As a cinephile who has perhaps seen at least 2000 films predating 1970 alone, I felt like this volume should be in my small collection of books on film. My approach has been to read it as one would a book, starting at page one. It being the work of a single film critic, it is subjective — one man’s opinion. What I found is that Thomson can write well with considerable insight one moment, only to be bafflingly ignorant the next. His style also relies heavily on the rhetorical question. By the way, mine is the third edition, published in 2002. Not that that should matter too much, as it covers at least ninety of the last one hundred and twenty years (and I predict that those most recent twenty years won’t produce many classics).

Thomson has a lot of preconceived ideas of about cinema; what should constitute a good or great film. It is not enough, for instance, to be entertaining (and that means “entertaining” to Thomson). An example is Wes Anderson, whom he dispenses with in three very short sentences: snark alert!

At times he is very obtuse, and for the life of me I can’t figure out what he’s getting at. He can start out an entry seemingly hostile and then later on be praising. Hey, I’m not reading this as your therapist, dude! Talk about conflicted…

It’s this lack of consistency that is so irritating. Then there is his prejudices about female actors. He seems to have crushes on certain mediocre or merely competent ones (such as Rebecca De Mornay, Candice Bergen, or Melanie Griffith) and mostly dismissive of better ones (such as Faye Dunaway). Then, out of the blue, he writes an insightful entry on Kate Hepburn.

Still, I do find him refreshing in his opinions on some directors, such as Allen, Bergman, and Fellini. For many critics and fans, these guys are infallible geniuses; for me, much of their work does not age well and they have become easy targets for the parodists over the years. Elsewhere, he may trash directors I find creative and refreshing.

Perhaps his most baffling opinion is on Kubrick (someone who apparently does not fulfill his preconceived notions about what Kubrick should have been doing, although there are other directors whom he could have trashed for the same reasons). He especially despises "A Clockwork Orange" and makes it central to his diatribe; of course, this is just one film. His takes follow..."2001": trite sensibilities, its vacuity, intellectual pretensions. "Full Metal Jacket": an abomination. "Eyes Wide Shut": a travesty. He only likes "The Shining", but barely mentions "Dr. Strangelove" in passing, with no mention at all of "Paths of Glory" and "Barry Lyndon"! This is definitely, what, anti-cherrypicking? There is a website called "They Shoot Pictures, Don't They?" that number-crunches hundreds of critic and filmmaker lists of the best films of all time. Currently, Kubrick had five films in the top 100 and two others in the top 500. I leave it to the reader to come to their conclusions. Personally, I suspect that Thomson has let some emotion affect his critical eye, and the cause of that emotion can only be speculated upon. (Other sacred cows skewered include Billy Wilder and Orson Welles.)

His choices on whom to include or exclude can also be baffling. For no explicable reason he includes obscure figures whose work is almost impossible to view; is this some form of showing off about his street cred with other critics? (For example, Axel Corti.) It’s more difficult to gauge whom he might have overlooked unless he or she is one of your favorites and is glaringly missing. (No Jeff Goldblum or Penelope Cruz, sorry.) As I believe other reviewers have noted, there are preciously few cinematographers and screenwriters featured; surely we could have more entries for them and fewer of the obscure directors and actors? (In his entry on composer Bernard Herrmann, he calls screenwriters "feeble bystanders" and says that "photography itself is more the miracle than what individuals do with it." This is a breathtakingly stupid comment for someone who wants us to take him seriously as a film critic.)

Okay, he does say this is a personal selection, but behold then the conceit of calling it a "dictionary". It's not like a compiler of a dictionary can say, you know, I don't like that word, so I'm going to leave it out. Kieran Hickey gets over a page; who? you may ask. He was Thomson's best friend and died of an embolism. His tender tribute is touching, but this is not the place for it - perhaps a personal memoir instead, David? The book could have been titled "The New Biographical Listing of Who David Thomson Wants to Write About, Mostly Actors and Directors, With a Few Token Others Included Who Would Be Glaringly Missing Otherwise".

At times, he is merely petty: he is inordinately upset that Michael Caine was given a knighthood. What does that have to do with his acting ability? IMO, he should be more upset that there is still a monarchy that awards these things. Others have noted the inclusion of inappropriate entries, such as Johnny Carson, or perhaps his lengthy essay on Graham Greene, who contributed only a few screenplays; not nearly as many as, say, William Goldman. And he wants us to know that he considered the real-life Garbo ordinary and dull.

How can one write an entry on George C. Scott and not mention his performance in Dr. Strangelove?

So, in summary, a mixed bag. (My examples are merely the tip of the iceberg.) Still, he has made me curious about those films I have overlooked; hopefully, tracking them down will not be a disappointment. Of course, with Thomson’s erratic views, who knows? ( )

David Thomson is a wholly engaging writer who is also a blowhard--and I say that with reverence. His opinions are fixed and numerous, and he dismisses actors and directors he doesn't like with a wave of his hand. But what a wave! His entry on Cary Grant, for example, begins, "There is a major but very difficult realization that needs to be reached about Cary Grant--difficult, that is, for people who like to think that they take the art of film seriously." And what is this realization? He tells us at the end of the paragraph: "He was the best and most important actor in the history of the cinema." He's right about Cary Grant and about so many others--and even when he's not, he's never dull. This is the kind of 900-page book that you keep around and pick up every once in a while to remind yourself how good it is. Thomson will also cause you to expand your Netflix queue so you can add films about which he has written. Invaluable for film fans. ( )

Reference work largely created by a single person, so he’s free to be opinionated. Although it can function quite usefully as an auteur guide, it offers another way of navigating film history: by actor, writer, photographer, or producer (yes, it includes Harvey Weinstein pre-revelations). He does not cover film composers, songwriters, or lyricists. I have a better sense of Bette Davis’s or Margaret O’Brien’s contributions, or a guide for Gregg Toland’s work thanks to this book and the TCM on-demand database. ( )

I can't say I've read every entry, but I give it four stars because I like to know that I can open it up and find intelligent insights into the movie world. His opinions can be grating or dismissive (and hilarious) and he's left out a few contemporary people. Still, I think he covers pre-00s film artists extensively. ( )

A modern classic by one of filmdom’s most erudite scholars, if you can afford only one tome on the lives of Tinseltown titans, this would be it.

***

Any film dictionary worth its celluloid is going to have articles about the Cary Grants and Katharine Hepburns, but what about the industry’s second bananas and grade Z thespians? They don’t get any more no-name than an anonymity like Richard Donner, whose two sentence biographical sketch informs the reader that this man has the dubious distinction of making some of the “…least interesting films of his age.” ‘Nuff said! The difference between a good reference book and a great one is that the latter contains the good, the bad and the boring, not to mention everything in between. Now in its fifth edition, this paperweight of a book has accumulated mass with each new iteration, the present volume containing no fewer than 1,076 pages. Many surprises delight, as people you don’t really associate with the movies per se make appearances within. A case in point would be Abraham Zapruder, who was just another guy with a home movie camera, but was catapulted to fame when he inadvertently caught the assassination of President John F. Kennedy on tape. Then again, Gene Autry and Roy Rogers weren’t so much movie actors as they were singing cowboys who happened to be in the movies. Regarding the latter duo, author Thomson reveals not only his incisive commentary but a biting wit as well, with his observation that these guys were “…less handsome than their horses but rated as singers on the principle that that whining sounds sometimes keeps restless cattle calm.” Simply put, this book is a must have for any serious cinephile.

Review by Michael F. Bemis ( )