Joe Bob Goes To The Drive In

In a reprise to his successful guide to the drive-in movie experience, the author again brings his unique redneck commentary to some of the worst, and most obscure, B-grade movies ever produced

A creative cultural history of Dallas through the lens of its defining twentieth century event: JFK's assassination. The assassination of John F. Kennedy on November 22, 1963, shocked America. Instantly, Dallas was blamed for the killing, labeled “the City of Hate.” In the half century since the president’s murder, this city’s artists and writers have produced important, if often overlooked, work that speaks to the difficult burden of our civic shaming. Here are the works of poetry, theater, journalism, art, the actions of our citizens and political leaders, all the fragments of our cultural life that address this tortured local history. The City That Killed the President is a fitful discourse offering a window into Dallas itself, a city reluctant to grapple with its past.

Godzilla’s in a twelve-step program. A soul-sucking Mummy stalks Elvis and John F. Kennedy. Joe Bob Briggs has a moral dilemma: If your girlfriend turns zombie on you, what do you do? And that’s the tame stuff. In this red-hot collection from world-champion Mojo storyteller Joe R. Lansdale, you’ll find his best, most outrageous stories. The high priest of Texan weirdness does it all: horror, mystery, satire, suspense, and even Westerns. Prepare to be offended, shocked, and cackling like a crazed redneck. Featuring five Bram Stoker Award–winning stories, this career retrospective contains some of Lansdale’s rarer work, his nonfiction forays into drive-in theaters and B-movies, and the novella Bubba Ho-Tep, later made into a cult-classic major motion picture. Come on in—the weirdness is fine.

Articles and comic verse about the Lone Star State from the Thurber Prize winner: “What’s not to love?” —Texas Monthly Whether reporting for the New Yorker, penning comic verse and political commentary, or writing his memoirs, Calvin Trillin has bumped into Texas again and again. He insists it’s not by design—“there has simply been a lot going on in Texas.” Astute readers will note, however, that Trillin’s family immigrated to America through the port of Galveston, and, after reading this book, many will believe the Lone Star State has somehow imprinted itself on his imagination. Trillin on Texas gathers some of his best writing on subjects near to his heart—politics, true crime, food, and rare books among them—that also have a Texas connection. Indulging his penchant for making “snide and underhanded jokes about respectable public officials,” he offers his signature sardonic take on the Bush dynasty and their tendency toward fractured syntax; a faux but quite believable LBJ speech; and wry portraits of assorted Texas county judges, small town sheriffs, and Houston immigration lawyers. He takes us on a pilgrimage to the barbecue joint that Texas Monthly named the best in Texas, and describes scouting for books with Larry McMurtry. He tells the stories of two teenagers who dug up half a million dollars in an ice chest, and of rare book dealer Johnny Jenkins, who was found floating in the Colorado River with a bullet wound in the back of his head. And he recounts how redneck movie reviewer “Joe Bob Briggs” fueled a war between Dallas’s daily newspapers and pays tribute to two courageous Texas women who spoke truth to power: Molly Ivins and Sissy Farenthold. Sure to entertain both Texans and non-Texans, Trillin on Texas proves again that Trillin is one of America’s shrewdest and wittiest observers.

NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER • A fascinating portrait of journalism and the people who make it, told through pieces collected from the incomparable six-decade career of bestselling author and longtime New Yorker writer Calvin Trillin “The Lede contains profiles . . . that are acknowledged classics of the form and will be studied until A.I. makes hash out of all of us.”—Dwight Garner, The New York Times I’ve been writing about the press almost as long as I’ve been in the game. At some point, it occurred to me that disparate pieces from various places in various styles amounted to a picture from multiple angles of what the press has been like over the years since I became a practitioner and an observer. Calvin Trillin has reported serious pieces across America for The New Yorker, covered the civil rights movement in the South for Time, and written comic verse for The Nation. But one of his favorite subjects over the years—a superb fit for his unique combination of reportage and humor—has been his own professional environment: the American press. In The Lede, Trillin gathers his incisive, often hilarious writing on reporting, reporters, and their world. There are pieces on a legendary crime reporter in Miami and on an erudite film critic in Dallas who once a week transformed himself from a connoisseur of the French nouvelle vague into a fan of movies like Mother Riley Meets the Vampire. Trillin writes about the paucity of gossip columns in Russia, the icebreaker he'd use if he met one of his subjects socially (e.g.: “You must be wondering why I referred to you in Time as a dork robot”), and the origins of a publication called Beautiful Spot: A Magazine of Parking. Uniting all of this is Trillin’s signature combination of empathy, humor, and graceful prose. The Lede is an invaluable portrait of one our fundamental American institutions from a master journalist.

Too often dismissed as nothing more than 'trash cinema', exploitation films have become both earnestly appreciated cult objects and home video items that are more accessible than ever. In this wide-ranging new study, David Church explores how the history of drive-in theatres and urban grind houses has descended to the home video formats that keep these lurid movies fondly alive today. Arguing for the importance of cultural memory in contemporary fan practices, Church focuses on both the re-release of archival exploitation films on DVD and the recent cycle of retrosploitation films like Grindhouse, Machete, Viva, The Devils Rejects, and Black Dynamite. At a time when older ideas of subcultural belonging have become increasingly subject to nostalgia, Grindhouse Nostalgia presents an indispensable study of exploitation cinemas continuing allure, and is a bold contribution to our understanding of fandom, taste politics, film distribution, and home video.