Coming soon to a book store near you....

And, yes, for the second year in a row -- I'm one of the contributors for this grand movie guide.

Drive safely, he said

Hat-tip to Andrew Sullivan for locating this Consumerist post: Ten of the most ironic ads of all time, including James Dean's near-legendary PSA for driving safety. (Yes, that's Gig Young asking the questions.)

Beaver shoot

I'm very glad to hear that Jodie Foster finally is going to direct another movie -- she hasn't helmed one since 1995's Home for the Holidays, which we talk about in this '95 interview -- and I think she and Mel Gibson, who co-starred in Maverick, might once again make for an interesting on-screen match-up. But the title of this new project... Well, geez, were they actually looking for a way to inspire a lot of rude jokes, or what? I mean, I can just see the headlines: "Foster's Beaver Attracts Mel Gibson." Or, "Gibson Attached to Jodie Foster's Beaver." Or... No, sorry, I just don't want to go there.

Review: The Gambler, the Girl and the Gunslinger

The title might indicate a three-hander in which screen time and plot emphases are perfectly apportioned, but The Gambler, the Girl and the Gunslinger turns out to be a star vehicle for top-billed Dean Cain, if only by dint of his stealing every scene that isn't bolted to the floor. With all due credit to co-stars James Tupper (Men in Trees) and Allison Hossack (Reaper), who acquit themselves with engaging proficiency, Cain is the main reason this seriocomic Hallmark Channel offering easily transcends the familiarity of its retro Western plot mechanics and makes an agreeable impression from wire to wire. You can read the rest of my Variety review here.

Another ride for The Duke?

Everybody knows that John Wayne's last movie was The Shootist, right? Well, maybe not. Maybe the real curtain-closer for The Duke's career is a science-fiction Western -- no kidding! -- called Thunder Riders of the Golden West.

Happy Independence Day!

Hope you get to enjoy a safe and sensational holiday weekend, pilgrims! I'm going to be spending the next few days sipping Merlot, eating junk food, watching DVD movies, Tivoed TV shows and Astros baseball games, and generally veging out while recharging my batteries at Casa Leydon. God bless America, y'all!

R.I.P.: Karl Malden (1912-2009)

As Robert Berkvist of the New York Times astutely notes, Karl Malden "was perhaps the ideal Everyman. He realized early on that he lacked the physical attributes of a leading man; he often joked about his blunt features, particularly his crooked, bulbous nose, which he had broken several times while playing basketball in school. But he was, he once said, determined 'to be No. 1 in the No. 2 parts I was destined to get.'"

In achieving that goal, A.O. Scott adds, Malden "defined what it meant to be a character actor" as he "specialized in being uneasy, playing men who are variously worried, angry, disappointed and defeated. Like many other actors who distinguish themselves in supporting roles and whose charisma consists of a kind of intensified ordinariness, he has often been referred to as an everyman. That doesn’t seem quite right, though. In his best movie roles, mainly in films directed by Eliza Kazan" -- including A Streetcar Named Desire, for which he earned an Oscar as, naturally, Best Supporting Actor -- "Mr. Malden is specifically the other man, the guy defined partly by his lack of certain attributes abundantly present in the protagonist. The other man is never ruthless, or dangerous, or dashing, or cool. His regret may be that he could never have been a contender, but he makes up for it with a stoical sincerity that is all the more affecting for being so easy to discount."

Like many other character actors who have garnered fame and acclaim in movies, Malden didn't achieve full-blown stardom until he turned to television -- as a hard-boiled but good-hearted veteran cop in The Streets of San Francisco (where he served, on camera and off, as a mentor to co-star Michael Douglas), a blunt-spoken steel-mill worker and family man in the unjustly overlooked Skag, and, of course, the sharp-dressed pitchman for traveler's checks and credit cards you should never leave home without. But no matter the size of the role, or the medium in which he played it, Malden invariably came across as effortlessly and absolutely convincing. Even when he went over the top in two '60s spy-guy extravaganzas -- Murderer's Row (1966), which cast him as a wild-eyed Dr. Evil type opposite Dean Martin's Matt Helm, and Billion Dollar Brain (1967), where he played the embezzling underling of a zealously right-wing Texas zillionaire thwarted by Michael Caine's Harry Palmer -- he somehow managed to maintain a modicum of credibility. That, too, is a hallmark of a natural-born character actor.

R.I.P.: Harve Presnell (1933-2009)

My immense ego expanded several centimeters a few years back when Harve Presnell -- out of the blue, apparently prompted by a mutual acquaintance -- phoned me to ask how he might do a bit more to promote an indie movie in which he played a key role. To be honest, I don't remember much else about the conversation -- indeed, I'm not entirely sure the movie was Escanaba in da Moonlight, although I think it was -- but I do recall being ineffably thrilled while listening to the booming voice at the other end of the line. (Very early in the conversation, he told me -- warned me, actually -- not to refer to him as Mr. Presnell, so I didn't.) It was the mellifluous baritone of Rotten Luck Willie from Paint Your Wagon -- the dude who knew all about the wind called Mariah -- and Johnny Brown, who promised he'd never say no to The Unsinkable Molly Brown. And, yes, it was the authoritative tone of Wade Gustafson, the wealthy businessman who made the big mistake of trusting his weaselly son-in-law in Fargo. I treasure memories like that. And I salute those who give me -- who give all of us, really -- so many movie moments to remember.

Celebrate Independence Day with 1776

Two years ago this week, I rediscovered 1776 on Turner Classic Movies. On Saturday, you, too, can re-evaluate (or see for the very first time) on TCM a movie -- one of the last of the Old Hollywood adaptations of a hit Broadway musical -- that was substantially improved by the restoration of scenes and songs that had been deleted by producer Jack Warner (at the insistence, according to Hollywood legend, of no less a notable than Richard Nixon) before its ’72 release.

As I noted in 2007: "1776 still is something less than an unadulterated masterwork. (Although director Peter H. Hunt manages some impressive wide-screen compositions, he’s a tad too literal-minded in some aspects of his stage-to-screen translation.) Taken as a whole, however, the movie is wonderfully entertaining – and, better still, undeniably inspiring -- as it offers an intelligently yet playfully romanticized account of events leading to the signing of the Declaration of Independence. But wait, there’s more: The cast includes most of the major players from the original 1969 Broadway ensemble – including William Daniels (John Adams), Howard Da Silva (Benjamin Franklin) and Ken Howard (Thomas Jefferson), all at their finest – along with an absolutely luminescent Blythe Danner (who was pregnant with Gwyneth Paltrow during filming) as Martha Jefferson. And the heated debates over individual rights and tyrannical rulers is, alas, every bit as relevant today as in 1776 or 1972." Or 2009.

Brendan Wayne: Carrying on the family tradition

The Duke's grandson talks about following in the tradition of an American icon in this interview I did for Cowboys & Indians.

Manhattan Melodrama

If you want to see the last movie John Dillinger ever saw -- it's airing tonight on Turner Classic Movies.

Script Girl bares the truth

Script Girl knows how Michael Bay got into showbiz, and she's spilling the beans. Sort of.

At long last: Sen. Al Franken

At the end of my 2006 Variety review of Al Franken: God Spoke, I wrote: "Franken seems self-reflective only in the final scenes, as he contemplates reinventing himself once again -- this time, as a serious candidate for public office. Trouble is, he admits, he might have to temper the tone of his humor (and avoid anything potentially offensive) if he wants to reach voters. And that, [the documentary] suggests, may be a price he'll be unwilling to pay." There are times in this life when I am very happy to be proven wrong. Today is one of those times.

R.I.P.: Gale Storm (1922-2009)

With all due respect to Gale Storm, whose passing I respectfully acknowledge with a grateful salute for her talent to amuse --I must say it's a little, well, scary to realize how vividly I recall certain aspects of her two '50s sitcoms. Even My Little Margie, the one that premiered the year I was born. Obviously, I spent even more of my youth watching TV reruns than I thought.

Random thought

I wonder how much Mahmoud Ahmadinejad and Iran's ruling clergy are grateful for the distractions of Michael Jackson, Farrah Fawcett and Mark Sanford? I mean, did those guys pray for this trifecta, or what?

Ed, Farrah and Michael

John Rash of Advertising Age considers what the deaths of three icons may tell us about the end of the eras they represent. Again, as I recently noted: The more options we have from which to choose, the fewer things we have that bring us together.

"Writing Songs with My Friend Mike"

Gotham Chopra offers an up-close and personal view of his late friend, Michael Jackson, in today's Huffington Post. It's a fascinating piece. Meanwhile, inevitably, speculation about the cause of Jackson's death has begun in earnest.

R.I.P.: Michael Jackson: (1958-2009)

First a ‘70s icon goes the way of all flesh, now an ‘80s icon takes a final bow. Michael Jackson has served as a human punchline for so long, it may be hard for some folks to remember what a sensationally exciting pop star (and music video innovator) he was in his heyday two decades ago. And that, frankly, is how I would prefer to remember him. Well, OK, I’d also like to remember some of the Jackson 5 stuff, too -- there was a time in my life, I'm not ashamed to admit, when "Never Can Say Goodbye" had the potent Pavlovian power to make me weep on cue -- along with his part in the “Brand New Day” number from The Wiz (smartly re-purposed as a Barack Obama anthem during the last election). And, yeah, there’s always…. “Ben.” The sweetest song ever inspired by a movie about a killer rat.

R.I.P.: Farrah Fawcett (1947-2009)

My condolences to the family and friends of Farrah Fawcett, who lost her long battle to cancer today. I know the obits will emphasize her heyday as a ‘70s sex symbol – thanks to the indelible impact of Charlie’s Angels, from which she alighted after only a single full season, and a revealing poster that graced the bedroom walls of hormonally inflamed teen boys everywhere – but I have much fonder memories of her sporadic appearances as the elusive object of David Janssen’s bemused desire in Harry O (1974-76), a cult-fave TV series (and, trust me, I'm a proud member of that cult) that is long overdue for an authorized DVD reissue.

Now probably is not the time to discuss her inability to parlay her initial burst of fame into a sustained film career. In all fairness, it must be acknowledged that when she actually had worthy material with which to work -- The Burning Bed, Extremities -- she acquitted herself respectably. Still, I think it’s safe to say that, for most of her life, she was famous primarily for being famous, and that she didn’t give her greatest, bravest and most affecting performance – as herself – until her sad but inspiring final act.

Eddie Murphy: Stronger than bombs

While on assignment in L.A. last summer, I found myself feeling... well, depressed would be an overstatement, but at the very least melancholy each morning when I ventured into the hotel parking lot and saw a massive billboard for Meet Dave looming across the street. You see, by that time, the surprisingly kid-friendly comedy had tanked at the box-office, and there was something rather sad about seeing an advertisement that big for something that had already bombed that badly. I had a very similar reaction tonight when I saw the above pictured poster for Imagine That outside a Houston theater. According to the New York Times, however, I shouldn't spend much time weeping for Eddie Murphy.