For twenty-five years, David Thomson's Biographical Dictionary of Film has been not merely "the finest reference book ever written about movies" (Graham Fuller, Interview), not merely the "desert island book" of art critic David Sylvester, not merely "a great, crazy masterpiece" (Geoff Dyer, The Guardian), but also "fiendishly seductive" (Greil Marcus, Rolling Stone).

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."

From the Hardcover edition.

A

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...

 

"Opinionated, slightly cranky, vastly entertaining, endlessly informative. Of all the reference books I have, this is always the hardest to put down."

 

"The single most stunningly informative, learned and provocative book I've encountered about the movies...The breadth of Thomson's research and his skill in writing about that knowledge will take your breath away, whether you are a scholarly aficionado or a weekend filmgoer."

 

"Thomson's love for the medium is proprietary, possessive, suffused with an academic's breadth of knowledge and a fan's mad crushes. He is by turns analytical and ardent, dryly appalled and moistly enthralled--and his book deserves a home on whatever flat surface is available between you and your DVD player."

 

"Even more seductive than the last edition . . . One of the most influential books on cinema ever written."

 

"And now, [The Biographical Dictionary of Film] stands before us again, as grand and eccentric as Samuel Johnson's dictionary, or one of the madder, more imaginary encyclopedias you'll find in the pages of Borges . . . Mr. Thomson is, I think, the last of the great film writers, up there with Graham Greene and Pauline Kael--not least because he has the courage to wonder aloud whether film is greatness' proper medium . . . [He] is here to sing the multiplex blues--sitting there, at the back to the cinema, amid the torn velour and spilled Pepsi--but this book is the most beautiful of torch songs, and more than bright enough to light up the gloom."

 

"Thomson has demonstrated wit and originality beyond a reasonable doubt . . . in the latest edition of his deservedly treasured reference work, the book's third and biggest revision since it first appeared in 1975, Thomson proves anew that he is irreplaceable. . . . [The New Biographical Dictionary of Film] is starting to feel like a public resource . . . Thomson's monologue has blossomed into an unlikely, searching dialogue about what to value in the movies . . . Thomson adds another honest wrinkle to one of the most probing accounts ever written of a human being's engagement with the movies."

 

"A reference book of extraordinary literary merit, this eccentric, audacious, sparkling work returns--revised, updated, and bulging with 300 new entries . . . Probably the greatest living film critic and historian, Thomson, an Englishman who lives in San Francisco, writes the most fun and enthralling prose about the movies since Pauline Kael . . . The book is a marvel."

 

"When this book was first published in 1975, it ignited arguments among many film buffs . . . This latest upgrade--which includes 300 new entries--promises to do the same . . . Thomson often nails the essence of a personality or career in less than a dozen words . . . One still turns to [him] for witty writing and potent, razor-sharp insights. With immense passion for pictures, he plunges past the IMDb [Internet Movie Database] into the very soul of film."

 

"Thomson's massive, invaluable attempt to comprehend and compress more than 100 years of movie history into a single volume . . . The massiveness of his erudition and the brisk confidence of his manner--he's an awfully good writer--render Thomson something of a dangerous character . . . Earlier editions have been my constant compansions for decades, consulted almost weekly . . . I happily welcome this latest . . . May our quarrels never end."

 

"An intellectual Filmgoer's Companion . . . an invaluable standard text for students, fans, and serious enthusiasts."

 

"One of the finest film critics in the English language."

 

"This dictionary could be declared the best book on the movies ever written in English . . . It is a delight to browse through, to leaf through, to read aloud to a constant companion in the dark . . . The secret of this book is the secret of the movies: it gives you pleasure . . . Thomson is the Dr. Johnson of film."

 

"A treasure . . . Unique, fascinating and more than a little addictive . . . A great critic's great work."

 

"Delicious, one of the best and most useful books written about the movies."

 

David Thomson was born in London. He has taught film studies at Dartmouth College, has served on the selection committee for the New York Film Festival, and has been the editor of the Journal of Gastronomy. He is a regular contributor to the New York Times, Film Comment, Movieline, The New Republic, Salon, and The Independent (London). He was the screenwriter on the award-winning documentary The Making of a Legend: Gone With the Wind. His other books include Showman: The Life of David O. Selznick, Rosebud, and three works of fiction: Suspects, Silver Light, and Warren Beatty and Desert Eyes. David Thomson lives in San Francisco with his wife and their two sons.

From the Hardcover...