A cri de coeur about art’s struggle to keep up with reality.
The veteran film critic considers Trump-era calamities through the filter of movies.
Thomson is a rigorous critic—see A Biographical Dictionary of Film or nearly any other of his many books—but also an idiosyncratic one, so this book is too slippery to be considered simply as a study of the intersection of film and Trumpish politics. Think of it more as a series of impressions of how film connects with and diverges from reality—and why we take pleasure in cinematic catastrophes while averting our gaze from genuine ones. One chapter weaves observations of a Laurel & Hardy film with Battleship Potemkin, balancing the slapstick nature of our political moment with its dead seriousness. In another, Thomson explores the guilty pleasure of the slick CGI disaster film San Andreas, exemplifying the “new giddy norm” of films that fantasize about mass destruction. Perhaps, he suggests, the way movies put a pleasant glow around disaster made us vulnerable to the rise of Trump, "the worst personal disaster this country has ever faced.” (By this reckoning, Meryl Streep’s star turn in the Holocaust drama Sophie’s Choice was a moral error: "The camps were not an occasion for glorious acting.") Thomson is erudite on how disaster is presented in films like The Road, The Birds, Contagion, and Don’t Look Now, and he’s especially engaging on an episode of The Crown about a 1966 Welsh coal-town disaster that killed dozens of children. All exemplify the “erotic charge in delivered disaster" and the ways "we want our fears of physical ruin rendered as something so beautiful we feel no pain." However, while Thomson’s concern is palpable, he never really arrives at a thesis. His riffs on Rachel Maddow, Covid-19, Goya, and photojournalism are lovely in themselves, but they read like questions anxiously in search of answers.
A cri de coeur about art’s struggle to keep up with reality.Pub Date: Jan. 25, 2022
ISBN: 978-0-300-24694-0
Page Count: 224
Publisher: Yale Univ.
Review Posted Online: Oct. 25, 2021
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Nov. 15, 2021
A blissfully vicarious, heartfelt glimpse into the life of a Manhattan burlesque dancer.
A former New York City dancer reflects on her zesty heyday in the 1970s.
Discovered on a Manhattan street in 2020 and introduced on Stanton’s Humans of New York Instagram page, Johnson, then 76, shares her dynamic history as a “fiercely independent” Black burlesque dancer who used the stage name Tanqueray and became a celebrated fixture in midtown adult theaters. “I was the only black girl making white girl money,” she boasts, telling a vibrant story about sex and struggle in a bygone era. Frank and unapologetic, Johnson vividly captures aspects of her former life as a stage seductress shimmying to blues tracks during 18-minute sets or sewing lingerie for plus-sized dancers. Though her work was far from the Broadway shows she dreamed about, it eventually became all about the nightly hustle to simply survive. Her anecdotes are humorous, heartfelt, and supremely captivating, recounted with the passion of a true survivor and the acerbic wit of a weathered, street-wise New Yorker. She shares stories of growing up in an abusive household in Albany in the 1940s, a teenage pregnancy, and prison time for robbery as nonchalantly as she recalls selling rhinestone G-strings to prostitutes to make them sparkle in the headlights of passing cars. Complemented by an array of revealing personal photographs, the narrative alternates between heartfelt nostalgia about the seedier side of Manhattan’s go-go scene and funny quips about her unconventional stage performances. Encounters with a variety of hardworking dancers, drag queens, and pimps, plus an account of the complexities of a first love with a drug-addled hustler, fill out the memoir with personality and candor. With a narrative assist from Stanton, the result is a consistently titillating and often moving story of human struggle as well as an insider glimpse into the days when Times Square was considered the Big Apple’s gloriously unpolished underbelly. The book also includes Yee’s lush watercolor illustrations.
A blissfully vicarious, heartfelt glimpse into the life of a Manhattan burlesque dancer.Pub Date: July 12, 2022
ISBN: 978-1-250-27827-2
Page Count: 192
Publisher: St. Martin's
Review Posted Online: July 27, 2022
A frank and funny but uneven essay collection about neurodiversity.
An experimental, illustrated essay collection that questions neurotypical definitions of what is normal.
From a young age, writer and comedian Myers has been different. In addition to coping with obsessive compulsive disorder and panic attacks, she struggled to read basic social cues. During a round of seven minutes in heaven—a game in which two players spend seven minutes in a closet and are expected to kiss—Myers misread the romantic advances of her best friend and longtime crush, Marley. In Paris, she accidentally invited a sex worker to join her friends for “board games and beer,” thinking he was simply a random stranger who happened to be hitting on her. In community college, a stranger’s request for a pen spiraled her into a panic attack but resulted in a tentative friendship. When the author moved to Australia, she began taking notes on her colleagues in an effort to know them better. As the author says to her co-worker, Tabitha, “there are unspoken social contracts within a workplace that—by some miracle—everyone else already understands, and I don’t….When things Go Without Saying, they Never Get Said, and sometimes people need you to Say Those Things So They Understand What The Hell Is Going On.” At its best, Myers’ prose is vulnerable and humorous, capturing characterization in small but consequential life moments, and her illustrations beautifully complement the text. Unfortunately, the author’s tendency toward unnecessary capitalization and experimental forms is often unsuccessful, breaking the book’s otherwise steady rhythm.
A frank and funny but uneven essay collection about neurodiversity.Pub Date: Oct. 28, 2025
ISBN: 9780063381308
Page Count: 272
Publisher: Morrow/HarperCollins
Review Posted Online: Sept. 12, 2025
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Oct. 15, 2025
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