Because time isn’t always kind: economic reviews in a world full of waste!
More than 40 years ago, Barry Feinstein snapped some photos in Tinseltown. Bob Dylan wrote nearly two dozen poems to accompany them. The result of the collaboration can be found in the coffee-table book HOLLYWOOD FOTO-RHETORIC: THE LOST MANUSCRIPT. Feinstein’s images — all black-and-white — are excellent, with revealing, unfiltered shots like Bette Davis lighting up a cig, the Hollywood sign in disrepair, Billy Barty dressed up like the New Year’s baby. As for the poems, I don’t care if Dylan is the author — I still found them utterly pretentious. The same goes for the rather insightful (that’s sarcasm) interview with Dylan up front, in which he does his best — and succeeds! — at saying as little as possible. (Sample: “Do you remember writing the text?” “Actually, no.”) Buy this one for the pics, not the verse.
Should you see it on the shelves of your local comic book store, pick up LONDON HORROR COMIC #1. I think you’ll find it worth your $3.99. For one thing, its pages are super-slick and bright with color. For another, its 36 pages has no ads. And for yet another, its self-aware approach — somewhere between the humorous and horrific — is kind of refreshing for the genre. “Up, Up and Away” is the first story, about a comic book writer who’s tired of seeing the artists get all the attention from the cute girls. One day, his luck changes — or does it? — in this self-parody. “Cornered” concerns itself with a vampire and his intended female victim, who’s a little too sympathetic toward his cause. True to its title, “Who Knows?” was a tad confusing, but the final “NXT2U” is genuinely chilling, with an end that sneaks up on you.
The title says it all: POTTY MOUTH: PROFANE POETRY, RECESS RHYMES, AND OTHER DIRTY DITTIES FROM THE PLAYGROUND. Some people think it’s funny, but it’s really green and runny. Your first clue that this humor title may be more than a little obnoxious that it needs to be lies with its author: the supposed Anita F. Hart. Get it? Haw-haw! And that’s as clever as the book gets — which, it should be noted, is all it aims for — as it collects every naughty verse that would’ve got you detention, including “classics” like the immortal “Milk, Milk, Lemonade,” “Here I Sit” and “The Man from Nantucket.” I’ll give it credit for rounding up rhymes I never heard or read before, but I still found it awfully juvenile (of course) and unfunny, although well-illustrated.
Everyone’s family is dysfunctional to a certain extent, so I suppose we all could use THE DYSFUNCTIONAL FAMILY FUNBOOK: GAMES & ACTIVITIES TO KEEP YOU SANE YOUR WHOLE VISIT HOME this holiday season. I like how it’s oversized, I like how it’s drawn and laid-out, but what I don’t like is how schizophrenic it is. Some puzzles are straightforward and serious, but others are parodies that can’t be solved, so the dual tones are mildly frustrating. There’s a lot to do here — crosswords, mazes, even sending out gag postcards and playing paper dolls, if you’re so inclined — but all in all, Catheryn J. Brockett’s title presents an opportunity that’s been sorely missed. —Rod Lott
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