A smart study of star quality as an industrial process, written by an academic who still understands Hollywood’s cheap,...
A cinema archivist digs into the vaults of Golden Era Hollywood and comes up with a treasure trove of goodies.
In this epochal study on how the Hollywood studio system manufactures stars (sometimes out of little but a cute smile, and other times molding and channeling that indefinable stardust quality), Basinger (Film Studies/Wesleyan Univ.; Silent Stars, 1999, etc.) demonstrates a delightful ability to mix a formidable knowledge of film history, both as business and art form, with a fan’s appreciation of what film is all about. Despite the book’s title, only the first 100-odd pages really cover the factory process—both its winners, like tap sensation Eleanor Powell, and forgotten misfires like Anna Sten, whom Samuel Goldwyn tried to turn into the next Greta Garbo, only to find out that audiences didn’t want another Garbo (“If they had to accept some other exotic European, they’d take Marlene Dietrich”). In sections like “Problems for the System: The Human Factor” (subsections are titled “Disillusionment,” “Disobedience,” “Defection” and so on), Basinger does what she does best in turning out portrait after portrait of the great and not-so-great stars and workaday B-listers who churned out the product for the old bosses. Basinger understands that it’s not the star-machine process itself that is so fascinating, but rather the stars who are swallowed and spit out by the process. The author goes right to the heart of the matter in her examination of movie stars, those immortals walking the earth who define movie magic in all its baffling glory, like the ineffable, oft-ignored genius of somebody like Bing Crosby—“he’s got that meanness, plus a touch of larceny and the ability to con anyone out of anything.” Along the way, Basinger dissects the post–World War II collapse of the star system, which was replaced by the free-for-all age in which we currently live—no less interesting in its own regard, only more difficult to codify in all its slippery chaos. Basinger gives ample space to the qualities and typecasting of the likes of Brad Pitt and Julia Roberts, never indulging in sepia-tinged nostalgia for its own sake.
A smart study of star quality as an industrial process, written by an academic who still understands Hollywood’s cheap, sensuous appeal.Pub Date: Oct. 24, 2007
ISBN: 978-1-4000-4130-5
Page Count: 592
Publisher: Knopf
Review Posted Online: May 19, 2010
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Sept. 1, 2007
A superb book about doing his job by a master of his craft.
The renowned writer offers advice on information-gathering and nonfiction composition.
The book consists of eight instructive and charming essays about creating narratives, all of them originally composed for the New Yorker, where McPhee (Silk Parachute, 2010, etc.) has been a contributor since the mid-1960s. Reading them consecutively in one volume constitutes a master class in writing, as the author clearly demonstrates why he has taught so successfully part-time for decades at Princeton University. In one of the essays, McPhee focuses on the personalities and skills of editors and publishers for whom he has worked, and his descriptions of those men and women are insightful and delightful. The main personality throughout the collection, though, is McPhee himself. He is frequently self-deprecating, occasionally openly proud of his accomplishments, and never boring. In his magazine articles and the books resulting from them, McPhee rarely injects himself except superficially. Within these essays, he offers a departure by revealing quite a bit about his journalism, his teaching life, and daughters, two of whom write professionally. Throughout the collection, there emerge passages of sly, subtle humor, a quality often absent in McPhee’s lengthy magazine pieces. Since some subjects are so weighty—especially those dealing with geology—the writing can seem dry. There is no dry prose here, however. Almost every sentence sparkles, with wordplay evident throughout. Another bonus is the detailed explanation of how McPhee decided to tackle certain topics and then how he chose to structure the resulting pieces. Readers already familiar with the author’s masterpieces—e.g., Levels of the Game, Encounters with the Archdruid, Looking for a Ship, Uncommon Carriers, Oranges, and Coming into the Country—will feel especially fulfilled by McPhee’s discussions of the specifics from his many books.
A superb book about doing his job by a master of his craft.Pub Date: Sept. 5, 2017
ISBN: 978-0-374-14274-2
Page Count: 208
Publisher: Farrar, Straus and Giroux
Review Posted Online: May 8, 2017
Kirkus Reviews Issue: June 1, 2017
Naughty good fun from an impossibly sardonic rogue, quickly rising to Twainian stature.
The undisputed champion of the self-conscious and the self-deprecating returns with yet more autobiographical gems from his apparently inexhaustible cache (Naked, 1997, etc.).
Sedaris at first mines what may be the most idiosyncratic, if innocuous, childhood since the McCourt clan. Here is father Lou, who’s propositioned, via phone, by married family friend Mrs. Midland (“Oh, Lou. It just feels so good to . . . talk to someone who really . . . understands”). Only years later is it divulged that “Mrs. Midland” was impersonated by Lou’s 12-year-old daughter Amy. (Lou, to the prankster’s relief, always politely declined Mrs. Midland’s overtures.) Meanwhile, Mrs. Sedaris—soon after she’s put a beloved sick cat to sleep—is terrorized by bogus reports of a “miraculous new cure for feline leukemia,” all orchestrated by her bitter children. Brilliant evildoing in this family is not unique to the author. Sedaris (also an essayist on National Public Radio) approaches comic preeminence as he details his futile attempts, as an adult, to learn the French language. Having moved to Paris, he enrolls in French class and struggles endlessly with the logic in assigning inanimate objects a gender (“Why refer to Lady Flesh Wound or Good Sir Dishrag when these things could never live up to all that their sex implied?”). After months of this, Sedaris finds that the first French-spoken sentiment he’s fully understood has been directed to him by his sadistic teacher: “Every day spent with you is like having a cesarean section.” Among these misadventures, Sedaris catalogs his many bugaboos: the cigarette ban in New York restaurants (“I’m always searching the menu in hope that some courageous young chef has finally recognized tobacco as a vegetable”); the appending of company Web addresses to television commercials (“Who really wants to know more about Procter & Gamble?”); and a scatological dilemma that would likely remain taboo in most households.
Naughty good fun from an impossibly sardonic rogue, quickly rising to Twainian stature.Pub Date: June 1, 2000
ISBN: 0-316-77772-2
Page Count: 288
Publisher: Little, Brown
Review Posted Online: May 19, 2010
Kirkus Reviews Issue: April 1, 2000
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