It’s the classic writer’s dream: publish a book, win an award, write the screenplay, and then walk the red carpet at the film version’s premiere. During 2025, Ben Shattuck’s creative life appeared to reflect that dream exactly: his first work of fiction, The History of Sound, won the Mark Twain American Voice in Literature prize and the film version — for which Shattuck wrote the screenplay — debuted at Cannes.
Bill Kroyer‘s detailed memoir Mr. In-Between scales the many rocky paths in animation from hand drawn to computer. Hear it from the guy who’s seen it all: a Midwestern animator who shot to Hollywood like a comet and to Disney Studios and abroad, finally landing back in Wisconsin where he serves as Professor Emeritus at Chapman University. An Oscar-nominated Director of films, commercials, and movie titles (including those dear to my heart, Labyrinth and National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation!), he’s a pioneer in his field. Tron, Ferngully: The Last Rainforest, and Animalympics are just a few of his acclaimed projects. When I quietly asked to interview him he responded, “Sure, I’ll do the show. I’d love to do the show.”
The trailer for the new film Y2K gives viewers a pretty good idea of the structure of the film it’s promoting: what begins as a high school comedy abruptly shifts gears into horror — a mash-up of American Pie and Maximum Overdrive, maybe. When I went to the Alamo Drafthouse on Tuesday to watch it, I thought about another point of comparison during much of the film: Attack the Block, another movie that effectively blends comedy, horror, and science fiction. But it wasn’t until Y2K’s climax that I realized that the best point of comparison wasn’t any of these films. Instead, it was Austin Powers: International Man of Mystery.
My new novel, Sleeping With Friends, asks what would happen if memories of film watching were to become the only thing an amnesiac woman has left. And what if the film memories can reveal to her who among her friends has tried to kill her?
Combining film and the printed word is usually considered an act of crossing the streams. It’s true for the most part—the mediums are vastly different in what they require from language. The novelist struggles to write a raindrop in words. A screenwriter will likely be fired if they get more detailed than “It’s raining.” Reading is active. Watching is passive. Or is it that simple?
I spent last Thursday afternoon in a Brooklyn theater watching director and co-writer Martin Scorsese’s adaptation of David Grann’s Killers of the Flower Moon, and I feel comfortable saying that I’m an admirer of film and book alike. But it’s worth pointing out that Grann’s book — terrific as it is — is not the only literary work to deal with the horrific murders that were aptly known at the time as the Reign of Terror.
Today sees the release of Lost in Reality, the new album from Stockholm’s Metro Riders — an enticing and atmospheric collection of music that draws both musical and aesthetic inspiration from the suspense and horror films of the 1970s. Metro Riders’ Henrik Stelzer provided an in-depth look at some of his favorite horror film posters — and explained how they shaped the new album.
On a rainy morning in New York’s Greenwich Village I meet up with journalist and memoirist Helene Stapinski to talk about her new book, The American Way. We’re sitting at a small window table in Caffé Reggio and together we imagine how its old-world atmosphere would have reminded Jules Schulback – her story’s hero – of the coffee houses he frequented as a young man in his native Berlin, the city he loved and didn’t want to leave. Stapinski muses that it’s quite possible Schulback had been to Caffé Reggio after having fled the Nazis to settle in New York City. Stapinski is her usual voluble self, eager to expound on her protagonist’s inspiring life, while recalling anecdotes about her research and collaboration with his grand-daughter, graphic artist Bonnie Siegler, with whom she wrote the book.
A couple of years ago, while on a trip to a city I’d wanted to visit in ages, I ended up with an extra night there due to a canceled flight. At least, I nominally had an extra night in town — but instead, I stayed in my hotel room because I’d just started reading Paul G. Tremblay‘s The Cabin at the End of the World — and there was no way I was going to put it down before I knew how it ended. Since then, I’ve sought out more of his work, impressed by both his command of dread and his ability to sustain narrative ambiguity across the space of a novel. Knock at the Cabin, an adaptation of the novel that first drew me to Tremblay’s work, is now in theaters, and provided the perfect backdrop to talk to him about his work, the movies, and the places they intersect.