Routledge , 320 pages , £19.99 , HB

Bitesize: Fascinating history of gay and lesbian representation in Hollywood films.

Screened Out is the history of gay and lesbian representation in Hollywood films from the silent era up to the Stonewall riots of the 1960’s. Unlike for example The Celluloid Closet (which the book applauds for its pioneering work twenty years ago), this is about actual representation of gays and lesbians and not codification of homosexual iconography in film. In a nutshell, the argument here is that early cinema may well have had stereotypical gay characters but that these were (generally) tolerated, accepted and not punished within the film narrative. It is argued that gay representation was part of film’s vocabulary, either in an offhand way or to “spice” matters up. However, as with so many aspects of film, the Hay’s code put paid to representation, effectively outlawing gay characters from the screen from the mid-1930’s onwards. The subsequent decades were treated in a far more closeted manner and any overtly gay figure was normally a victim, victimiser or source of scorn.

Barios’ account is particularly lively when debating the transitional period from the mid-20s to mid-30s, The studios had to play a game of to-and-fro with the production board and the Catholic board of Decency (whose list of condemned films read out in Sunday church services memorably gave John Waters a handy list of films to go and see each week!) to try and make some sense of the censorial climate. In particular Biblical epics such as DeMille’s Sign of the Cross proved particularly problematic to the censors.

Well written and clearly passionate about its subject, the book’s only flaw perhaps lies in its desire to be thoroughly comprehensive within its remit. In order to cover as many films as possible, it doesn’t often deal with them in great depth or a wider context, which is a shame, but probably a compromise that

had to be made. However, there are a number of inserts that provide delightful insights into some of the more flamboyant or interesting characters in Hollywood, and those whom history has often ignored.

Any Cop?: A fascinating read that not only deals with its intended subject matter, but also provides an alternative history of Hollywood cinema and censorship.

Harry N. Abrams, Inc. , 176 pages , , HB

Bitesize: An idiosyncratic guide to an idiosyncratic guy.

Fellini, that flamboyant idiosyncratic director of what’s now called ‘world’ cinema (i.e. anything that isn’t Hollywood… this seemingly includes much of the US cinema scene), has long been an inspiration for writers and critics of film art. Indeed there are a huge number of books available on Fellini, either directly or by association, and it’s hard to see what more could be said.

This isn’t even the first Fellini lexicon (the BFI’s has just been re-issued in paperback format). What’s more surprising is that this continued interest comes in an environment where precious little of the master’s work is available on DVD in the UK. The dearth of decent rep cinemas outside London has done little to help. Does the fascination derive from nostalgia for ever-aging connoisseurs of world cinema gazing on the Halcyon days of the 60’s and 70’s? Or is the concept of Fellini, Fellini the brand name, enough to pique widening interest in a way that, say, Marilyn Monroe or James Dean are icons to far more people than ever bothered to watch their films?

Whatever the reason we are faced with another Fellini book, “I’m A Born Liar”, the title itself one of Fellini’s typical contradictory statements – how can one admit to being a liar without telling the truth? Damian Pettigrew’s book is based upon two extended interviews covering every aspect of Fellini’s life and work, each session lasting a gruelling but undoubtedly fascinating eight hours. Rather than document these interviews chronologically, Pettigrew has grouped them thematically and alphabetically. Presumably this weeds out the chaff but also allows Pettigrew to take a more selfless backseat, interjecting only to provide clarity and flow. Fellini himself appears more than up for the task at hand freewheeling from lengthy details about pre-production to anecdotes to aphorisms.

This at times exhausting melee of art and artifice is the core to his best work, his argument that his work is resolutely non-intellectual, a typical conceit that bears little resemblance to the finished results. Flamboyant, witty yet showing signs of insecurity and angst Fellini is as open as he is defensive. From the flippant (“God may not play dice but he enjoys a good round of Trivial Pursuit every now and again”) and the surreal (dreams of Picasso making him omelettes), the moving (his brief epitaph to Nina Rota) and the insightful (the genesis of some of his most beloved projects) Fellini Lexicon has plenty to enjoy either as a straight read or to dip into.

The book itself is handsomely illustrated and while some of the colour pictures look a little out of place stylistically the neat ‘ripped corners’ and overall layout make this a treat to flick through. Unfortunately the double spaced text and character marked paragraph breaks are irritating and make some of the longer sections (particularly the introduction) hard to read, but these are minor quibbles about what is ultimately . . .

Any Cop?: . . . another fine Fellini coffee-table book.

Wallflower Press , 208pp , £9.99 , PB

Bitesize: A collection of essays about an enigmatic American director.

Terrence Malick’s reputation in cinema is as enigmatic as it is enviable. Reclusive (cue: lots of comparisons with Stanley Kubrick) and with a reluctance to discuss his work, he is often seen as a figure of awe, a mythical and mythmaking auteur unlike any other working in the US. Add the stories of perfectionism and long shoots, along with the inordinate time between films and the fact that he has made but 3 films in 30 years (Takashi Miike can make more in a fortnight it seems) and you have a director who is virtually a legend.

This is the right time for a re-evaluation of Malick’s small but exacting body of work.

The dust has now settled on the long awaited Thin Red Line (1998), a film that divided critics due not to its anti-war stance but more its anti-war-film stance. It’s a film more concerned with existential considerations of man and his environment than on the tedious gung-ho splatter of Spielberg’s unfairly lauded Saving Private Ryan (whose release is contrasted in some of the essays presented here – normally with justifiable although inevitably partisan incredulity at the inferior film’s success). With the news that Malick is again due to go back in business with not one but two films (the long gestating Che chilling on ice for the time being but still very much a “go” project) Wallflower’s contemplative collection of essays could not be better pitched – after all, we’ve probably still got a fair time to let it all sink in before his next film hits the screens.

Being that the body of work discussed is so small there is an unavoidable overlap between some of the essays but each examines Malick’s films from a differing perspective, be they, for example, aural, aesthetic or cultural. The book is likewise split into two reflecting the gulf (in terms of both filming and in terms of the change in Hollywood studio ideology from the free-for-all 70’s to the market-led modern studio system) between Days of Heaven (1978) and The Thin Red Line. In some ways this makes sense; the bemused reaction at the time to The Thin Red Line (as pointed out in Martin Flanagan’s essay the film was given a ‘?????’ rating in the Guardian) didn’t so much polarise opinion as confuse it. It also serves to create an artificial distance in the auteur’s work that makes the reader have to tie the threads between the films when, in some ways, this is the critic’s job.

In the end though most of the essays do not refer to the works in isolation and provide plenty of points to elucidate upon. While there is a danger in canonising a director on such a meagre output (remember his auteur status was proclaimed after only two films) Malick’s position as a major American (as opposed to Hollywood) film talent is hard to dispute.

Any Cop?: Interesting, occasionally contentious, occasionally heavy pieces about maverick Malick.

Flame 2003 , 352 pages , £6.99 , PB
Bitesize: The (Reasonably) Majestic.

For those of us not old enough to remember, there was a time before popcorn multiplex movie theatres, when cinemas were very different. Some were grand theatres, some were seedy fleapits, most were smoke filled, with the light of the projector picking out wisps of smoke in the darkened auditorium. Strips of paper tickets, those tiny rectangular passes to the film, were dispensed at great rapidity through a tiny slot in aluminium machines. Cinemas would show a variety of films, often double features and porn too, before it became confined to the anonymous world of the video recorder in the living room. And far too many cinemas were closed down and converted into bingo halls. Speaking personally, as those who did lose their local cinemas, which selfishly turned to the heady commercial world of bingo and deprived our one-horse towns of the silver screen, Untorn Tickets brings a certain degree of wistful nostalgia.

Essentially a coming of age tale, the story focuses on Andy and Dave, classmates who’d never had much to do with each other, but who co-incidentally take summer jobs at their local cinema, the Gaumont. As with most teenagers, both are slightly awkward and each have a variety of issues to deal with in their lives. They become friends and together develop a scam whereby they can resell cinema tickets and pocket the profits. This changes their lives in more ways than they can possibly imagine. Running in parallel is the story of the adult world as their Catholic school clings desperately to its independent status to avoid becoming a comprehensive. Inevitably it succumbs. The Gaumont itself become threatened with the dreaded bingo. And technology was aiming to outsmart everyone. Modernisation is a word that is gaining an increasing profile in the media today – it’s a fact that in most workplaces employees’ terms and conditions have been changed to cut costs, create efficiencies and generate profit. However nostalgic one feels looking back to older days, it was happening in the 70s too.

Untorn Tickets is an easy read, and entertaining. Burke has a knack of introducing some of his subjects in a slightly roundabout way, which keeps the pages turning, and the book’s filled with a variety of characters that help create a real sense of community.

Any Cop?: Engaging and very funny for a book that deals with society over 20 years ago, it’s frightening how little both teenage and corporate attitudes have changed.

Canongate , 320 pages , £10 , PB
The Museum of Doubt is an eclectic collection of short stories that are disturbing, funny, whimsical and disturbing, all linked by Meek’s surreal style and skewed view of the world. There are tales of a planned assassination attempt on a fish smoker, a terrifying car journey, lawyers and Mesopotamian gods, and a supernatural but highly affable salesman who is the star of the titular story. Best of the bunch involves the ongoing saga of bona fide suburban nutter Gordon. He falls for his son’s girlfriend, trashes his car, manages to get the son arrested for assault, wreaks havoc on the local garden centre (trying to buy fallen Autumn leaves by the pound and twigs by the bunch), declines to sleep with his wife’s sister on the grounds that she’s too old for him, sets fire to a nightclub (what other use for the leaves would there be?), recounts a tale about a trip to Thailand where he’s responsible for a death and ends up being a hero. There’s no justice.

Meek’s trump card lies in his ability to lure his audience into a false sense of security. The opening paragraphs ease the reader into an apparently normal world, which slowly warps into something surreal, absurd or completely deranged. Meek can take you to some very dark places. What is particularly scary is that many of his characters are very matter-of-fact about their attitudes and behaviour. Gordon is a prime example – his actions are totally unacceptable by society’s standards, but he seems completely unaware of this and carries on regardless. There’s the woman who happens to be the very last Mercian speaker but her lack of communication with her boyfriend runs far deeper than linguistics. Then there’s the couple who have been living together for months before he discovers that she’s married and hubby’s in gaol. Meek gives you a glimpse into the sort of situations that shouldn’t happen to normal people, but you never know, they could, they’re not that far removed from reality. It’s just as well there are some fantastic/supernatural stories peppered throughout the book, you might get completely paranoid…

But lest this all sounds a touch too depressing or disturbing, don’t panic. Throughout every story, Meek has a wonderful knack of throwing in ideas or one-liners that are so absurd you can’t help but carry on reading with a smirk upon your face.

Any Cop?: The Museum of Doubt comes highly recommended for those who like their “short stories with a twist” to be just that bit extra twisted.