Now it returns, with its old entries updated and 300 new ones--from Luc Besson to Reese Witherspoon--making more than 1300 in all, some of them just a pungent paragraph, some of them several thousand words long. In addition to the new "musts," Thomson has added key figures from film history?lively anatomies of Graham Greene, Eddie Cantor, Pauline Kael, Abbott and Costello, Noël Coward, Hoagy Carmichael, Dorothy Gish, Rin Tin Tin, and more.
Here is a great, rare book, one that encompasses the chaos of art, entertainment, money, vulgarity, and nonsense that we call the movies. Personal, opinionated, funny, daring, provocative, and passionate, it is the one book that every filmmaker and film buff must own. Time Out named it one of the ten best books of the 1990s. Gavin Lambert recognized it as "a work of imagination in its own right." Now better than ever--a masterwork by the man playwright David Hare called "the most stimulating and thoughtful film critic now writing."
|Publisher:||Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group|
|Product dimensions:||6.70(w) x 9.15(h) x 2.00(d)|
About the Author
Read an Excerpt
Abbott and Costello:
Bud (William A.) Abbott (1895-74),
b. Asbury Park, New Jersey; and
Lou Costello (Louis Francis Cristillo) (1906-59), b. Paterson, New Jersey
The marital chemistry (or the weird mix of blunt instrument and black hole) in coupling is one of the most persistent themes in tragedy and comedy. At their best, you can't have one without the other. More than fifty years after they first tried it, Abbott and Costello's "Who's On First?" sketch is about the best remedy I know for raising laughter in a mixed bag of nuts-or for making the collection of forlorn individuals a merry mob.
Many people know the routine (written, like most of their stuff, by John Grant) by heart. Amateurs can get a good laugh out of it. But Bud and Lou achieve something lyrical, hysterical, and mythic. Watch them do the sketch and you feel the energy and hope of not just every comedian there ever was. You feel Beckett, Freud, and Wittgenstein (try it!). You see every marriage there ever was. You rejoice and despair at the impossibility of language. You wonder whether God believed in harmony, or in meetings that eternally proved our loneliness.
Lou is the one who has blood pressure, and Bud hasn't. So they are together in the world, yet together alone, doomed to explain things to each other. They are companions, halves of a whole, chums, lovers if you like. But they are a raw display of hatred, opposition, and implacable difference. They are also far better than all the amateurs. And if Lou is the performer, the valiant seeker of order, while Bud is the dumb square peg, the one who seems oblivious of audience, still, nobody did it better. If I were asked to assemble a collection of things to manifest America for the stranger, "Who's On First?" would be there-and it might be the first piece of film I'd use.
At the same time, they are not very good, rather silly, not really that far above the ocean of comedians. It isn't even that one can separate their good work from the poor. Nor is it that "Who's On First?" is simply and mysteriously superior to all the rest of their stuff. No, it's only that that routine feels an inner circle of dismay within all the others, the suffocating mantle next to Lou's heart. It isn't good, or superior; it's divine. Which is why no amount of repetition dulls it at all. I think I could watch it every day and feel the thrills and the dread as if for the first time.
They bumped into each other. Bud was a theatre cashier where Lou was playing (around 1930), and he grudgingly took the job when Lou's partner was sick. They were doing vaudeville and radio for ten years before they got their movie break at Universal: One Night in the Tropics (40, A. Edward Sutherland) was their first film, but Buck Privates (41, Arthur Lubin) was the picture that made them. There were twenty-three more films in the forties, a period for which they were steadily in the top five box-office attractions. Buck Privates, and their whole appeal, reflected the unexpected intimacies of army life.
They broke up in 1957, long since outmoded by the likes of Martin and Lewis. But there again, Abbott and Costello are the all-talking model (as opposed to the semi-silence of Laurel and Hardy) of two guys trapped in one tent.
Costello made one film on his own-for he had great creative yearnings-The 30-Foot Bride of Candy Rock (59, Sidney Miller). He died of a heart attack, which had always seemed about to happen. Bud lived on, doing next to nothing.
Ken (Klaus) Adam, b. Berlin, Germany, 1921
At the age of thirteen, Adam came to Britain, and stayed: he would be educated as an architect at London University and the Bartlett School of Architecture, and he served in the RAF during the war. It was in 1947 that he entered the British picture business, doing set drawings for This Was a Woman (48, Tim Whelan). Thereafter, he rose steadily as an assistant art director on The Queen of Spades (48, Thorold Dickinson); The Hidden Room (49, Edward Dmytryk); Your Witness (50, Robert Montgomery); Captain Horatio Hornblower (51, Raoul Walsh); The Crimson Pirate (52, Robert Siodmak); Helen of Troy (56, Robert Wise); he did uncredited work on Around the World in 80 Days (56, Michael Anderson), and assistant work on Ben-Hur (59, William Wyler).
Clearly, he was adept at getting hired by American directors, or on Hollywood productions, yet he did not seem overly interested in going to Hollywood. Indeed, he built a career as art director and then production designer in Britain, and he would be vitally associated with the design look and the huge, hi-tech interiors of the James Bond films: Soho Incident (56, Vernon Sewell); Night of the Demon (57, Jacques Tourneur); The Angry Hills (59, Robert Aldrich); The Rough and the Smooth (59, Siodmak); The Trials of Oscar Wilde (60, Ken Hughes); Dr. No (62, Terence Young); Sodom and Gomorrah (62, Aldrich); Dr. Strangelove (64, Stanley Kubrick); Woman of Straw (64, Basil Dearden); Goldfinger (64, Guy Hamilton); The Ipcress File (65, Sidney J. Furie); Thunderball (65, Young); Funeral in Berlin (66, Hamilton); You Only Live Twice (67, Lewis Gilbert); Chitty Chitty Bang Bang (68, Hughes); Goodbye, Mr. Chips (69, Herbert Ross); to America for The Owl and the Pussycat (70, Ross).
An international figure now, he worked increasingly in America, while keeping his British attachment to Bond and Kubrick: Diamonds Are Forever (71, Hamilton); Sleuth (72, Joseph L. Mankiewicz); The Last of Sheila (73, Ross); winning an Oscar for Barry Lyndon (75, Kubrick); Madam Kitty (76, Tinto Brass); The Seven-Per-Cent Solution (76, Ross); The Spy Who Loved Me (77, Gilbert); Moonraker (79, Gilbert).
Illness caused a significant gap in his work in the early eighties, at which time his only credit was as design consultant on Pennies from Heaven (81, Ross). Since his return, he has been based in America and Bond-less. He also seems to work on more modest projects, while staying loyal to Herb Ross: King David (85, Bruce Beresford); Crimes of the Heart (86, Beresford); The Deceivers (88, Nicholas Meyer); Dead Bang (89, John Frankenheimer); The Freshman (90, Andrew Bergman); The Doctor (91, Randa Haines); Undercover Blues (93, Ross); Addams Family Values (93, Barry Sonnenfeld); then back to Britain, with another Oscar, on The Madness of King George (94, Nicholas Hytner); Boys on the Side (95, Ross); Bogus (96, Norman Jewison); In & Out (97, Frank Oz); The Out-of-Towners (99, Sam Weisman).
Isabelle Adjani, b. Paris, 1955
There is something so frank, so modern in her feelings, yet so classical in her aura, so passionate and so wounded, that Isabelle Adjani seems made to play Sarah Bernhardt one day. Why not? She is a natural wearer of costume capable of making us believe that the "period" world we are watching is happening now. She is bold, a mistress of her career, and has been a fiercely equal partner in her romantic relationships with Bruno Nuytten, Warren Beatty, and Daniel Day-Lewis.
Her mother was German, and her father Algerian and Turkish. When only a teenager, she was invited to join the Comédie Française, playing to great praise in Lorca and Molière. She has been making movies since the age of fourteen: Le Petit Bougnat (69, Bernard T. Michel); Faustine ou le Bel été (71, Nina Companeez); La Gifle (74, Claude Pinoteau); and made an international impact as the love-crazed girl in L'Histoire d'Adèle H. (75, François Truffaut), for which she won an Oscar nomination.
She was on the brink again in The Tenant (76, Roman Polanski); Barocco (76, André Téchiné); Violette et François (76, Jacques Rouffio); made an uneasy American debut in The Driver (78, Walter Hill); as a woman infatuated with the vampire in Nosferatu, Phantom der Nacht (79, Werner Herzog); as Emily in The Bronté Sisters (79, Téchiné); Possession (80, Andrzej Zulawski); and Clara et les Chics Types (80, Jacques Monnet).
She played the central victim, a version of Jean Rhys, in Quartet (81, James Ivory); L'Année Prochaine si tout va bien (81, Jean-Loup Hubert); Tout Feu, Toute Flamme (82, Jean-Paul Rappeneau); Mortelle Randonnée (82, Claude Miller); Doktor Faustus (82, Frank Seitz); as Antonieta Rivas Mercadi, a melodramatic arts patron, in Antonieta (82, Carlos Saura); was stark naked for much of L'été Meurtrier (82, Jean Becker), something between an erotic force of nature and a village idiot; Subway (85, Luc Besson); entirely wasted in Ishtar (87, Elaine May).
She was the producer as well as the star of Camille Claudel (88, Bruno Nuytten), her most overwhelming and characteristic performance, as a woman in love with art, exhilaration, and danger. Once more, she was nominated for the Oscar. If only Warren Beatty could have given her a role as strong. After four years, she made La Reine Margot (94, Patrice Chéreau). Granted that she does films so seldom, why do Diabolique (96, Jeremiah S. Chechik), with Sharon Stone, or La Repentie (02, Laetitia Masson)?
Ben (Benjamin Geza) Affleck, b. Berkeley, California, 1972
Here is a test of critical responsibility. On the one hand, I have a soft spot for Mr. Affleck in that he is the only actor who has played, or is ever likely to play, the man who founded the school I attended. I refer to Edward (or Ned) Alleyne, the Shakespearian actor-manager and founder of Dulwich College, as offered in Shakespeare in Love (98, John Madden). I daresay I would be joined in this sentiment by other Old Alleynians-Michael Powell, Clive Brook, Leslie Howard, Raymond Chandler, P. G. Wodehouse, Michael Ondaatje, and Paul Mayersberg, among others. But I have heard not one word from any of them, or from anyone, come to that, to dispute my other view that Mr. Affleck is boring, complacent, and criminally lucky to have got away with everything so far. If there was any doubt in my mind it was settled by the mere presence-and it wasn't anything more than mere-of Affleck in the travesty called Pearl Harbor (01, Michael Bay).
Yet look what he has gotten away with: The Dark End of the Street (81, Jan Egleson); playing basketball in Buffy the Vampire Slayer (92, Fran Rubel Kuzui); School Ties (92, Robert Mandel); Dazed and Confused (93, Richard Linklater); Mallrats (95, Kevin Smith); the lead in Chasing Amy (97, Smith); Going All the Way (97, Mark Pellington); sharing in the script, and an Oscar, for Good Will Hunting (97, Gus Van Sant); Phantoms (98, Joe Chappelle); Armageddon (98, Michael Bay); 200 Cigarettes (99, Risa Bramon Garcia); Forces of Nature (99, Bronwen Hughes); Dogma (99, Smith); Boiler Room (00, Ben Younger); Reindeer Games (00, John Frankenheimer); Bounce (00, Don Roos); Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back (00, Smith); Changing Lanes (02, Roger Michell); taking over as Jack Ryan in The Sum of All Fears (02, Phil Aldon Robinson).
I note that, into his early thirties, he is still playing one of the lads, just as in Pearl Harbor he was too old to be the boyhood pal of Josh Hartnett.
James Agee (1909-55), b. Knoxville, Tennessee
James Agee looked a lot like a young Robert Ryan; he behaved as self-destructively as Nicholas Ray; but he was only himself as a writer on film. As one of his biographers, Laurence Bergreen, has written, "To Agee movies were not primarily a form of entertainment . . . they were . . . the indigenous art form. Good or bad, vulgar or exquisite, they were, more than any literary form, the mirror of American life. They were cheap, rude, hypocritical, democratic, occasionally inspired, usually humdrum-in short, they were American. For this reason he longed to find his way, however roundabout, into them."
I take that last remark at face value: I think it was Agee's wish, not just to be involved with film people, in the making of the work, but-literally-to be in movies. That doesn't refer to some masked urge to act. It's something far more extensive: Agee wished to be perceived like a character from the best movies-intensely romantic, darkly handsome, and desirable, yet aloof, tough, moody, and doomed. Plainly, even if you know, intellectually, that some films are foolish, still, it follows that anyone wanting to live on the screen has to have faith in the grandeur and gravity of film. And so it follows that Agee's adult life coincides with the great age of self-belief in American cinema. Indeed, in 1945, he could write, in candor, "I can think of very few contemporary books that are worth the jackets they are wrapped in; I can think of very few movies, contemporary or otherwise, which fail to show that somebody who has worked on them . . . has real life or energy or intensity or intelligence or talent."
Happy days-even if from this moment in time it is easier to have more respect for books.
Agee went to Harvard, edited the Advocate, and took up booze and poetry in quantity. He was always a womanizer, and a mess personally, but he found a journalistic voice that lasted for about twenty years. It extended to the text for Let Us Now Praise Famous Men (1941), that classic of the rural Depression and hard lives, where Agee's text went with the photographs of Walker Evans-and in which Evans's photography shines with a sensuality that Agee delivered personally to some of the poor women. It also equipped him to be a film critic at Time and The Nation for much of the forties.
He was far from reliable-he could write off Kane as a reservoir of hackneyed tricks, and he was of the opinion that Chaplin and Huston were without equal in America. But he wrote like someone who had not just viewed the movie but been in it-out with it, as if it were a girl; drinking with it; driving in the night with it. That direct physical response was new, it was done with terrific dash and insight, and it surely intuited the way people responded to movies in the forties. It was also, it seems to me, a powerful influence on Pauline Kael-I have a fond dream of the two of them snarling at each other, like the characters in The African Queen.
Which brings us to the vexed matter of Agee's scripts. From the mid forties on, Agee made a set at Huston-it was authentic admiration, or hero worship, but it was also a pioneering case of the movie critic lusting to sit at the all-night dinner with the big guys and walk away with a writing job. Agee worked on the script and commentary of The Quiet One (49, Sidney Meyers); he did a script for The African Queen (51, Huston), which was substantially redone by others; he did the "Bride Comes to Yellow Sky" episode from Face to Face (52, John Brahm and Bretaigne Windust), and he wrote the first screenplay for The Night of the Hunter (55, Charles Laughton).
From the Hardcover edition.
A Conversation with
THE NEW BIOGRAPHICAL DICTIONARY
Q: In an earlier edition you said you hoped people would see this book not as a freight train of facts, but more the "sort of train in which Cary Grant might wander until being taken in by Eva Marie Saint—with corridors and compartments, a vehicle on the move with its own inner life." Do you still feel that way about the book?
A: That still puts it as well as I can—I hope it's a seductive book: once you're in, it's hard to get out. I wanted it to be a book to read—not just somewhere where you look stuff up. One thing leads to another. And I hope that the style takes you over, leads you on. A bedside book. A browsing book. A book that works like a conversation, egging you on, drawing you into your own opinions.
Q: Has anyone ever taken you to task for one of your "personal, opinionated and obsessive" views of some film icon?
A: Yes, sometimes, and valuably so by people who've argued their case.
Q: Do you have a favorite line from a film, or line and comeback?
A: A lot of Hawks' lines run through my head—all the talk between Bogart and Bacall. Charlie Kane remaking the front page one more time. Cary Grant in To Catch a Thief, offered a leg or a breast (by Grace Kelly): "You decide."
Q: What made you decide to become a film critic?
A: I have never "decided" to become a film critic. In fact, I have only been "a film critic" (i.e. a regular reviewer of new films) for short times in my life—at the Boston Real Paper in the‘70s, at California magazine in the ‘80s. I don't really like reviewing, and I don't think I'm suited to it. Although I don't feel the decision was ever made, I think I'm a writer whose natural subject is film and all the ways it affects us. Thus I like looking at careers, at the history of film, the sociology, what it has done to the world—questions like that. And I love all the ways—and all the new ways—that come along for writing about film. So I did a novel, Suspects, that is also a kind of commentary on film noir, and a star biography, Warren Beatty and Desert Eyes, that is probably more a novel. The Dictionary, for me, is a new genre of book—the fusion of a work of reference with a kind of odd autobiography on my years at the movies.
Q: Having grown up in England, how did you come to live in the US?
A: Because I was asked to teach film—first at New England College, in Henniker, New Hampshire, and then at Dartmouth, in Hanover, New Hampshire. That made the bridge. But, more important, I found a country where I wanted to live, a place that had always excited my imagination and which has never really disappointed me in practice. Comments that refer just as accurately to my wife, Lucy—an American.
Q: The task of writing a biographical dictionary of film is monumental. When this was still just an idea, were you daunted by the number of films and careers you'd have to take on? And where did you decide to draw the line?
A: The book just grew. On the first edition, done in the early ‘70s, I never really knew where I was going until I had got there—and also I was younger and more innocent. The updates, especially those to make the 3rd and 4th editions, were actually more daunting. Because now I know how crazy and demanding the venture is. Also, being older, my memory is not as good, so it's slower going. As to where I draw the line, I do an instinctive interest test: does this person really grab me? If so, they're in. If not. . . .
Q: How long did it take to create each edition?
A: The first edition took four years—of course I was doing some other things at the same time. Nowadays I find that there's a year's hard work in the update and new entries.
Q: Do you still feel that Cary Grant (Archie Leach) was "the best and most important actor in the history of the cinema"?
A: Yes, I still love and revere Cary Grant. But I think the underlying point has always been to say that there are actors who work in film because of their presence, not their theatre skills. So I have tried to stress the value of a few fascinating but hardly changing personalities—Mitchum, Stewart, Wayne, Bogart, Cagney, William Holden are of the same type, and today I like Jeff Bridges, Nick Nolte, and Morgan Freeman in the same way.
Q: In your entry for Bette Davis, you call All About Eve "the grandest cinematic expression of high theatre" ever and Bette herself (as Margo Channing), "a curdled cocktail." Can you expand on this a little?
A: I mean that All About Eve is dealing with a wonderful love of theatre that is itself theatrical. The tone is hard-boiled and cynical, but these people really love what they do. As for Bette Davis, this is the point where the true beauty and sexpot of the ‘30s begins to go sour and crazy. You can feel the later Bette coming, but still see the kid.
Q: In your Acknowledgments, you play a wonderful game of asking old friends and new their three favorite films, and The Lady Eve and His Girl Friday pop up most often. What about those films, do you think, makes them so popular?
A: Well, I think The Lady Eve and His Girl Friday now look like highpoints of a very American genre—the high-paced, romantic screwball comedy—where people may behave like children and idiots, but reveal profound truths about adult human nature. Along the way those films are just so funny, so skilled, and so entertaining. And I think people respond to them because we've lost the art of grown-up comedy.
Q: This edition has 300 new entries, including several silent film stars and even Rin Tin Tin. But there's also a great deal of updating done for those whose careers have grown in the last decade, such as Tom Hanks and Steven Spielberg. Did the work of these people in the last decade cause you to reassess your previous evaluation of them or did you find you were still on the mark?
A: Careers are very hard to follow these days—the business is so unstable. People can rise and fall fast. Thus, there's a good deal of re-thinking with people like Julia Roberts and Nicole Kidman, say. Since the last issue, Roberts has become a true star—yet I'm not sure how long she'll last. Whereas Kidman, it seems to me, is growing all the time. Even Steven Spielberg bears constant attention. Whatever you feel about him, he's always experimenting, trying something new. Whereas George Lucas, I think, has grown older, sadder, and duller.
Q: Among your other books, you wrote a wonderful biography, Rosebud: The Life of Orson Welles. Is he one of your favorite directors?
A: Welles is one of my favorite people—not just directors. I don't think I've ever worked on a more fascinating life: such talent, such charm, such potential—and yet so self-destructive, such a ruin, such a fall. Not that I get depressed with Welles. He was unconquerable—no matter how hard he tried. Yes, he is still the most important director in American film, still the most advanced and courageous. Still the greatest warning about Hollywood and what it can do to talent. He has had a profound influence on me in every way I can think of.
Q: Of the new filmmakers today, several in their early 30s, such as Paul Thomas Anderson (Boogie Nights, Magnolia), Chris Nolan (Memento), Wes Anderson (Rushmore, Royal Tenenbaums), M. Night Shyamalan (Sixth Sense, Signs), the Hughes Brothers (Menace II Society, From Hell), Kimberly Peirce (Boys Don't Cry), and Sam Mendes (American Beauty, Road to Perdition), who are those whose work you admire or who intrigue you with what they might do next?
A: We need and have a lot of promise—because we chew it up. I'd pick Paul Thomas Anderson as the real talent. But there are many others, including those you mention and Alexander Payne—a few of them not even in this book. Next time?
Q: The jacket of your book is of a scene from To Have and Have Not showing Lauren Bacall leaning on a piano, while Hoagy Carmichael plays it and people look on. Why that particular image for the book?
A: With the 4th edition, my editor Bob Gottlieb and I thought why not a picture on the jacket? (We're getting up-to-date.) I then wanted one image that somehow captured all the fun, the romance, and the atmosphere of movies. I looked at a lot of stills and this one really caught my eye—it was mid-century, golden age, it is a totally fabricated place (a Caribbean island filmed on the Warners lot), it is Bacall in her great debut, with an extraordinary exchanged glance with Hoagy Carmichael. It is also Howard Hawks, my favorite director. Once I had that picture, I had to write a Carmichael entry—and that entry really is the caption to the picture.
Q: In your opinion, were there advantages to the old studio system that MGM had, compared with the system today? And what do you think of the Indie film scene as it relates to Hollywood? Would you say that the two grow more similar?
A: The more time goes by, the more a lot of us admire the old studio system (despite its faults). People worked hard and steadily. There was an incredible level of craft skill, but the studios had the world as their audience and that gave them great confidence. Today, the huge audience has retreated and movie-making has lost its confidence. So everyone is struggling to find a new way to that old glory. We'll never get back to the golden age, but that doesn't mean we can't make amazing pictures still. And I suspect that the medium is about to go through huge technological and business changes that will alter the potential of the art.
Q: Do you think the use of digital cameras, as seen recently in Full Frontal, will play a role in those changes, as basically anyone now can be their own filmmaker?
A: The change are so many, but one of them is that people are going to have a movie- making capacity of their own, and that changes the role of "professional" movies. Of course, in the end, the aim of digital is to look better than film (not the case in Full Frontal), and another fascinating tendency is towards perfect but un-lifelike imagery, imagery that uses electricity instead of light.
Q: What's next for you?
A: I'd love to write a novel, a book about the England I grew up in, and a book about the wonderful, rich, comic clash between art and money in the mind of Hollywood.
Most Helpful Customer Reviews
This is the most amatuerish job of E-Book formatting I have yet seen. Extra spaces and even carriage returns are inserted in the middle of words, the chaptesr are assigned by letter of the alphabet and are just too long. This was an opportunity to create a really nice hyperlinked text with a table of contents and index by title or by name, but the person who created this did the minimal amount of work possible. A good book ruined by a sloppy presentation.
BOOK REVIEW: David Thomson, "The New Biographical Dictionary of Film," New York: Knopf, c2002, 963 pages. Copyright by Harvey Karten. What a pity that David Thomson's masterful encyclopedia of film is updated so infrequently. Patience is rewarded. Mr. Thomson?who like Anthony Lane is a Londoner though he now lives in San Francisco?has come out with a smashing new volume almost a thousand pages in length. Unlike the late Ephraim Katz's bible of film knowledge, "The Film Encyclopedia," Thomson's book avoids the staid and abounds in his personal opinions on a large but selected group of people connected to the movie industry. The new encyclopedia, just published, contains three new entries (including one for Reese Witherspoon, appropriately enough since Ms. Witherspoon is getting into all the romantic comedies she can while she retains her unique, youthful charm), not only names the names but chats about art and entertainment in general, tossing in some of the author's viewpoints on the New Vulgarity that brings in the principal targeted market of the big studios. An example of Thomson's first-person-ism: Entry for Winona Ryder (Winona Laura Horowitz): "In 1994, pressed for space and surrounded by young actresses, I backed a hunch that Winona Ryder would outlast Nicole Kidman and some others. Well, Ryder holds her place, but Kidman has clearly outstripped her in both daring and accomplishment. And Ryder is now thirty, and pretty in a way more suited to twenty." On the Coen Brothers: ""Raising Arizona" was, for me, close to unwatchable: unfunny, technologically impelled, showy and not just empty but condescending. "Barton Fink" was show-off time again, a dash of Nathanael West, a pinch of sophomore surrealism, numb satire, another kid's film. "Hudsucker Proxy" was a return to zero?or less....the plot ponderous and flimsy, and the people stooges to a dumb comic-book style. A travesty." An encyclopedia that's shy of the length of the OED cannot include everyone, but why have entries for Demi Moore (Demi Guynes) and Julianne Moore (Julie Smith) but nothing at all for one of the hottest names of the 21st century, Michael Moore (Michael Moore)? Nick Nolte but not Harry Knowles? Emma Thompson but not David Thomson? Sir Carol Reed and Donna Reed (Donna Mullenger) but not Rex Reed? Diane Lane but not Anthony Lane? (After all, there is an ample entry for Pauline Kael.) The major omission is the lack of information on matters covered by Katz's encyclopedia, to wit: "Iranian Cinema," "Hollywood" and the like?only people get the headers. This "dictionary" is so comprehensive, so enjoyable, that the only criticism one might make is that Thomson does not cover some of the more notable and colorful personalities of the biz, particularly the critics we daily read with keen anticipation.