Coming Attraction: Alan Ladd

I'm pleased to announce that Alan Ladd: His Life and Work, my 13th book for McFarland and Company, will be published in 2027.

Born in 1913, Ladd began acting as a young man, and came to widespread public attention playing a hired killer in This Gun for Hire (1942). In short order, he became a popular leading man whose Western, mystery, and action films were top box office attractions in the 1940s and 1950s. Among his biggest hits were Shane (1953), The Blue Dahlia (1946), and Appointment with Danger (1951).

Ladd's story is told through archival research, previously unpublished genealogical data, and new interviews, revealing a modest man from humble beginnings whose talent, tenacity, and hard work brought him acclaim and success exceeding his own expectations. More than fifty-five films are surveyed in detail, with synopses, production histories, credits, and critical commentary. Ladd's work in radio, including his mystery drama Box 13, and television are covered as well in this comprehensive look at a star whose rich film legacy is ripe for reappraisal.

I hope you’ll give it a look when Alan Ladd: His Life and Work comes out next year.

Home Fires

Anyone under 40 might have trouble understanding how progressive the comedy-drama Room 222 (ABC, 1969-74) was on late sixties TV. Its opening titles (complete with one of TV’s loveliest musical themes) tell the story without saying a word. We see dozens of kids walking along outside an urban high school, chatting and interacting; they are an easy, natural-looking mix of faces, some white, many not. Next comes our top-billed star, an African-American man, a teacher. He smiles at the sight (who wouldn’t?) of his colleague, played by someone I’ve long considered one of TV’s most beautiful women, Denise Nicholas. What followed was a show that dealt with themes — drug addiction, homophobia — little explored on home screens then suffused with the likes of Petticoat Junction and The Brady Bunch, yet one that also made us smile as we grew to know and like the faculty and students of Walt Whitman High.

Decades later, her lead role as school counselor Liz McIntyre is probably what many people most associate with Ms. Nicholas. But her recently released book, Finding Home: A Memoir (Agate) offers a welcome opportunity to know her better. This is not your typical “and then I starred in” actor’s autobiography. Though saddled with a regrettably generic title, it’s a gracefully written, candid account of a life many of us can find relatable and sympathetic. Achieving a major breakthrough with Room 222, she strove to parlay it into film work, but her elegant beauty wasn’t cut out for the blaxploitation films of that era. (She also stayed true to her father’s stern admonition, “Do not let me walk into a movie theater and see your naked ass up on that screen.”)

As she grew older, she began to shift her interests from acting to writing, eventually publishing a critically acclaimed novel, Freshwater Road. She writes warmly of the late Carroll O’Connor, who made her his leading lady on In the Heat of the Night (NBC, CBS, 1988-95), and helped her gain multiple screenplay credits on the show. Away from the cameras, she writes frankly about three marriages that ended in divorce, and the unsolved murder of her sister.

Now in her eighties, rather than sinking into a relaxing retirement, she’s providing hands-on caregiving to her mother, more than 100 years old, who suffers from dementia. As she openly admits, she can’t afford full-time care in a place to which she could comfortably entrust a cherished family member. It’s that sort of confession that made this book resonate with me. Like most of us, Ms. Nicholas has worked hard to build a successful career and happy home life. Sometimes she’s succeeded, sometimes she hasn’t. I came away from this book feeling I’d truly gotten to know another human being better. Having long admired her work, I now add to that my respect for her humanity.

All’s Well with Wellman

Knowledgable movie buffs increasingly recognize the name of David Meuel as one of today’s premier film historians. His newest, Assembly Line Auteur: The Pre-Code Films of William Wellman (McFarland) provides further evidence of the author’s analytical skill, attention to detail, and grasp of motion picture history.

One reason I appreciate Meuel is his originality. Rather than cranking out the 367th book on Marilyn Monroe, he hones in on a specific and worthy topic, infusing it with cogent commentary. In writing about William A. Wellman (1896-1975), he could have focused on the director’s best-known work, like The Ox-Bow Incident (1943) or The High and the Mighty (1954). Instead, he takes a deep dive into the three-year period in the early 1930s when the energetic craftsman made an incredible eighteen films for Warner Bros., an aspect of Wellman’s career that Meuel argues convincingly merits more attention. 

As he shows us, Wellman, even when handed projects not of his own choosing, or pressed to meet tight deadlines, demonstrated a flair for innovation and technical skill. Meuel points out, for example, that in shooting Night Nurse (1931), the director refused to accept the status quo of early sound films, with “his fluid use of the camera,” and how, “as an early user of the mobile ‘boom’ microphone, he kept the sound recording apparatus moving right along with it.” He also boosted the careers of actors like James Cagney and Barbara Stanwyck at critical junctures.

Unlike some authors, Meuel doesn’t try to convince us that everything his subject touched turned to gold. His critique of The Purchase Price (1932) clearly calls out its flaws, for which he doesn’t entirely absolve Wellman of blame, but also notes what he did well. Throughout the text, Meuel illustrates Wellman’s knack for “fortifying dubious material” rather than giving in to it.

This is an excellent film study that has something worthwhile to say, and says it in a clear, accessible way that readers will appreciate — and that some of the author’s peers might benefit from studying. I hope Mr. Meuel is hard at work on another book. I’ll be eager to read it.

NOTE: I was furnished a review copy in exchange for an honest review.

Cover Reveal!

Here’s a first look at the cover of my 12th performing arts history book from McFarland and Company, due out next spring.

It’s a comprehensive look at 34 half-hour syndicated dramas of the 1950s, including titles like Harbor Command, Man Without a Gun, and Lock-Up. Each lasted two years or less, and it’s difficult to find more than a few sentences about them in most reference sources. Yet I enjoyed learning about them, and I think you will too. The book includes interviews with actors who worked on some of these shows, and descendants of their stars. I think it’s the first time I’ve ever interviewed a nonagenarian, and our chat was lively and interesting.

I hope you’ll investigate Tune In for Action when it appears. 

New Book Coming

I’m happy to announce that I have signed to publish my 12th book on performing arts history with McFarland and Company. I’ll have more to say about the book later, but for now I can reveal that it deals with 1950s television, and should be out in 2026.

Stay tuned!

“Another Wonderful Book”

The always-interesting “Another Old Movie Blog,” hosted by Jacqueline T. Lynch, is shining a spotlight on my book, John Hodiak: The Life on Film, Stage and Radio. Am I glad she did!

This post’s title is blatantly cribbed from her review. She mentions not only Hodiak’s film career, but his work on radio, which the book covers in detail. Ms. Lynch believes he deserved a higher level of fame than he achieved prior to his early demise, and I certainly concur.

To read her review in its entirety, go here.

While you’re there, become a subscriber, and check out her fine books. You’ll be glad you did.

P.S. I’m hard at work on a new book project. Stay tuned. I hope to share some details soon.

Holiday Sale!

Just in time for seasonal gift-giving, my publisher is offering a great across-the-board discount:

If you already own all my books (a boy can dream, can’t he?), you’ll find that McFarland also has plenty of interesting titles in the fields of sports, history, and literary criticism, among others, not to mention more performing arts tomes than you can shake a stick at.

Check it out!

The Reviews Are In!

No, it’s not like one of those movie scenes where the cast and crew of a Broadway play sit nervously at Sardi’s late on opening night, waiting for the newspaper critics to publish their reviews. But I think most authors would admit there’s a little anxiety felt when your book makes its debut in the world, and you wait to hear how critics and readers react.

So, that being said, are you ready to read the first published review of John Hodiak: The Life and Career on Film, Stage and Radio? Here it is, courtesy of noted film biographer Derek Sculthorpe. 

Want a second opinion? My fellow author Stephen Michael Shearer has contributed the inaugural Amazon review, which says in part, “David C. Tucker has written an excellent biography … followed by a well-researched and valuable critical history of all (Hodiak’s) films, stage and radio appearances … As he accomplished with his fascinating books on actress Rochelle Hudson, and director S. Sylvan Simon, Tucker has given us another well-deserved and valuable biography which every film buff and scholar should read.”

While critical plaudits are greatly appreciated, I enjoy hearing from readers, too. So if you like the book, I hope you’ll let me know. Mr. Hodiak deserves the recognition, don’t you think?

Hodiak’s a Hit!

What a nice surprise this morning, seeing John Hodiak atop Amazon’s list of bestselling Performing Arts History and Criticism titles.

Have you ordered your copy?

Hodiak in the House

I’m delighted to announce that, at long last, my newest book has been published:

Here’s a glimpse of what’s included.

He became a star overnight as surly, sexy, usually shirtless Kovac in Hitchcock’s Lifeboat (1944). Handsome and personable, John Hodiak (1914-1955) embraced his heritage as the son of Polish-Ukrainian immigrants, making him a rare Golden Age actor whose true ethnicity (and birth name) were widely known by moviegoers. Starting in radio, Hodiak was brought to Hollywood by MGM, starring in films like A Bell for Adano (1945) and The Harvey Girls(1946). In making Sunday Dinner for a Soldier (1944), he and co-star Anne Baxter fell in love despite divergent backgrounds and wed after a tumultuous courtship. The 1950s saw the breakdown of his marriage but also new professional opportunities, notably Broadway stardom in The Caine Mutiny Court-Martial. Tragically, his death at age 41 cut short an impressive career.

This first full-length study of Hodiak’s life and work, featuring original interviews with his daughter and others alongside genealogical and archival research, paints a full-bodied portrait of a man who achieved the American dream, only to have it snatched away in the prime of life. The annotated filmography provides synopses, reviews, and critical commentary of his 34 motion pictures, followed by an overview of radio, stage, and television performances.

It’s available for immediate shipment from the publisher, and can be ordered from online bookstores like Amazon, where you can choose either the print or Kindle edition.

I’m happy to share the product of nearly two years’ work with film buffs everywhere. If you read it, I hope you’ll let me know how you like it.

Noir Star

As I’ve mentioned before, I believe there are certain iconic Hollywood figures who have already been the subject of enough books, if not too many. (Hello, Marilyn Monroe!) But as author David Meuel makes a point of saying up front, his new book Joan Crawford in Film Noir: The Actress as Auteur (McFarland) is not a biography. That’s especially welcome for an actress whose private life — or, perhaps I should say, gossip about it — has too often overshadowed serious discussions of her work.

As Meuel states, by examining Crawford’s noir-tinged films of the 1940s and 1950s, his book helps readers appreciate “what she aspired to achieve in her art,” and “why the best of her efforts speak to us across the decades with such intensity and authority.” Naturally, any such discussion includes her Oscar-winning performance in Mildred Pierce (1945), but the author also makes room for extensive, thoughtful coverage of Daisy Kenyon (1947), A Woman’s Face (1941), and a personal favorite of mine, Autumn Leaves (1956). 

When the film, like This Woman is Dangerous (1952), falls well short of brilliance, he says so, but not without pausing to consider what elements of it do work. All told, twelve films receive in-depth coverage. I also appreciated his inclusion of two little-known dramas starring Crawford, seen on television’s General Electric Theater (1953-62), which contain clear noir elements. His comments make me eager to see them. 

Meuel readily acknowledges that movie buffs often find the actress’ later efforts like Female on the Beach and Queen Bee (1955) “films they’ll see to hoot and howl at.” But his essay about them poses an interesting quandary: “Why would Crawford … settle for bad scripts” and “play these roles with such scene-chewing relish?” The text that follows is intriguing.

If you’re a longtime Crawford fan (as I am), or a devotee of noir, like so many classic film fans, this book is well worthy of your attention. The carefully chosen film stills are a welcome bonus.

Silents, Please

Lon Davis has spent most of his life as a movie buff, with a particular fondness for silent film. He has written several fine books on motion picture history — including the recent Ma and Pa Kettle on Film— often in collaboration with his wife Debra. With Stumbling Into Film History (BearManor Media), he now gives us an engaging collection of essays that not only cover some of his favorite performers, but also serve as a memoir of sorts. 

The opening chapter gives us a vivid portrait of silent film star Beverly Bayne, whom the author met as a teenager. His depiction of her as “alternately charming and imperious, and given to sudden bursts of volatility” is intriguing. I also liked the chapter on Diana Serra Cary (“Baby Peggy”), which provides a detailed account of her career as a child star, but is enriched by Davis’ memories of their longtime friendship. Another strong essay lets us get better acquainted with film historian Kevin Brownlow, author of the seminal work The Parade’s Gone By. 

This melding of the personal and the professional, of movie icons and the fans who love them, makes for an engaging book. It’s hard to imagine that anyone who shares Davis’ happy addiction to movie lore wouldn’t enjoy it. I certainly did.

NOTE: I was furnished a free copy of this book in exchange for an honest review.

Penny in Your Thoughts

Penny Singleton (1908-2003) is the kind of performer who may never be the subject of more than one biography. Luckily for her — and us — Steve Randisi’s Penny Singleton: A Biography (BearManor Media) does her justice. Miss Singleton is best-known, of course, for spending a substantial part of her career playing Chic Young’s comic strip character Blondie Bumstead, both in a long-running Columbia B-movie series, as well as a popular radio show. She also voiced Jane in the popular TV cartoon The Jetsons, and, as readers of this book may be surprised to learn, was a labor leader who took on demanding work with the American Guild of Variety Artists.

In a sense, author Randisi has been working on this comprehensive biography and career chronicle for some 40 years. Back in the 80s, he conducted interviews not only with Miss Singleton herself, but with her Blondie colleagues Arthur Lake and Larry Simms. He stayed in contact with the actress for many years afterward, and later spoke with her daughter. That groundwork reaps substantial rewards in the book, enriching it with knowledge and insight, and making it impressively thorough. It also allows Randisi to address issues years after the fact, such as the rumors that “Blondie” and “Dagwood” didn’t get along. Some have held Arthur Lake accountable for his leading lady being fired from the Blondie radio show. Randisi’s solid research allows him to point the finger at another, slightly unexpected culprit.

It should be noted, though, that the book isn’t just for Blondie fans. The entirety of Miss Singleton’s career in film, theater, radio and television is covered, as is her private life, which included four trips to the altar and the birth of two daughters. Satisfying in its content, Penny Singleton: A Biography is also a very attractive volume, nicely laid out and rich with interesting photos, sharply reproduced. 

Randisi isn’t a terribly prolific author; his last book, about Merv Griffin, was published five years ago. But books as comprehensive and lovingly done as this one are worth the wait.

Sweet Seventeen

Happy 17th anniversary to my first published book, The Women Who Made Television Funny: Ten Stars of 1950s Sitcoms. 

I still remember the thrill (along with a little trepidation) I felt when I opened my first letter from McFarland and found a contract enclosed for my signature. (Yes, it was actual snail mail back then).

As a reader and librarian, I’d long admired the excellent books on performing arts published by McFarland. To become one of their authors was a dream come true. It was a joy to write the book, which entailed interviewing two wonderful ladies no longer with us, Gale Storm and Betty White, as well as the likes of TV notables Robert Fuller (about working with Spring Byington) and Sherwood Schwartz (about writing for Joan Davis). 

And what other publisher would not only still keep this book in print 17 years later, but have given me the opportunity to write ten more? I am one grateful author.

“A Recommended Read”

Many thanks to the distinguished film historian Stephen Michael Shearer for contributing this review of Rochelle Hudson: A Biography and Career Record.

And if you haven’t read his fine books on Patricia Neal and Hedy Lamarr, among others, what are you waiting for?

New Book for the New Year

Couldn’t wait to show blog readers the great cover design of my newest book, coming in 2024.

More details soon.

Soldier’s Story

Twenty-five years after its release, Paul W.S. Anderson’s Soldier (1998) is a film that, despite its initial mixed reception, has acquired a cult following. Now, thanks to author Danny Stewart’s Soldier: From Script to Screen (BearManor Media) readers who appreciate it — or want to better understand it  — can learn quite a bit about the creation and production of what Stewart describes as “part military movie, part Western, and part outsider allegory.”

The heart and meat of this book are Stewart’s interviews with more than a dozen film professionals who worked on the project, notably screenwriter David Webb Peoples. They are presented much in the style of Tom Weaver’s acclaimed books on older sci-fi and horror films, allowing us to hear the interviewees’ voices even from the printed page. While one or two of them have little of interest to say, on the whole they provide a substantial amount of behind-the-scenes information of the kind that warms a film buff’s heart. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if someone had done this with so many classic films while the opportunity was there? Stewart deserves kudos for capturing this information in a timely way; the clock of motion picture history is always ticking away, more rapidly than we realize. 

Though it’s clear the author greatly admires the film, he allows other opinions to be aired. The always-welcome and astute John Kenneth Muir contributes a review that ably assesses what works — and what doesn’t — about Soldier. Stewart also explores the ways in which Soldier intersects with Blade Runner.

This book was clearly a labor of love for its author. Those who share his regard for Soldier will read it with pleasure and gratitude.

NOTE: I was given a free e-copy of this book in exchange for an honest review.

“The Review is In!”

Color me flattered by veteran film historian James L. Neibaur’s recent review of Rochelle Hudson: A Biography and Career Record. Jim calls it “an interesting, enlightening, and impressive portrait of both the person and the actress,” one that “gives us a truly thorough understanding of Hudson’s screen career as well as her life.” He adds that it’s “highly recommended for libraries, research centers, and fans of classic Hollywood.” (Are you listening, librarians, archivists, and readers?)

You can read the review in its entirety here. While you’re there, check out the impressive list of film books Jim has published over the course of a noteworthy career.

Snow Job

For savvy horror and sci-fi fans, the name Bryan Senn on a book cover has long been a reliable indicator of an authoritative, enjoyable read. Now Senn expands his horizons a bit with Ski Films: A Comprehensive Guide (McFarland), covering a sport which his usual readers may not know is another of the author’s longtime passions.

Would you be surprised that this winter sport has figured into enough movies to fill a 400-plus page volume? I was. Off the top of my head, I came up with Downhill Racer (1969) and Aspen Extreme (1993), and, in an earlier era, the musicals of Sonja Henie. But in this book, similar in format to his The Werewolf Filmography, published a couple of years ago, Senn provides a comprehensive overview of films covering a century of filmmaking. Each film is evaluated both for its overall merits (or lack thereof) as well as comments on its depiction of skiing. 

At times, you’ll be glad Senn sat through these movies, so you don’t have to. He awards the apple for “absolutely the stupidest ski scene” to xXx (2002) for “a five-minute snowboarding sequence that must be seen to be disbelieved,” while making mention of “charmless” Vin Diesel’s “bland expressions and blah delivery.” Coming in for more affirmative coverage is the aforementioned Downhill Racer, which scores well on both the “Cinematic” and “Ski-Matic” ratings that the author assigns to each film. 

Useful appendices provide a handy guide to ski movie tropes (such as avalanches), a chronological listing of films covered, and a best-to-worst ranking (including the author’s Top Ten ski films). Whether you read cover-to-cover or browse, this is a fun book, one that amply displays Senn’s gifts for both research and readability.

NOTE: I was furnished a free e-copy of this book in exchange for an honest review.

Hurrah for Meuel

David Meuel’s Silent Film’s Last Hurrah: The Remarkable Movies of the Long 1928 (McFarland) takes an overview of film during a period stretching from the groundbreaking release of The Jazz Singer in October 1927 through February 1929. It was a time when Hollywood continued to release silent films, but audience response made it clear that sound had revolutionized the young industry. Performers and other creative talents would either have to adapt to a new set of filmmaking tools, or be left behind.

Each of thirteen chapters covers a filmmaker who released an important work during the time in question. Many of the era’s best-known talents appear: Chaplin, Keaton, Mary Pickford, Gloria Swanson, and Lon Chaney are joined by the likes of Josef von Sternberg and William Wellman. Among the films he analyses in depth are Steamboat Bill, Jr., Sadie Thompson, and The Wedding March. A follow-up chapter briefly discusses another twenty-eight noteworthy films that appeared during the long 1928. Meuel is a highly knowledgeable, authoritative film historian who presents his theses in a clear and accessible style that can be appreciated by scholars and film buffs alike.

Being a longtime admirer of Joan Crawford, I especially enjoyed the chapter that discusses her star-making film Our Dancing Daughters, which makes a slightly unexpected appearance here. Meuel ably assesses the ways in which, throughout a long career, Crawford continued to draw on the techniques of silent film performance that she learned from mentors like Chaney, and cogently explains why she adapted to the coming of the sound era in a way that performers like Clara Bow seemed unable to do. Brushing aside the personal dramas that have many knowing her primarily as “Mommie Dearest,” the author shares his conviction that, for a period between the mid-forties and early fifties, Miss Crawford “was as consistently good as any actress in Hollywood.” Another strong chapter, on director King Vidor and The Crowd, helped me better understand the acclaim this iconic film has received, and how revolutionary it was for the Jazz Age, unlike most other films of its day.

If you’re looking for a thoughtful, engrossing work on a fascinating time in motion picture history, look no further.