Pictures at a Revolution: Five Movies and the Birth of the New Hollywood (2008), Mark Harris

Warren Beatty is a catalytic character in both Pictures at a Revolution and 1999's Easy Riders and Raging Bulls: How Sex, Drugs and Rock and Roll Saved Hollywood by Peter Biskind. Biskind's book looks at the testosterone trail of Beatty, Robert Evans et al (and defeats his own title thesis by discussing the ultimate takeover by Lucas and Spielberg), but Harris' book patiently studies just the transition points of old and new Hollywood, focusing on the production and reception of five films during 1966-7 (The Graduate, Dr. Dolittle, In The Heat of the Night, Bonnie and Clyde and Guess Who's Coming to Dinner). The book is a study of contrasts: the fossilized studio generation and the new boomers/hippies, east and west coast, studio bloat and rigidity and the push by new faces for new approaches, such as the creative use of colour for "serious" films. Harris' mature analysis provides the wider picture of American society in transition - focusing most strongly on the rise of the civil rights movement- and documents how art does not always neatly align with actual events but rather timing is everything.

Perhaps more so than Beatty, Harris makes Sidney Poitier his central figure; Harris' impressive research shedding light on the challenges faced by the actor who was the only black leading actor for years and Hollywood's "Acceptable Negro." The book is beautifully structured. Early in, we are invited to a beach party hosted by the Fondas; Peter has invited the Byrds and Henry wonders if they can't keep the racket down. The book culminates with the 1967 Oscars, postponed, out of respect, until two days after the assassination of Martin Luther King Jr. and hosted by an out of touch Bob Hope who joked that the delay "didn't affect me, but has been tough on the nominees -- how would you like to spend two days in a crouch?"

Because it inspires hope, I was relieved to learn that 1963 was considered a nadir for movies, with overblown sword and sandal pix (the equivalent of today's superhero flicks?) boring the public, and to understand that the Oscars have always been a sham, and even more so, that many Oscar winning "classics" were considered by most critics to be junk. I'd only seen snippets of Guess Who's Coming for Dinner but always thought it had a somnolent effect - and so to read that by contemporary standards director Stanley Kramer's visual style was risibly out of date and his messages considered heavy handed and condescending is a relief. Every passage about what an asshat Rex Harrison was, was also quite hilarious. If you have read it, this is a great companion to Easy Riders and Raging Bulls.

The Bells (1926), James Young.

Innkeeper Lionel Barrymore can't manage his money, and when the man he is indebted to threatens to take his daughter as payment, he murders a wealthy traveler. Boris Karloff shows up in a Caligari-esque outfit (cape and circular framed specs) as a hypnotist who threatens to assist the local police root out the murderer. Loooooooosely based on the Edgar Allen Poe poem (Lionel hears bells ring a couple times) according to some. Was apparently a hit stage production back in the day but doesn't really hold up today. I grew tired of the young couple and their primping and fussing. Young couples always ruin the fun (see any Marx bros film). Also could not sympathize much with Barrymore: strange protagonist who, in unsatisfying ending, reveals his crime but only in a dream sequence, which seems to nullify the confession.

In his biography, All My Yesterdays, Edward G Robinson tells how he and school friend Joseph (Pepe) Schildkraut stayed up all night, dramatizing the story (which he claims comes from Henry James), "giving myself, of course, the juicy part of the burgomaster." Robinson pitched the idea and soon starred in the lead role for four weeks, opening at the Plaza Theatre on Lexington Ave, and this performance marked the first time Emmanuel Goldenberg appeared as Edward G Robinson.

Paris Qui Dort / The Crazy Ray / 3:25 (1925), Rene Clair

The only woman in the world...

Lovely, short (18 min) whimsical silent that finds one man awakes to find himself alone in an empty Paris. Climbing down from the Eiffel Tower, he realizes that the city is not empty but asleep, all its inhabitants frozen in time. He and a troupe of air passengers from Marseilles live upon the Eiffel Tower, their boredom deepening, until they hear a radio message calling all "survivors" to the address of an eccentric scientist.

Is this an innocent precursor to I Am Legend?

is watched by the only remaining men.

Madcap: the life of Preston Sturges (1999), Donald Spoto.

Wow, this is a terrible, paint-by-numbers biography. Doubts set in on page 42, when Spoto described Marcel Duchamp's "Fountain"as a toilet seat. Dude, urinal! I did, however, enjoy finally reading about Isadora Duncan's bizarre death after the author alluded to it about ninety times in the first few chapters. I have the feeling this will be something I am reviewing without finishing (venal sin for reviewers, I know).

Murder, My Sweet (1944), Edward Dmytryk.

Bunny Lebowski, erm - Mrs Helen Grayle.

"I only took the job because my bank account was trying to crawl under a duck... And my mind felt like a plumber's handkerchief." It seems like every movie alludes to an earlier one sometimes, so watching this flick gave me a strange sensation, like looking at a photo of the big bang, or your own conception: here it all begins. Well, sure, the Maltese Falcon was made earlier, but the Big Sleep hadn't yet been. Apparently Powell was the only guy Chandler approved of onscreen as Marlowe. He was pretty great yelling at those cops!

What a forgettable title!

Marlowe's drug addled nightmare.