100 Books Like Radical Hollywood

I always like books that trace the origins of a political movement, because they almost always go farther back than we think.

This one follows the suppression of radical activity in Hollywood from the beginning of the Great Depression of the 1930s, a time that also saw the founding of the Writers’ Guild, a union that gave writers some actual power in an industry that ran on power and often regarded writers as disposable. But even the Writers Guild couldn’t defend those accused of communist sympathies by their government.

It is significant in our current era that no Hollywood Communist, even the real ones, was ever linked to espionage or sabotage, and that evidence of the supposed subversive indoctrination planted in films was nonexistent. 

Oral histories and first-hand accounts bring a past era alive for me in a way that even the best historical narrative can’t.

This book contains the voices of thirty-six victims of the Hollywood Blacklist, including two of the famous/notorious Hollywood Ten, who went to jail for refusing to discuss their personal politics or name their friends before the House Un-American Activities Committee.

We hear from directors, stars, less famous actors, and screenwriters like those jailed by HUAC. We watch their lives unravel, their careers dissolve. Some go to Europe to work, some stick it out in the US, writing anonymously, denied screen credit and decent pay, and some migrate to academia. All provide a chilling account of government persecution for political belief.

As the child of screenwriters, Naming Names felt personal to me.

It was probably the first serious attempt at a comprehensive account of the Hollywood Blacklist, the product of the Red Scare driven by the House Un-American Activities Committee and Sen. Joseph McCarthy that shattered careers and lives.

It examines not only the politics of the hunt for communists in the arts but the lives of the real people affected and the fear generated when colleagues and neighbors were pressured to turn on each other in their testimony.

It is particularly timely just now.

I loved this novel for its heroine and for its pitch-perfect recreation of the 1950s, combining Fanny’s blossoming career as a writer of radio serials with the looming danger of the McCarthy-era blacklist.

The author is a child of that time, and her memory is spot-on, from seams in women’s stockings to the cloud of suspicion that gathered around a writer who went to the wrong meeting or subscribed to the wrong magazine, much less flirted with Communism twenty years earlier or even knew someone who had.

Defending oneself against it was impossible. A blacklisted writer or actor simply disappeared. I found echoes of current politics in both the blacklist and the post-war urge to shove women back into the kitchen and nursery. 

Rebecca Prime is one of the contributors to my book and her book is a fascinating sequel to that volume. It covers the careers of several blacklisted filmmakers who fled Hollywood and America, seeking to find new work and life opportunities in Europe. Impeccably researched and elegantly written, Prime’s study tells the story of a generation of creative workers that was lost to the USA but which made a vital contribution to European and British cinemas. As she details, many of the exiled filmmakers faced almighty personal and professional struggles to adjust to their new circumstances, and while a few (e.g. Joseph Losey and Jules Dassin) would eventually achieve fabulous success, many other exiles found it difficult to secure regular and fulfilling work opportunities or personal happiness.

As someone who adores all things Pickford (and has written about Mary’s sister-in-law, Olive Thomas), there’s no way I couldn’t include this book, which covers the association between silent star Mary Pickford and her scenarist Frances Marion. 

I love the dynamic between these two powerful women, and Benjamin does a good job of establishing their relationship. There is a lot to love about this book: the writing, the dialog, and the detail. I love this book!

My only quibble is the picture they used for the front cover. I’d have picked it up long before I did if they’d actually used a picture of Mary and Frances because I would have recognized instantly who it was about.  

Martin Turnbull is somewhat of an expert on Old Hollywood and I found his incredible website in my research for Honey Black.

His website is full of original photos of LA throughout the decades and these were invaluable for me when I was writing certain scenes. I then discovered he had written a series of books based in Hollywood, following three friends who come together to navigate their way through the movie business, starting with The Garden of Allah set in the late 1920s. It’s a fascinating look at the seedier side of Old Hollywood. 

Although I knew of Hattie McDaniel’s groundbreaking achievement as the first African American woman to win an Academy Award for her iconic role as Mammy in Gone with the Wind, I knew little about Hattie’s life before, during, and after the film’s release. 

Through this book, I learned why McDaniel's victory marked such a pivotal moment in the history of cinema. More importantly, I appreciated how Tate moved beyond that singular moment to unveil the deeper layers of McDaniel's life, painting a vivid portrait of her struggles, triumphs, and the indelible mark she left on the entertainment industry, including the challenges she faced in a racially segregated Hollywood.

I applaud Tate for transforming Hattie McDaniel from a recognizable name into a three-dimensional, inspiring figure. 

McClintick makes the Hollywood boardroom scandal that began with David Begelman’s forgery of Cliff Robertson’s name on a $10,000 check, into a compulsively readable account of power run amok amongst  Hollywood-Wall Street executives. An expose of theft, cover-up, and blackmail, it is also a beautifully written, incisive portrait of men and women seduced by the glamor and power of Hollywood fame.

This novel is a blend of fact and fiction and informed speculation, centered on the relationship between two mammoth film stars of Hollywood’s Golden Age: Loretta Young and Clark Gable. While the deeper truths of their relationship during the filming of Call of the Wild might be disputed, what is certain is that they produced a daughter whose identity was kept secret—even from her father. Loretta is sympathetically portrayed, often from the perspective of an Italian nun (the author’s creation). A whole galaxy of film celebrities passes through the pages of this book, which for fans of 20th century cinema, is a plus. One touching and poignant aspect of the story, for me, is the danger Loretta’s beloved child poses to her reputation and career.