2013 Summer Reading Classic Film Book Challenge (Book 4) Licence To Thrill: A Cultural History of the James Bond Films

Bond. James Bond.  Even those iconic words came as a sort of accident in the franchise as a means to properly introduce the cinematic Sean Connery version of James Bond to the world, as he playfully engages with the overlooked Bond girl Sylvia Trench.  These are the types of things you learn when you read way to many texts about James Bond, some completely academic, using Lacanian psychoanalysis and high level political theory to consider the image of Bond, while always pulling back to understand that he is entirely a creation of the late Ian Fleming.  I will admit that I do not mind this approach in the slightest, but on repeat, as it has been pretty much all summer can get a bit daunting and a fresh alternative is always welcome.  Thankfully, James Chapman's A Cultural History of the James Bond Films provides the perfect way to approach the fifty plus year franchise, while also considering the ways in which it has influenced film studies, political landscapes and the general manner with which moviegoers see the action film.  Furthermore, where works often lack in an ambition to paint in the most minute of details the initial encounters in the filmic inception of one of the world's highest grossing franchises, Chapman picks out ever possible piece of key evidence, without it ever appearing nauseating or excessive.  It is also in this very commitment to exactitude that Chapman's narrative becomes important, precisely because other "dossiers" on the evolution of James Bon have come out under the very watchful and critical eyes of EON productions, whose narrative reflects one that tries its best to vilify all participants whose involvement was either stifled financially, or in the case of poor George Lazenby completely removed as a result of backdoor politics.  Indeed, as great a documentary as Everything or Nothing proves to be, it is great to see the larger story of the James Bond film franchise depicted, acknowledging that famous names like Bruccoli and Saltzman carry an iconography about them, while also remembering that since making the films were very much a business, sometimes financial strong arming happened, allowing for Chapman to make some absolutely astute suggestions between the quality of work in certain films and the pros and cons of the respective production experiences of each.

Another benefit of Chapman's particular reading is that despite it affording an occasional critical and theoretical reading of the films, it does not fall into the trap of kowtowing to the contemporary works in the genre, as a means to draw in young, non-Bond fanatics into the mix.  As the title suggests, it is a history of the film franchise and as such most of the text does center on the first decade of films, which Chapman makes expressly career proved integral, if not outright necessary, to the success of more recent works like the backwards looking Casino Royale.  The section that Chapman provides for the great Sean Connery could almost double as a mini-biography for the actor, in its detailed accounts of his discovery, implementation and eventually cementing as the image of James Bond.  This is particularly key to discussing the James Bond films because Connery over the recent years has come to disdain talking on the subject of Bond, partially due to his eventual falling out with the producers and his own retirement from acting.  In fact, if it were not for the laboriously researched audio commentaries on the recent release of James Bond blurays, I would be willing to call Chapman's writing on Connery the most detailed available.  Of course, as a clear fan of the films, Chapman also has opinions about the works that cloud how he considers their importance and presence, yet, where other others would be overly embracing of bad movies or dismissively flippant towards decent works, Chapman tempers his opinions with grounded arguments and factual evidence.  Indeed, he comes down quite hard on You Only Live Twice, which has become wildly dated and highly offensive by contemporary standards of race and gender identity.  Similarly, he is an advocate of On Her Majesty's Secret Service and Moonarker (my personal favorite in the series) despite their being dismissed by fans.  For the first, he explains how shifting attitudes in cinematic narrative and a push for a darker film, based entirely off of Fleming's book no less, resulted in the poor success of On Her Majesty's Secret Service, and Lazenby was indeed fine in the role.  As for Moonraker, he embraces the excess and absurdity of the film, noting that it fell in line with the style of Bond films of the era, while also drawing attention to the larger implausibility of an old-school Bond existing in the increasingly globalized and post-colonized world.

Best Film Discovery of the Book:  While I had seen the entire series by the time I encountered this book, I do agree with Chapman on his defense of On Her Majesty's Secret Service, which has become vilified by many for what they see as a complete misstep in the franchise's image and style.  Chapman argues the opposite and instead suggests that it was an attempt to make Bond more adult and realistic, which occurs to much success in the contemporary films.  If anything Lazenby's Bond was well ahead of its time.  If I cannot sell you on it, I would suggest reading it in Chapman's words.

2013 Summer Reading Classic Film Book Challenge (Book 3) Killer Kaiju Monsters

The previous two texts for this wonderful Classic Film Book Challenge have been decidedly academic, focusing on theoretical readings of a historical and cultural nature.  Admittedly this is my ideal point of film reading, but since it is the summer and I needed a bit of a breather, I decided to chase down a copy of Killer Kaiju Monsters, which may not seem to fit within the parameters of the Classic Film Book guidelines, but considering that much of the classic kaiju works exist within the years 1956-1968 it does indeed suffice, and the book focuses precisely on these years, while also looking at the extensive cultural influences of the unique genre.  For those of you who are uncertain about what exactly a kaiju is, might have caught the name in this summer's big blockbuster Pacific Rim and now associate it with huge sea monsters.  To a considerable degree this is precisely what they are, although they include the likes of Godzilla and his various frenemies.  In essence a kaiju is any sort of large monster that has its eyes set on destroying things, although in recent years it has evolved to be post-genre and highly revisionist.  Nonetheless, it still proves to be one of the more adored genres for many cinephiles, who either love the works in all their nonsensical glory, or simply, like myself, have a major nostalgia for the works.  The kaiju film is distinct, bizarre and in some cases quite trippy, so it should be no surprise that what one finds in Ivan Vartanian's Killer Kaiju Monsters is nothing short of unusual.  The film is split into various sections some introducing new readers to the genre, while others focus on the various creatures that occupy the screens of the still lively genre, but Vartanian also incorporates posters and screenshots as a means to push the visual elements of the genre as well.  In fact, one could almost argue that Killer Kaiju Monsters is far more a coffee table book than a piece of academic writing, but  the same argument could be made working in the opposite direction, because somebody just expecting to look at cool pictures and sketches, will come away with a great understanding of the cinematic history of kaiju and a whole new compendium of monsters with which to impress their nerdy friends.  Also, if all of these elements fail to draw out your curiosity, the text also includes a cutout to make your very own kaiju paper doll, which is one of many cool asides in this highly engaging text.

I know that this is a highly specialized read and one that is not wholly academic, but being somebody who has read, or is either currently working through the other texts available on this topic, I can attest to  the simplicity of Killer Kaiju Monsters as being its selling point.  Indeed, it will be somewhat impossible to learn the minutia of production or the nuclear warfare implications latent within the films, particularly the first Godzilla film, but it is not also preachy and absurdly personalized like say Godzilla on My Mind, which to date is my biggest disappointment in film based reading.  Other kaiju texts, make foolish assumptions that since they are working within a distinct field that their personal opinion suffices for academic grounding.  Between the humorous images of cartoon Godzilla offspring and full page spreads of Mothra shooting beams upon Tokyo, one has a better time coming to watch the evolution of kaiju cinema through Vartanian's work than any other text availabe on the subject.  Again, I will admit that some of my adoration for this particular book comes from its quirkiness, but that is not intended to dismiss its value.  Considering that many of the major kaiju films have yet to make their American release in any format, some of the research done for this text is the first of its kind, yet avoids all the pretense of more high-minded approaches to the same subject.  Yet, I still feel it necessary to remind readers that this work is anything but distancing, Vartanian wants both the newcomers to kaiju as well as the diehard fanatics to take something away from his book, which perhaps helps explain its decidedly post-modern structure, wherein a fully academic text would be derailed by a drawn-out description of Gidorah's special powers and theoretical weight versus that of Rodan, it is well at home in Killer Kaiju Monsters.  Similarly, if this text were solely a coffee table book the extensive looks at political themes in the films would be off-putting to the casual reader.  Much like the kaiju films themselves, Killer Kaiju Monsters exists in a perfect space between low culture schlock and high theory cinema.

Best Film Discovery of the Book: While it lists all of the films in the genre, it decides to give some discussion to more than others, particularly when they relate to Godzilla.  One such film was Godzilla vs. Megalon, which also featured the first onscreen presence of Jet Jaguar, whose theme song is enough to make the entire movie worth viewing.  I suggest it as a discovery, because I had avoided it under the misguidance of it being a lesser kaiju work, indeed it is one of my favorites, now third only to the original Godzilla movie and the psychedelic Godzilla vs. The Smog Monster.  For what this book offers, it is insanely cheap.  If you find yourself in the market for something to flip through or have as a conversation piece, I would suggest looking no further than this wonderful text.

2013 Summer Reading Classic Film Book Challenge (Book 1) Shadows of Doubt: Negotiations of Masculinity in American Genre Films

When an author sets out to compose a text that concerns itself with as complex of themes as how gender is performed within cinema, particularly genre films no less, which come with their own set of contested definitions, a reader might be hesitant to follow the complex threads argued by the author.  However, Barry Keith Grant's Shadows of Doubt: Negotiations of Masculinity in American Genre Films is an exception to such a rule.  While, at times it reads much more like a genre revisionist piece than a critique of how masculinity has evolved, altered and deconstructed itself within American film, Grant infuses the piece with such realized close readings of both prolific films and lesser known classics that both the casual reader and the die-hard film theorist can find points of intrigue.  While the text does expand beyond the seventies briefly, more as a point of conclusion than study, Shadows of Doubt takes into consideration the elements of masculinity at play both in front of and behind the camera, discussing everything from D.W. Griffith's important work Broken Blossoms, to a gendered analysis of Stanley Kubrick's enigmatic ending in 2001: A Space Odyssey.  At no point during his varied analysis does Grant become self-agrandizing in his argument, although he is not above dismissing what he feels to be ill-conceived analysis, taking a particular stance in his defense of horror as not only a genre of films worth critical discussion, but, perhaps, the ideal point of criticism both in their mass appeal to moviegoers and in their inherent counter-cinema nature.  In particular, Grant tackles George A. Romero's early zombie classic Night of the Living Dead, a film I have written about critically in the past, and, where I thought I had pulled and prodded at all its gendered commentaries, Grant manages to strip away the layers of gory cult status, to truly paint a picture of not only a film genre (and arguably larger industry) on its last breaths of classic life, but a society crumbling under its own foolish clutching to antiquated ideals of culture.

The text is highly valuable to film theory, because while it does entrench itself within American film entirely, some of the themes are somewhat universal, affording the same argument to be applied to Red River (for which Grant's write-up is a revelation) that could be extended to something like Kurosawa's Seven Samurai, with a minor altering of archetypes here and there.  Indeed, masculinity in film has been discussed ad nauseum since film theory moved away from a purely structuralist frame of referecne, however, it has not been delivered with such poise and diligence has it occurs here in Shadows of Doubt.  In fact, Grant is keen enough to avoid the trap that befalls many film theorist, myself included, where once you make the decision to include particular work in your narrative, you convince yourself of it being a masterpiece, as to justify its continual acknowledgement.  Grant is above such frivolous approachs, instead, when he is aware that the film proves only a cultural or critical value he mentions its less than stellar cinematic value, this is evident in his extended discussion of The Delicate Delinquents, for which, he seems to only enjoy on a moderate cinematic level, but, nonetheless, deconstructs for its seminal place in the discussion of an evolving masculinity in the work of American genre filmmaking.  Another benefit of Grant's work is that while he is considerably critical of misguided opinions about work, he does seem willing to the keep the dialogue open, neither claiming the final say in a matter, nor a single answer to any one cinematic masculine presence, indeed I found myself wonder, what his thought were on some of the more complex male figures in the history of American film, such as Robert Mitchum's maniacal priest in The Night of the Hunter or the tense, yet relatively humorous engagements of The Rat Pack.  At times, Grant purposefully chooses lesser known, or critically dismissed movies as a point of reference to their gender dynamics, in some cases, arguing that their unique portrayal of new versions of masculinity, in some ways led to their timely demise (refer to his magnficent analysis of Elvis, rock'n'roll and a reconsideration of the musical for the best example).  Ultimately, Grant lays a groundwork for the hybrid discussion of genre and gender, one that has, as mentioned before, existed in varying degrees prior, but never with this much tenacity and possibility.

Best film discovery of the book:  Being a huge fan of counter-cinema, Grant's entire chapter devoted to Shirley Clarke's The Cool World opened my eyes up to a film that I was unaware of prior, and one made by an African-American woman no less.  It is a stellar work in cinema verite and a clear through line to the hip works of Jarmusch and Tarantino, which is yet another reason to check out Shadows of Doubt, available here.