't think of any obvious exclusions.
I never caught Hein's show Fast Food Mania, which was on Destination America (Ah, I think I just realized why I never caught it), but I'll bet it was an entertaining watch. This book might raise some eyebrows with its rankings and with the author's guide to how to order at fast food places, which seems full of self-contradiction, but even though the whole thing is fairly weightless (unlike the subject matter), I enjoyed it.
Hein lists a large number of national fast food chains, plus some regional favorites, and offers their origins, their secret menu items and specialties, and ranks them in a variety of categories. Along the way he shares his own takes on each one, often peppered with anecdotes from years of unhealthy eating.
(Seriously, I wondered how Hein wasn't 500 pounds after I read this, and then I found out that he's diabetic, which makes it even more interesting)
There's a nice assortment of pictures, many showing logos and storefronts, some showing Heim and his family members indulging at various locales. Hein doesn't claim to be all-inclusive in his look at fast food joints, but given the criteria he uses, I can't think of any obvious exclusions.
I never caught Hein's show Fast Food Mania, which was on Destination America (Ah, I think I just realized why I never caught it), but I'll bet it was an entertaining watch. This book might raise some eyebrows with its rankings and with the author's guide to how to order at fast food places, which seems full of self-contradiction, but even though the whole thing is fairly weightless (unlike the subject matter), I enjoyed it.
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