American
Directors, Volume II is the second, obviously, in a series of books of essays about film directors working in Hollywood.
This second volumes begins for the most part with
directors who made their mark after the collapse of the old studio system. Listed alphabetically, the book ranges from Robert Aldrich to Fred Zinneman. Listed historically, the book ranges from Orson Welles to Steven Spielberg.
The book is a collection of essays by various writers don’t expect an ideological viewpoint. Contradictions of opinions of directors appear from one essay to another. Although be aware that the original, which as far I know has never been updated, only goes up to the early 80’s so, for instance, if you want to read
analysis of Martin Scorsese after Raging Bull, you are out of luck. In fact, if you are a big fan of American directors to arrive in the 70s, you will be disappointed. Scorsese only rates about three pages of less than penetrating analysis; Spielberg only gets four pages; Coppola only five.
The real reason to turn to this book is to get some insight on those lesser known, but still talented and often forgotten directors. Stanley Donen, for instance, even though he directed or co-directed such classics as Singin’ in the Rain and The Bandwagon is hardly likely to warrant nine pages of analysis in any other book featuring the three above directors. For those who enjoy the independent cinema of such contemporary talents as Tarantino and Fincher, there’s a nice analysis of the work of John Cassavetes, who is truly the godfather of American independent film, much more so than Roger Corman, who gets six pages himself.
I must admit to being underwhelmed by the overdose of attention given to Elia Kazan, the rat bastard who sentenced several talented writers to leans years on the blacklist due to his cowardly caving into the fascist members of HUAC. The less said about this jerk the better and frankly, On the Waterfront doesn’t really even hold up that well regardless of whether it’s a cowardly rat bastard’s attempt to justify his cowardly actions.
Stanley Kubrick gets a nice writeup, with an especially cogent analysis of The Shining, probably his most underappreciated film.
I would say the best reason to seek out this book might be its chapter on Jerry Lewis. If you’ve ever wondered just what in the heck is going on with the French that they hold this guy in such high esteem, this chapter just might open your eyes. Lewis was truly a groundbreaking, trailblazing figure in cinema and reading this chapter does give you a taste of that.