Books like Start to Finish

Until I read Wasson’s provocative book, it was my understanding that Robert Towne crafted his Oscar-winning Chinatown script with guidance from his star (Jack Nicholson), producer (Robert Evans), and director (Roman Polanski), all of whom urged Towne to find a cogent narrative inside a sprawling concept embedded with powerful metaphors.

Then Wasson debunked the romantic myth of the genius scribe working in isolation by revealing not just the extent of Polanski’s notes but, even more explosively, the involvement of Edward Taylor as Towne’s “editor” and possible uncredited co-writer. I didn’t think it was possible for me to be shocked anymore by discoveries about my chosen field, but Wasson’s book reminded me that solo screenwriting credits are, at best, abstractions and, at worst, misnomers.

When I first read this years ago, it struck me as one of the great books about directing—Steven Spielberg’s ingenuity is a major focus. Revisiting it today, I realize it’s equally valuable as a screenwriting resource because serving a director’s vision is a huge part of the screenwriting life.

As Gottlieb recounts, making Jaws wasn’t stressful just because the mechanical shark kept malfunctioning but because of the pressure Spielberg was under to transform a pulpy bestseller into a crowd-pleasing spectacle. Gottlieb, the third writer to work on the project, offers his unique perspective on the all-too-common scenario of starting a production without a finished script.

Every time I return to this book, I discover another insight about screenwriting, about filmmaking, and about creativity.

Years ago, on a film festival panel, I opined that no American screenwriter had ever enjoyed total autonomy without also becoming a director or producer. Then another panelist proved me wrong by invoking Paddy Chayefsky. I think about that exchange whenever I revisit Itzkoff’s rigorous book about Network, Chayefsky’s scathing satire of television. Why? Because Chayefsky lived the screenwriter’s dream of determining exactly how his story reached audiences.

The empowering example conveyed by Itzkoff is the potential every screenwriter has to capture their cultural moment, and I particularly appreciate Itzkoff’s effort to render a holistic view of Network’s impact. Chayefsky’s flamboyant script set the tone for a generation’s perspective on mass media, and the script’s acidic observations about corporate control of public thought are even more troublingly relevant now.

I include Thelma & Louise in the syllabi for as many of my courses as possible because even though it’s a tough story centering sexual assault, what happened behind the scenes was every screenwriter’s fantasy. As Aikman describes in her breezy making-of book, first-time screenwriter Callie Khouri came up with a great idea, landed with a sympathetic director (Ridley Scott) and ideal stars (Geena Davis and Susan Sarandon), then somehow protected her controversial ending long enough to generate a box-office hit, an Oscar win, and a national conversation.

I respect how thoroughly Aikman tracks the project’s evolution, and it’s valuable to consider how Scott’s ornate visuals added scope to Khouri’s intimate narrative. Off the Cliff reminds me that the goal is not just to get scripts onscreen but to see their potential realized.

Yes, of course, just about everyone has heard of Roger Ebert (d. 2013), the great film critic for the Chicago Sun-Times and co-host, with Gene Siskel of the PBS program Sneak Previews. But have you ever read any of his reviews? They’re delightful–smart, funny, touching, and thoroughly readable.

Ebert must have seen every film ever made (his reviews are arranged in these collections alphabetically by film title). In each short review he offered, not just his opinion of the film in question, but striking insights into the film’s themes, meanings, symbols, and underlying philosophy.

Any film lover should immediately obtain all four collections. 

This is a sweeping epic of a book and should be required reading for any student of film history.

Told in a manner that is at once intimate and authoritative, it reads like both a textbook and a biography, detailing the lives of a series of historical figures as a means of relating the history of the Black image in film.

In doing so, Haygood contextualizes the cinematic developments of the past by placing them alongside the social and political developments of the time, showing that you can never truly separate fact from fiction. 

The year before Errol Flynn blew into Hollywood, the “pre-Code” era ended. What was the “pre-Code” era? It was the period in the early 1930s when Hollywood rode the cliff, making movies about sensational topics like adultery, pay-for-play, drug use, and more. Many of the pictures included a scene or two with leading ladies scantily clad and even braless. Leading men were often scoundrels.

This book entertainingly details both the point of view of studios struggling to remain relevant in the depths of the Great Depression by creating salacious products and the outcry from alarmed parents who took their kids to the movies only to cover their eyes and rush them back out again.

The author backs up his narrative with eye-popping photos illustrating just what was so shocking about the pre-Code era. This interesting period of Hollywood history ended abruptly and, unfortunately, with the puritanical “Production Code” that ushered… show more.

If I had to pick the two most basic, and most enthralling, essays for understanding American movies, they would be Warshow’s "The Westerner" and "The Gangster," both included in this book. Warshow, who died tragically young, also gives us the two finest pieces ever written about Chaplin, in which he argues that the flaws and stresses in Chaplin’s film art somehow make it more, not less, impressive. Add Warshow’s properly skeptical account of Soviet cinema—he is appreciative, but also aware of how Communist ideology distorted Soviet film—and you have the very best from a star among the New York intellectuals.

A collection marking the fifty-year anniversary of the now famous Time magazine New Hollywood issue, published on December 8, 1967, featuring a gorgeous Robert Rauschenberg-designed, Bonnie and Clyde-inspired cover. The book, aptly subtitled, The New Hollywood Revisited, features essays by a who’s who of counterculture Hollywood’s most influential film reviewers, critics, and historians, including J. Hoberman, Molly Haskell, David Sterritt, and David Thomson.

Two experts in the field provide a great account of Australian film that, at the time, uniquely took a genre approach. There are chapters on comedy, adventure, teen, horror, and art films, to name a few.

In discussing genres, this excellent account foregrounds the films themselves, rather than the history of the Australian film industry. To which genre does your favorite Australian film belong?