The Phantom Planet (1961)

The 1961 low-budget sci-fi semi-epic The Phantom Planet: better than you might expect. Francis X. Bushman brings a life's worth of disappointment to his role as the shrinking king, and the effects are pretty great, considering the micro-budget.

You can download a really good transfer from the Internet Archive, or if you're in Chicago you can see it on actual 16mm film on September 2 as part of my new Shock Theater from the Cinema Dementia Collection horror and sci-fi series. It will be paired with another B-movie space opera, Night of the Blood Beast.

For more on the series, read an extensive interview with me over at Movie Morlocks, TCM's blog.

Shock Theater Gets Some Press

My new film series, Shock Theater from the Cinema Dementia Collection, is getting some favorable press, including this gem from Chicagoist.

 

Also, this Saturday the 21st between 1 and 5 pm, tune in to "Those Were the Days" on WCDB, where I'll be talking about the series in conjunction with their celebration of Vincent Price's 100th birthday.

Shock Theater!

On June 3 I'm launching my latest screening series, "Shock Theater from the Cinema Dementia Collection." (The Cinema Dementia Collection is my friend Chip's archive of B-movies on 16mm film.) The first Friday of every month, we're presenting a double feature of shock-tastic and generally low-budget films from the second golden age of horror, the 1950s and 1960s.

Joel Wicklund, webmaster and writer of the excellent local horror film site Shadows and Screams, has written a nice introduction to the series, and he'll also be introducing the third double feature, Dementia 13 and The Terror.

The full schedule is as follows:

June 3: The House on Haunted Hill and The Screaming Skull
July 1: The Amazing Transparent Man and Beyond the Time Barrier
August 5: Dementia 13 and The Terror
September 2: The Phantom Planet and Night of the Blood Beast
October 7: Nightmare Castle and Caltiki the Undying Monster
November 4: Bloodlust! and She Demons
December 7: unconfirmed!

"The Lost Patrol": Ford's Underseen Minor Masterpiece

It's not a western, it's not Americana, it's not about the old country, and it doesn't star Will Rogers. It's a war film, but one unlike any of his others. Read my review.

Top 100

What's this? A new top 100 list? Egads.

For the Love of Film (Noir): Tomorrow Is Another Day (1951)

This is for the "For the Love of Film (Noir)" blogathon/fundraiser, hosted by my good friends Marilyn Ferdinand and Self-Styled Siren.

One of the hardest lessons I learned as a student of history came at the end of a senior research seminar. I had spent a semester on a research paper about the Women's Christian Temperance Union of Mt. Pleasant, MI, and whether their everyday activities changed after national WCTU president Frances Willard broadened the focus of the organization to include women's rights, prison reform, and other Progressive-era ideologies. I was distraught because the answer I came up with, after months of ruining my eyesight by looking through endless spools of microfilm, was "no, they did not." Frances Willard might never have existed, as far as these ladies were concerned. My professor told me that a "no" is as valuable as a "yes" to the study of history, even though it might not be as exciting.

Which is a lengthy way to say that Tomorrow Is Another Day is not a film noir, but you should still invest your time in locating and viewing it. I could describe it as a noir; it's certainly been described that way before: a recently released ex-con who's spent most of his life in prison becomes the fall guy for a bleach-blonde taxi dancer who kills a cop but lets him think he did it. You're envisioning single-source lighting and dramatic shadows, visions that grow more baroque when I say that they flee across the country, but they can't evade either the violence in his soul or the long arm of the law, no matter how far they run or attempt to pretend that they're someone else. But there's something missing, something distinctly non-noir about it. I firmly believe in noir as a genre, despite what Paul Schrader might think, but this film isn't noir.

Bill Clark (second-string Warner Bros. lead Steve Cochran) is released from prison after having spent 18 of his 33 years behind bars. The warden warns him about how strange civilian life will be: Clark has missed a lot, not least World War II and interacting with the opposite sex. He gets $222 (wages from his prison job), a bus ticket, and a hearty handshake before the door closes behind him. He heads into town and immediately reveals himself as an overgrown child: after gorging himself on pie and throwing back a couple of stiff ginger ales, he follows women around like a slackjawed Warner Bros. cartoon character. Desiring female companionship but not knowing how to talk to women, he goes to a taxi dance hall (remember, he was in prison when the taxi dance craze died off). Confusing professional friendliness with attraction (she asks for "a present," and hints that the present depends on "how much you like me"), he follows Cay Higgins (Ruth Roman) home, hires her to show him around New York City, and then invites himself in for a drink, probably the first drink of his life.

For a second-string guy who tended to play heavies, Cochran gives a convincing performance as the babe in the Big Apple. He seems uncomfortable in his adult-sized body, unsure of how to follow through on the tough-guy stances he learned in prison, full of bluster followed immediately by submission to authority when his bluff is called. He's like a Dead End Kid transplanted into a man's body, wearing a street-smart sneer to cover up the scared, neglected kid inside. That kid runs into grown-up, even noirish problems, almost immediately: Cay's "sponsor" George is waiting inside her apartment. Bill tries to sock him, George pulls a gun, Bill gets knocked out, the gun goes off, and when Bill wakes up Cay informs him that he's killed a cop, and they had better hit the road. They go first to Cay's family, who reject her because "taxi dancer" is code for "prostitute" (even though she informed him "I don't give private lessons"); then they set off across country, hopping trains and hitchhiking, stopping to get hitched because he's a gentleman and he loves her, and ending up picking lettuce in California for a kindly farmer. But the past, as they say, is never really past.

The bulk of the film is about their trip west and their attempts to start a new life as Mr. and Mrs. Mike Lewis. He buys her a watch ("it's gold plated," he beams; "guaranteed for 20 years!"); in a touching scene, she dyes her hair back to its original brown to please him and to cut ties to her life in New York; he's exhausted and burnt to a crisp from picking lettuce and wonders if it's all worth it; he befriends the boss's son, and "Mike" and Cay start to think about children. There are pauses for casual daydreams on grassy hillsides. We learn why he went to prison in the first place, and what life was like inside. "You worked a whole day just to dance a minute at Dreamland," she murmurs after learning that he made 10 cents a day as a welder. "It was worth it," he replies, and it made me tear up. But then the boss's son sees his face in a true crime magazine, and the past comes boiling up.

But not noirishly, and it's hard to figure out why, let alone explain it. It doesn't feel noir, I guess. There's no sense that Bill and Cay are doomed; indeed, there's some very weird uncertainty about the murder that made me constantly wonder whether they were fleeing from nothing at all. There's a sense that although Bill was the victim of a grave injustice as a child, the world is not an unjust place, and that people in it, from the cops to everyday folks, are probably going to do the right thing, and can be reasoned with. One character says, "We haven't got much, but what we've got is ours. Nobody had to pay for it." That's an ethos that everyone in this particular world seems to share, and I think that's what disqualifies this film from the noir pantheon. Essentially, noir is about impending doom and desperation so thick you need fog lights to see through it; it's a minefield in which there's no safe place to step; it's about having blood on your hands and not being able to wash it off. It can have those single-source lights and unmotivated shadows, but they're not necessary. It can have double-crossing dames and guys who make a single mistake and pay for it with their lives, but again, it can do without. But without that desperation, you have something else: a thriller, a mystery, a romance, a morality tale, etc. Tomorrow Is Another Day is something else. In the best possible way.

Now go check out the other entries, and donate to save The Sound of Fury (aka Try and Get Me).

On "The Fighter"

Chopin playing "Chopsticks." The rest.

Rain Man's Agreement; or, I'm an Excellent Reporter

Welcome to the latest episode of Best Pictures from the Outside In, where Nick Davis, Nathaniel Rogers, and yours truly discuss two Best Picture winners as if they have something to do with each other, aside from winning Best Picture and being part of the secret Hollywood cabal that decides who lives and who has to star in movies with talking animals. New to this? Delve into the past.

Today in 1864 (Mike typed, about a month ago), General William Tecumseh Sherman reached Savannah, GA, nearing the end of his infamous March to the Sea that left a wide swath of the Confederacy in ruins. I mention him because he, like most of the people in the 1947 Best Picture winner Gentleman's Agreement, would most certainly out himself as an antisemite if given half a chance. And like Tom Cruise in the 1988 Best Picture winner Rain Man, he'd probably become a better person if he discovered that he had an autistic older brother, especially one with such a knack for coining catch-phrases.

But first, in case our readers haven't seen one or both of the films, or need to refresh their memory, I made this handy video:

Much like Sherman's March, these films left wide swaths of the Oscars and my sanity in ruins. Neither is a truly bad film, I think, but neither is particularly notable. Gentleman's Agreement is the archetype of the Social Problem Picture, an example of Hollywood studios deciding, often all at the same time (witness another 1947 Best Picture nominee, Crossfire, which is also about antisemitism), that there's an Important Issue Out There That We Must Address. It's a prestige production, uniting relative newcomer Elia Kazan with storied playwright Moss Hart, megastar Gregory Peck, and dependably great supporting players like Anne Revere, Celeste Holm, and Albert Dekker. It couldn't lose, and it didn't. But it's deadly dull, overwhelmingly earnest, and so wrapped up in providing scene after scene of average people demonstrating that they're thoughtlessly hateful that it gets a bit unwatchable by the halfway point. And over in 1988, Rain Man is a little harder to explain as a sure thing. Hot young star Tom Cruise finally gets his "not just a pretty face" role, Barry Levinson cements his reputation as a dependable director of ostensibly serious films that are also fun to watch, and Dustin Hoffman wins an Oscar for mastering three or four verbal and physical tics.

Since it's Hanukkah (or it was when I typed this), and in general a season of being generous, let's start by being nice: what was your favorite thing about each film? In Gentleman's it was most certainly every scene that the sublime Celeste Holm is onscreen (she's still alive! I want to meet her and thank her for being the best thing in a lot of movies!). In Rain Man, I have to admit to being pretty impressed with Tom Cruise, who I think would have been a more legitimate choice for a Best Actor nomination. But maybe that's going too far: he's certainly superior to Hoffman here, and I think he shows some growth as an actor from his earlier roles, and manages to sell me on both the change of heart and his inability to explain exactly why he's having it.

OK, your turn.

NICK: I can see that you have just asked us a question about something else, but before we move on, I just thought I should mention that I am a Scientologist. Did you guys know this about me? I suspect you didn't, and I'm uncertain as to your views about Scientology. Actually, I suspect your views might be negative or ill-informed, but if I keep telling you this about myself at totally inopportune moments, and you start acting uncomfortable about it, then boy will I have your number. I'll really have gotten you both where I want you. So, I just thought I should mention that I am a Scientologist. Please know that I am stiffly glowering at you as I say this.

Nathaniel, do you want to answer Mike's question? I got distracted, thinking about the Scientology that I practice, and I can't remember what he asked.

NATHANIEL: Here. Please put on this pair of Ray-Ban sunglasses so that
1. your hostile laser stare is hidden from view.
2. you may look appropriately "80s" (which is totally the best thing about you and Rain Man. We love a good time capsule.)

Ahhh, much better.

And now for some poorly managed hostility of my own: Mike, it's straight up selfish to ask what our favorite thing about Gentleman's Agreement is knowing that you've already hogged the only feasible answer. I don't even want to speak to you now except to maybe lecture you on your carelessly hurtful behavior.

Lectures are so hot. Well... if Gregory Peck is the one delivering them. But in all seriousness Celeste Holm is tremendously good in this movie as a sassy career gal with a big but slightly lonely social life. At first I was worried it was one of those cases where you latch on to and overvalue a charismatic performance because it saves you from its dull surroundings (too many examples to name) but by the movie's end I was convinced that I would have found her sensational even if she hadn't been surrounded by so much dead air; the portrait was so vivid I could project a whole sequel with her character as the star.

That said I feel certain that I like Gentleman's Agreement more than either of you. It is too stuffy and predetermined by half, yes, but its professorial angst strikes me as borne from genuine soul searching. To me it doesn't feel much like the lazy self-congratulatory tone of today's message movies, which generally take on safer more distance "messages" and then excuse all the lead characters of any of their residual complicity in the problem. Gentleman's Agreement seems genuinely ashamed of itself and though that doesn't make the movie particularly fun or exciting to watch, it does grant it curio value.

NICK: That's a really interesting take on the pluses of Gentleman's Agreement—and not only because I am, incidentally, a Scientologist. (Anyone feeling uncomfortable?) Dorothy McGuire, who gives a much more interesting performance than I had remembered, definitely works hard to make her character seem truly chastened, even when she hasn't worked out exactly what she's supposed to be ashamed of, or how ashamed, or how annoyed she's allowed to be in the face of all these admonishments. I like her and Holm in the movie, especially in Holm's final scene, where she makes clear she's in the film to do more than provide charming, insouciant relief from all the patronizing solemnity.

I was also surprised to see that, in framing and blocking, Gentleman's Agreement is actually quite interested in deep space and complexity, even if the overall film, especially the script and the other aspects of the direction, keep wanting to flatten things down. Sad to say that I think Peck is a big disappointment in this movie, partly because I think he avoids that interesting sense of complicity you're talking about, Nathaniel. He refuses to play the gadfly, hectoring "cons" of his character; despite having played an exciting, atypical series of rogues and headcases in the years before this film, he seems too convinced of Philip's righteousness: good for politics, maybe, but bad for drama. Even the romanticized dad in The Yearling is much more shaded than this guy. All that stuff in the script suggesting that Philip is kind of a sexist? Which comes up as early as his first meeting with McGuire's Kathy, when he seems startled that a woman could have articulate opinions, and she calls him out on that? Peck stays miles away from that sort of contradiction in his liberal crusader, or else Kazan insists on steering clear of it. I'd understand it if Fox felt the essential point of the movie was too urgent to qualify with more layers of nuance, but even Kazan didn't feel he deserved an Oscar for this movie.

MIKE: Nathaniel, I was going to say that we had to come up with something to admire aside from Celeste Holm, but I was afraid the task might have been impossible. It's not, of course: like I said, I don't think it's a terrible film. But I'll join Nick in faulting Peck for failure to dig in to his crusader: for me, Peck's singlemindedness quickly becomes the only interesting thing about him. It never seems to occur to him that if all these people who he thought of as decent sorts secretly harbored antisemitic opinions, maybe he does too, without having really thought about it. Instead, it's as if he's never met a Jewish person before, or been in the company of a Jewish person out in public, or been in the room when the subject came up. Where has he been hiding? Who knows what evil lurks in the heart of P. Schuyler Green?

But I can't agree about Dorothy McGuire. There's something stiff and plastic about her, like the only difference between "chastened" and "blissful" is that she bares those scary little milk teeth in the latter. (I'm being horrible, I know.) She's an odd one, and I have liked her in smaller roles, playing characters with a little more complexity and a little less screen time.

Is it too early to turn to Rain Man? No? Good.

So postwar Hollywood definitely had the treatment of Jews on its mind in 1947, as Gentleman's Agreement was up against Crossfire, whose noirish murder mystery plot didn't leave quite as much time for speechifying and finger-pointing. What, exactly, did Hollywood have on its mind in 1988, when Rain Man was victorious over, among others, a Gentleman's Agreement-style crusading film in Mississippi Burning? Whither the Academy's social conscience?

NICK: You mean, besides Scientology, as represented by one of the leading members of our congregation? Well, one thing it can't hurt to remind people is that Rain Man really seemed to foment a national conversation about autism. The topic has pretty universal currency now, but the whole release of Rain Man (which was the #1 grossing movie of that year, ahead of Who Framed Roger Rabbit?) and the many awards-show speeches fostered in its wake were pretty saturated with Gregory Peck-style lectures about how We Really Need To Know About This Condition. Again, no reason to fault the intentions of the film's makers, and I'm sure the cause benefited in lots of ways from such wide, high-profile exposure. But it's hard not to pine for a better vehicle than Who Stole Raymond Babbitt? to shine a spotlight on the problem.

As it is, we learn that if you care too much about sports cars and don't communicate well with your girlfriend AND don't care about your autistic brother, you are Bad. But, if you agree to drive across country rather than fly, and you watch game shows at the times your brother demands and hook him up with good tapioca, and then make a totally unrealistic claim on being his primary caretaker, you have become Good, or at least closer to Good. Jury still out on whether using your autistic brother to count cards in Vegas counts as obscenely disgusting or rakishly ingenious.

To this day, I don't understand what got everyone so wrapped up in Rain Man, and I'm even more weirded out to remember that it copped the Golden Bear at Berlin. Admittedly, the Best Picture line-up and the Berlin competition slate were both pretty weak that year, but there were plenty of phenomenal movies in '88. Why THIS one? (I think we were maybe supposed to start with pluses again, and I effed up for a second time.)

MIKE: Here's a plus: it had people across the country shuffling along with their knees together, heads cocked to the side, saying "I'm an excellent driver" and "Definitely! Definitely!" And that was pretty funny. Did you notice how many times Raymond seems to vary his inflections to serve as the punchline to a scene? Dustin Hoffman gave us the world's first autistic stand-up comedian! I think this might be the absolute nadir of giving Oscars to people for playing characters with disabilities. But I think it's Nathaniel's turn. Definitely.

NICK: I agree, and that final "K-Mart SUCKS!" is sort of the ne plus ultra of the pattern you're talking about. But I promise to count toothpicks till it really is my turn again.

MIKE: The word "Jew" is used in the Gentleman's Agreement script 472 times. Definitely.

NATHANIEL, after a long pause: I think what you're both forgetting when wondering why Rain Man caught fire is the near-universal love of the catchphrase in the 1980s. I'm not saying that previous decades didn't love a good quotable but in many ways the 80s were all about preparing the world for internet and then for twitter and soundbytes and reductive conversations where opposing parties just shout talking points at each other while no one actually communicates. Where's the beef in conversations? Politically speaking, at least, aren't we experiencing communal autism today?

I don't know for sure but I feel certain that whoever invented Twitter was born in that decade and was maybe experiencing a particularly unruly hormonal surge during puberty when someone shouted SHOW ME THE MONEY at them in late '96/early '97 when another ubiquitous Best Tom Cruise Picture catchphrase was all over the Oscars. Tom Cruise was once the king of catchphrases rather than the brunt of punchlines.

I don't love Rain Man as a film, but I think I have to admit that I do love it a little bit as an 80s time capsule: the tone, the 'tude, the Tom. And I do think it's handsomely shot (god, I miss film grain) particularly when it comes to the color palette which is just something you don't see anymore: neons, pinks, purples, golds. Movies right now seem to have only two color options: steel blue or peagreen filters (serious and/or genre stuff) or lit too bright without any discernible palette as if they're made for television (lighter fare).

MIKE: Weird thought: Rain Man came in the middle of Tom Cruise's transition from savant-like characters into more adult roles. He was always a guy with serious social difficulties but kickass skills at some limited thing: flying a plane (Top Gun), using a pool cue (The Color of Money), mixing a drink (Cocktail), driving a racecar (Days of Thunder). Maybe that's why he bonded so well with Raymond. Anyway.

I actually enjoy large sections of the film: those popping colors you mentioned, even if I often disagreed with the location of the camera or the timing of a cut; Tom Cruise's performance, even though it's more of a "most improved" mention than a Best Actor award; Hans Zimmer's score is a solid example of a certain kind of film score, that sort of "we haven't quite given up on synthesizers but we're recognizing their limitations" late-1980s sound I associate with Michael Mann productions. (Speaking of things associated with the late 1980s and early 1990s: Valeria Golino. What was up with her brief but undeniable popularity? Nick, you like actresses. Explain.)

NICK: Camera location and timing of cuts are problems throughout Rain Man for me, too, and I have to say, I really don't like the score. Inexplicable didgeridoos. Heavy Graceland residues (as in Paul Simon, not Elvis Presley). The unholy coming together of autism and 80s-era "world music," as if Raymond hails from some far-off place we don't really know anything about, preferring a weird sheen of pre-packaged mystique. Zimmer actually did the score for the other BP winner we just covered, Driving Miss Daisy, which I think boasted the first all-Casio movie score, though it doesn't sound as much like it as Rain Man's does.

I think Golino has some low-key charisma going for her in this part, but maybe I just appreciate the relative breath of fresh air away from the pair of very earnest performances at the center of the movie. Cruise does take some steps forward here; his onetime agent and later producing partner Paula Wagner had to lobby hard to get him this part, not least because Charlie was originally written to be older than Raymond. He repays her trust, but too many scenes catch Hoffman doing transparently unscripted things so as to get a rise out of Cruise/Charlie and teach him something about "being in the moment." Sometimes Charlie's confusion just plays to me as Cruise being unwilling or disinclined to hide how much he is suddenly learning about acting, amidst what he clearly perceives as a promotion to the big leagues. It's touching but also exasperating, like watching a tee-ball player grow thrilled and awestruck at suddenly pitching for the Mets, not realizing he's omitting a huge step and is actually still in the minor leagues, still susceptible delusions of grandeur. But give it up to Rain Man for seducing so many people into sharing its view of itself.

Now I'm thinking about minor-league baseball, dim and erratic upstarts, and slumming older pros, and I'm realizing all over again that the magnificent Bull Durham didn't even get a chance to take the AMPAS World Series away from this peculiar pishtosh.

Oh, and one more thing—I'm not a Scientologist! Ha HA! But did everyone learn a lot by my pretending to be? What should I wear to accept my Pulitzer?

MIKE: You know, I totally forgot about that didgeridoo. I went back to look at my notes, and the first thing I wrote down was "Digiridoo? Come on!" Misspelling and everything. And yeah, of course it's there and doesn't belong, but it's almost like this film contains some kind of subconscious coding that makes the bad parts fade from my memory faster than the good parts. I still like the score, despite the didgeridoo, and my overall feeling toward the film is a sort of condescending affection, even though it was so galling to watch.

NATHANIEL: Your scientology masqueraded reminded me that if a movie is not enough on its own we must project entertainment on to it! And aren't Best Picture winners generally the kinds of movies that are fully able to accept these projections?

Whether that "empty vessel" effect is achieved through spectacular engineering (Casablanca et al.) or reductions of shared history (Forrest Gump et al.) or magical inversions of intensely personal issues (American Beauty et al.) or plain ol' dumb luck (Rain Man?) aren't most Oscar winners basically successful at being all things to all people?

Rain Man is a trifle, but at least it plays like a "light" movie, particularly in comparison to Gentleman's Agreement's more familiar heavy sobriety. Since Rain Man isn't trying to be a grand statement but an entertainment, albeit stitched together with Serious Issue thread, it saves itself from the Emperor's New Clothes critique that's so easy to level against Important Movies.

But it's definitely not wearing any underpants.

Top 11 Nontheatrical Viewings of 2010

1. Valerie and Her Week of Wonders (Jaromil Jires, Czechoslovakia, 1970). I'm not exactly sure what it means, but I loved every minute of this criminally underseen Czech New Wave exercise in surrealism, dream imagery, and gothic horror. Even when the plot lost me, the cinematography is painfully beautiful.

2. Timecrimes (Nacho Vigalondo, Spain, 2007). A time-traveling mind-twister that takes pleasure in allowing viewers to think they've discovered plot holes, only to flip back around again and create new mysteries. Tom Cruise will star in the inevitable remake.

3. The Tale of the Fox (Wladyslaw Starewicz, France, 1930). Wes Anderson named this film as the prime inspiration for Fantastic Mr. Fox; an intricate stop-motion film about the rewards of being a slimeball, it pays equal attention to the foreground characters, background textures, and sound.

4. Aventurera (Alberto Gout, Mexico, 1950). A stylish, campy melodrama that packs in suicide, prostitution, fistfights, robberies, lots and lots of diamonds, and eye-popping musical numbers to rival anything Hollywood produced in the 1950s.

5. Always for Pleasure (Les Blank, USA, 1978). Blank was the master of the nearly lost form of documentaries that actually document things as they happen. Of course there's a careful structure imposed through the editing process, but it feels like a beautiful, impromptu tour of New Orleans, a city so awesome that its residents just have to burst out in song.

6. Lady Snowblood (Toshiya Fujita, Japan, 1973). One of the greatest samurai films, the basis for Quentin Tarantino's Kill Bill makes its adoring acolyte look like a hack.

7. Raw Deal (Anthony Mann, USA, 1948). If you look up "film noir" in the dictionary, it directs you to this hard-ass film filled with deadly dames, conniving crooks, sadistic murderers, and the biggest dupe in the history of film noir dupes.

8. The Swindle (Claude Chabrol, France, 1997). Chabrol had so much fun with this double-dealing crime caper that he just couldn't follow it through to its logical, violent conclusions; it feels like a wonderful stage play where all the actors come out at the end to take a bow.

9. Surviving Desire (Hal Hartley, USA, 1991). How on earth did I manage to go so long without seeing a Hal Hartley film? If David Mamet weren't a misanthrope and had a sense of humor, he might have produced this.

10. The Ballad of Cable Hogue (Sam Peckinpah, USA, 1970). "Good natured" and "humanist" aren't exactly the adjectives one thinks of when considering Peckinpah, but I'll be damned if this rowdy Western isn't both of those things.

11. Artists and Models (Frank Tashlin, USA, 1955). That Frank Tashlin was a genius, I already knew. That Jerry Lewis is too, I'm coming to believe. That Shirley MacLaine showed them both up as relative amateurs when it comes to comedy, I'll proclaim to the world.

I Read a Lot in 2010

I read 62 books in 2010. Here they are, more or less in the order I read them. Yes, but you already knew I was a huge nerd. Boldface indicates especially good reading. Strikethrough indicates the opposite.

Stella Gibbons, Cold Comfort Farm, 1932
George MacDonald Fraser, Flashman and the Dragon, 1985
Vasily Grossman, Life and Fate, 1960
E.L. Doctorow, The March, 2005
Chester Himes, If He Hollers Let Him Go, 1945
George MacDonald Fraser, Flash for Freedom, 1971
Dante Alighieri, The Purgatorio, 1308
Friedrich Durrenmatt, Traps, 1956
Doris Lessing, The Summer Before the Dark, 1973
Hannah Green, The Dead of the House, 1996
Brian W. Aldiss, Frankenstein Unbound, 1973
Knut Hamsun, Victoria, 1969
Luigi Pirandello, Shoot!, 1926
Richard Hell, Go Now, 1996
Christopher Moore, Coyote Blue, 1994
H.P. Lovecraft, Supernatural Horror in Literature, 1945
Jennifer Gonnerman, Life on the Outside, 2004
Emily Colas, Just Checking, 1998
Yevgeny Zamyatin, We, 1923
Dennis Potter, Blackeyes, 1987
Elmore Leonard, Valdez Is Coming, 1970
Georges Simenon, Red Lights, 1953
Michael Cox, The Meaning of Night, 2006
Witold Gombrowicz, Cosmos, 1965
Witold Gombrowicz, Pornografia, 1966
Kenneth Fearing, The Big Clock, 1946
James Welch, The Heartsong of Charging Elk, 2000
Steve Fisher, I Wake Up Screaming, 1960
Charles Willeford, Miami Blues, 1984
David Mamet, Glengarry Glen Ross, 1982
Francine Prose, The Glorious Ones, 1974
John O’Hara, BUtterfield 8, 1935
Richard Ford, The Sporstwriter, 1986
David Pease, Nineteen Seventy-Four, 1999
Samuel Delaney, Driftglass, 1971
Eric Powell, The Goon 8: Those That Is Damned, 2009
Charles Frazier, Thirteen Moons, 2006
Eric Ambler, Epitaph for a Spy, 1938
Richard Neely, Shattered, 1969
Tim O’Brien, July, July, 2002
William Styron, Sophie’s Choice, 1979
George V. Higgins, The Friends of Eddie Coyle, 1970
Nelson Algren, Chicago: A City on the Make, 1961
George Macdonald Fraser, Flashman and the Mountain of Light, 1990
Seneca, Four Tragedies and Octavia, ca. 40
John Calvin Batchelor, The Birth of the People’s Republic of Antarctica, 1983
Roberto Bolano, The Savage Detectives, 1998
Sanyika Shakur, Monster: The Autobiography of an L.A. Gang Member, 1993
Suetonius, Lives of the Twelve Caesars, 90
Patrick O’Brian, Treason’s Harbour, 1983
Thomas Hardy, Jude the Obscure, 1894
Elmore Leonard, Swag, 1976
Eugene Ionesco, Amedee, The New Tenant, Victims of Duty, 1955
Tariq Ali, The Book of Saladin, 1998
Maggie O’Farrell, The Distance Between Us, 2004
Poppy Z. Brite, ed., Love in Vein, 1995 (stories)
Dan Simmons, The Terror, 2007
Jeff Sypeck, Becoming Charlemagne, 2006
Craig Nova, Wetware, 2002
Graham Greene, The Tenth Man, 1985
Alaa Al Aswany, The Yacoubian Building, 2002
L. Sprague De Camp, Lovecraft, 1975