Review by New York Times Review
WHEN DID SELF-PROCLAIMED movie geekdom supplant fandom as a badge of superior commitment to cinema love? Being more fan than geek and therefore not beholden to quantifiable research, I blithely estimate that the mutation began about the time Darth Vader first started wearing his CPAP machine around the house and frightening the children. Geekdom was born under the moon of the modern Hollywood blockbuster era and nurtured by the simultaneous development of home computers and cable television - which in turn begat the Internet, TCM, Fandango and trivia-enhanced moviegoing life as we know it. Fans may be happy with publicity stills, but geeks want content, and context too. Fans may enjoy autographs, but geeks demand Reddit Ask Me Anything threads. In our time, geekdom - once popularly viewed as a social deficiency with no subterranean cachet of cool attached - has become a club to which even the popular kids clamor for membership. Entry is granted through the gates of Twitter, the IMDb forest of factoids, the Box Office Mojo vault of knowledge. Movie geeks want statistics about ticket sales and the number of takes expended for each scene of a movie directed by Stanley Kubrick or David Fincher. They want aspect ratio specs and access to multiple drafts of shooting scripts. Movie geeks thrive on argument and think in lists : Who or what was the best, the worst, the most (sadly) overrated or (criminally) underrated? Which movies before 1968 have an animal or body part in the title? And they want personal details. They are hungry not so much for gossip about sex lives of the stars (although that, too, is entered into the mental database) as for the scoop on how the affair between X and Y or the drug use of Z affected the production schedules of Projects A, B and C. Which then bumped releases back. Which sent Oscar strategists scurrying to devise new awardsseason campaigns. Which involved underdog positioning and a subtweet whisper attack maligning the political inclinations of the star of Project D. Movie geeks will thumb through ONE LUCKY BASTARD: Tales From Tinseltown (Lyons Press, $26.95), by Roger Moore with Gareth Owen, and YESTERDAY, TODAY, TOMORROW: My Life (Atria, $28), by Sophia Loren, with the kind of indulgent pat on the shoulder given to Grandma as she demonstrates her Jitterbug flip phone. This pair of slight, late-life macramé projects - a loose collection of Hollywood anecdotes from 87-year-old Moore and a gentle autobiographical sketch from 80-year-old Loren - are best bought by and for classic fans. Both authors have already delighted their respective bases with previous volumes of similar provenance. The urbanely British Moore - seven times the big-screen embodiment of Her Majesty's secret agent James Bond between 1973 and 1985, making him a record-holder for the gig - published his autobiography, "My Word Is My Bond," in 2008, as well as two books of Bondiana. The voluptuously Italian Loren - winner of the 1962 Oscar for best actress (in "Two Women") and an honorary Oscar in 1991 - collaborated with A. E. Hotchner on "Sophia. Living and Loving: Her Own Story," published in 1979, and has her byline attached to a book about beauty and one of "recipes and memories." There is no story in either of these volumes that will appreciably deepen or broaden what a fan already knows and presumably loves about each of these old-time stars. Instead, the books are valedictory extensions of personal brand. In the case of Moore, that brand is a debonair chap about town, so well connected after decades of Hollywood high life that he can now rattle off stories that didn't even happen to him, but instead were told to him by various other chaps about town. Here is a raconteur so jolly about his long career that he actually refers to show business as "the business we call 'show.'" The work, he writes, in a flourish of palaver, is "always interesting, often challenging and if Lady Luck favors us, and benevolent producers take pity on us, then it's quite possible to make a living out of doing something really enjoyable." The fellow who writes this lulling chitchat is a little cheeky, a bit droll. And for fans more tickled by Lady Luck stuff than I am, that may be enough. Published in Britain as "Last Man Standing," the book meanders through stories about old-school players including Lana Turner ("another wonderful actress and feisty lady"), John Gielgud (whose "continuing gaffs really were the stuff of legend") and Sammy Davis Jr. ("a hugely funny man"). "One Lucky Bastard" probably goes down best when read at a bar, book in one hand and something shaken-not-stirred in the other. For her part of the act, Loren works the Italian grandma angle with endearing theatricality. As a framing device, she establishes her reminiscences as memories summoned before nodding off to sleep, having spent the day cooking Christmas recipes with her grandchildren. (Attenzione, professional Italian nonna/cookbook star Lidia Bastianich, you've got competition.) Loren's stories are unfailingly sweet, modest, patient. "The ugly duckling was turning into a swan," she notes about her girlhood, with becoming understatement. "We pinched each other's cheeks to make sure we weren't dreaming," she says about arriving in Los Angeles for the first time in 1957 as an international movie star, with her younger sister, Maria, as her companion. And for fans more tickled by cheek-pinching stuff than I am, this, too, is surely enough. Aside from a steady, controlled burn of anger at the bounder father who never did right by Loren's mother - young, unwed and miserably poor, Romilda Villani raised Sofia (as her name was then spelled) and Maria, with crucial help from her own mother - the memoirist is in a magnanimously reflective mood. When, at the age of 17, she met 39-year-old Carlo Ponti, who would become her producer, her Pygmalion and eventually her husband (after headlines had proclaimed their relationship a scandal and after popular, church and state condemnation), she explains that "I had the strange impression that he'd understood me, that behind my impetuous beauty he had read the traces of a reserved personality, my difficult past, my great longing to be successful, seriously and with passion." She is gracious about her own success, and protective about her family. She is also tender about the other men who affected her life, both personally as well as professionally - never more so than about Cary Grant, with whom she became close during the making of "The Pride and the Passion" in 1957, and who (despite being married to his third wife, Betsy Drake, at the time) proposed marriage. "I knew that my place was next to Carlo," she writes. "At the same time, it was hard to resist the magnetism of a man like Cary, who said he was willing to give up everything for me." Loren and Grant remained lifelong friends. So move right along, movie geeks, there is nothing to gawp at here. This is a story that rewards nice readers who are contented to give lovers some privacy, even if they happen to be movie stars. Geek-style collectors of stories and stats will feel much more at home with DE NIRO: A Life (Crown Archetype, $32.50), by the film critic and movie journalist Shawn Levy, or WATCH ME: A Memoir (Scribner, $27.99), the second volume of memoirs by Anjelica Huston. The two books couldn't be farther apart in tone and intention: "De Niro" is a highly researched, analytical study of the life and work of one of the greatest actors of his generation; "Watch Me" is a personal narrative by a charismatic 63-year-old woman and child of Hollywood whose own creative identity has, for much of her life, been defined by her relationship to powerful men - including but not limited to the director John Huston (her father) and to the actor Jack Nicholson (her on-and-off beau for some 17 years). Yet together, both books reflect prevailing modern approaches to writing about movies, Hollywood and, my dears, the business we call show. Levy faces a couple of challenges well: For one, his is hardly the first, nor is it very likely to be the last, biographical study of the now 71-year-old De Niro, who is as famous for his personal impenetrability and conversational reticence as for his towering public performances in American cinema masterpieces including "Mean Streets," "The Deer Hunter," "Taxi Driver," "Raging Bull," "Goodfellas" and "The Godfather II." What's more, the book is "unauthorized," in that the actor repeatedly declined to be interviewed, and as a result, so did many others who have known him over the years. "However," Levy sensibly explains, "as I often remind people, unauthorized doesn't mean salacious, and it is entirely possible to write a full and fair biography without ever speaking to the subject." "Robert De Niro: A Life" is full and fair, and in his role as critic, Levy states his operating P.O.V. clearly at the top: It is sometimes difficult "to see De Niro's early glories through what had become the muddle of his later career." Yet, Levy continues, "every time he appears before us, no matter the costume, the voice, the name, the story, there he is, stark and plain before the world." And so, armed with scholarship culled from studying De Niro's archives, along with insights gained from interviewees unconstrained by omertà, Levy (who has previously written books about challenging showbiz types including Paul Newman, Jerry Lewis and the Sinatra-era Rat Pack) has created a thorough, measured, fact-filled, 600-page, movie-by-movie, girlfriend-by-girlfriend study that is right up a movie geek's alley. The trade-off is that the thoroughness of all those facts, in all those pages, may cause a casual fan's eyes to glaze over. The steady, measured pace of "De Niro" contrasts with the page-turning trot of "Watch Me." While Levy proceeds at the deliberate tempo of an anthropologist, Huston glides around like a nightclub singer with an interesting, erratic set list, singing some blues, some power ballads, a torch song or two, and Sondheim's "I'm Still Here" as a closer. And this, too, is a phenomenon of the contemporary era of movie geekdom: A memoirist can swing a little, pull some attitude, narrate selectively, and her readers will only appreciate her more for her confidence. Huston's first volume, "A Story Lately Told," covered her childhood, her teens in London and her relationship in New York with the photographer Bob Richardson. "Watch Me" picks up with the good stuff - life in Los Angeles, Nicholson, her work in "Prizzi's Honor," her sometimes violent romance with Ryan O'Neal and her marriage to the sculptor Robert Graham, from 1992 until his death in 2008. Huston names names, rewards friends, settles scores and powers her way through sentences with a bluntness that might daunt a more tentative dame. Like this: "Even though Warren Beatty was one of his best friends, I wasn't recognizing Jack as a world-class philanderer at the time." Or this: "Everyone was getting high in my circle. Coke and grass were ubiquitous." From a lady simultaneously so real, tough, vulnerable, privileged and candid, I want to hear whatever she wants to tell me, up to and including a description of every designer dress she ever wore. Because, reading "Watch Me," I become as engrossed as a dork attending Comic Con, a film studies student at a Czech cinema series at Lincoln Center's Walter Reade Theater or a feminist movie critic who blogs at length about the male gaze as it applies to the oeuvre of Judd Apatow and Jon Favreau. None of whom, by the way, may be hard-core enough to survive the ultra geekdom of how star wars conquered THE UNIVERSE: The Past, Present, and Future of a Multibillion Dollar Franchise (Basic Books, $28.99), by Chris Taylor. Here, finally, is a book that, in its very title, separates the tough from the wusses when it comes to exactly the kind of pop-culture consumption, digestion, regurgitation and entrail-reading that began with George Lucas's space fairy tale. The amusingly hyperbolic (but serious) title, with its cheerily fevered (but serious) assumption of agreement with the premise and delightfully blinkered (but serious) conviction in the importance of the topic, distills everything one needs to know about the kind of insanely microresearched and breezily written book this is. The British-born Taylor, the deputy editor of the website Mashable, is partial to hey bro! statements like "Do not try this at home," "R2-D2 is the man" and "As 1976 dawned, Lucas found himself the ringleader in a circus of genius, the head of one of those once-in-a-generation teams of fiery young turks eager to prove themselves." Taylor is also impressively committed to, as he calls it, his "biography of the franchise that turned Planet Earth into Planet 'Star Wars.'" Searching for somebody, somewhere, who has never seen and knows nothing about the franchise, Taylor visits a settlement of Navajo people in Arizona and unspools a print of the movie dubbed in the Navajo language. I'm not sure this proves anything, but it does allow him to take a nice trip to the Southwest, meet some elders and teach "Star Wars" readers about the Navajo code talkers of World War II. True movie geeks get a meta high from the giddy knowledge that they are being obsessive even while they are being obsessive. And they are nothing if not excited to hang out with others who share their particular subspecialty passions - whether for pre-Code films, Iranian cinema, Blaxploitation flicks, Robert De Niro or Anjelica Huston. I reckon there are millions, or at least thousands, who will be eager to go where Taylor goes, probing the secret corners of the galaxy invented by George Lucas and his fiery young turks. And if I am not among them, don't be alarmed. There is a new book out called CHARLIE CHAPLIN: A Brief Life (Doubleday, $25.95), by the award-winning British writer and biographer Peter Ackroyd, and it is quietly enthralling. It is, as advertised, concise. It assumes basic familiarity with "the first human being ever to be the object of global adulation far beyond the later cult of 'celebrity.'" (Taylor the "Star Wars" scholar might have had an even harder time finding somebody, somewhere, who has never heard of Chaplin.) Ackroyd's Chaplin is a not-very-nice man, he is hell to work with, he is an incorrigible womanizer (of very young women) with a "priapic reputation," a bad husband, self-absorbed, moody, known for his "meanness" and "stinginess" and a devastatingly effective artist. Ackroyd's coolly perceptive literary style and equally devastatingly effective observations suggest that he doesn't care a fig about pleasing geeks or fans or anyone else. I have become a groupie. LISA SCHWARZBAUM, a former critic at Entertainment Weekly, is a freelance journalist.
Copyright (c) The New York Times Company [November 30, 2014]
Review by Booklist Review
*Starred Review* It's impossible to imagine a Star Wars fan who wouldn't love this book. If you're big into making-of books, this one has plenty of behind-the-scenes stories about the six films. If you're interested in George Lucas' inspirations, the book goes into that, too. If you're looking for a study of the cultural impact of Star Wars its fans, its spin-offs and rip-offs, its effect on the motion-picture business that's here as well. Heck, there's even a mini-bio of Lucas himself, tracing the years leading up to his unexpected smash hit (and we're talking about American Graffiti now, the movie that made it possible for Lucas to get the original Star Wars made). It really is hard to imagine a book about Star Wars being any more comprehensive than this one. It's full of information and insight and analysis, and it's so engagingly written that it's a pure joy to read. There are also a few surprises, as the author busts some long-held myths about Lucas and his now-iconic series. There are plenty of books about Star Wars, but very few of them are essential reading. This one goes directly to the top of the pile.--Pitt, David Copyright 2014 Booklist
From Booklist, Copyright (c) American Library Association. Used with permission.
Review by Publisher's Weekly Review
As deputy editor at news website Mashable, Taylor brings a genuine love of pop and nerd culture to this comprehensive retrospective on one of the 20th century's most popular film series. The book takes a scholarly look at Star Wars, yet remains accessible. Readers digging through chapters on science fantasy, independent filmmakers, and legal maneuvering will also discover delightful tales of Taylor's own experiences visiting the world's largest Star Wars museum and witnessing a Navajo tribe's introduction to the movies. Though, at times, these asides interrupt the chronology of Taylor's history, they're intriguing and never out of place. Taylor has compiled an impressive collection of background research and insider info that any fan would be glad to own. (Sept.) © Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved.
Review by Library Journal Review
When American filmmaker George Lucas set out to create a space fantasy for the big screen nearly 40 years ago, he never dreamed that Star Wars would become a beloved global phenomenon and one of the most profitable entertainment franchises today. Taylor (deputy editor, mashable.com) explores how the movie, its sequels and prequels, toys and merchandise, and the "expanded universe" of books, comics, video games, and role-playing organizations became infused into our cultural lexicon. Through extensive interviews, in-depth analysis, and exhaustive research, Taylor sheds light on Lucas's life, the entertainment business, and the influences the movie has had on society. Star Wars, with its groundbreaking visual effects, not only changed the way movies are made but the way people experience them-its myth-based storytelling and the immersive fandom that sprang up in the decades following the film's debut were both departures from movies of the past. VERDICT Taylor's fan-boy enthusiasm coupled with his inviting narrative style make this a fun and informative read for sf enthusiasts, media studies and marketing students, film industry professionals, and aspiring Jedi Knights. [See "Books That Buzzed at BEA," Prepub Alert, 6/2/14.-Ed.]-Donna Marie Smith, Palm Beach Cty. Lib. Syst., FL (c) Copyright 2014. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
(c) Copyright Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
Review by Kirkus Book Review
Help us, Obi-wan: There's a Star Wars sequel looming, and it may just featureshudderJar Jar Binks.If you're a real fan of the Star Wars series, observes Mashable deputy editor Taylor, then you're likely a hater, whether of Jar Jar or of "the whiny delivery of Mark Hamill" or of those damnably cute Ewoks. George Lucas has given us plenty to hate, though the spectacle of a young, bikini-clad Carrie Fisher lashed to the post is probably not one of those things, even if, in that garb, she's been turned into a doll for sale to the perverted and the innocent-minded alike. More to the point, as Taylor notes in his opening pages, there's scarcely a corner of the world that isn't aware at least dimly of Star Wars; one of the series has even been dubbed into Navajo in time for one of the last of the old-time Code Talkers to see it before moving on to another galaxy. Taylor's book feels occasionally like an assemblage of oddments and statistics, but mostly he stays right on track in charting how Star Wars moved from film to meme to near universal standard cultural referent. (Say, "I'm your father" in a James Earl Jones voice in just about any language, and the audience will get it.) Better than that is the author's account of the origins of the series and his look at what Star Wars has wrought over the last four decades, including a true revolution in many aspects of filmmaking. If Lucas had died in the car crash he suffered in 1962, Taylor notes, then among other things, Hollywood would be "without much of a special effects industry." A smart, engaging book for the completist that only suffers from being a touch too complete; it could have lost 100 pages easily. Still, welcome reading for fans of Star Warsor, for that matter, of THX 1138. Copyright Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.
Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.
