In the vein of A.J. Jacobs’s New York Times bestselling book The Know-It-All, and with the snarky sarcasm of television’s Mystery Science Theater 3000 and The Soup, Showgirls, Teen Wolves, and Astro Zombies leaves no stone unturned. With a foreword by cult director George A. Romero (Night of the Living Dead and Dawn of the Dead).

    From horror masterpieces like The Beyond and Zombie Flesh-Eaters to erotic thrillers like One On Top of the Other and A Lizard in a Woman's Skin; from his earliest days as director of manic Italian comedies to his notoriety as purveyor of extreme violence in the terrifying slasher epic The New York Ripper, his whole career is explored. Supernatural themes and weird logic collide with flesh-ripping gore to breathtaking effect. Bleak horrors are transformed into bloody poetry - Fulci's loving camera technique, and the decayed splendour of his art design, make the films more than just a gross endurance test. Lucio Fulci built up a fanatical following, who at last will have the chance to own this book - five years in the making - which is the ultimate testament to 'The Godfather of Gore'. Featuring a foreword by Fulci's devoted daughter Antonella, and produced with her blessing and full co-operation. This book is quite simply the last word on Fulci. His whole career is studied in obsessive depth. Huge supplementary appendices make this volume essential for all serious students of the Italian horror movie scene. Featuring COMPLETE FILMOGRAPHIES for ALL the major actors and actresses ever to appear in Fulci films, the appendices alone are a unique, breathtakingly detailed reference source in their own right. Without doubt, by far and away the largest collection of Fulci posters, stills, press-books and lobby cards ever seen together in print. We have scoured the Earth to find the most stunning, rare and eye-catching Fulci images. Everything worth seeing is here. This is a truly beautiful book.

    He writes to comics, corporations, children, presidents, and even his daughter's boyfriend. Here is Groucho swapping photos with T. S. Eliot (”I had no idea you were so handsome!”); advising his son on courting a rich dame (”Don't come out bluntly and say, 'How much dough have you got?' That wouldn't be the Marxian way”); crisply declining membership in a Hollywood club (”I don't care to belong to any social organization that will accept me as a member”); reacting with utmost composure when informed that he has been made into a verb by James Joyce (”There's no reason why I shouldn't appear in Finnegans Wake . I'm certainly as bewildered about life as Joyce was”); responding to a scandal sheet (”Gentleman: If you continue to publish slanderous pieces about me, I shall feel compelled to cancel my subscription”); describing himself to the Lunts (”I eat like a vulture. Unfortunately the resemblance doesn't end there”); and much, much more. That mobile visage, that look of wild amazement, and that weaving cigar are wholly captured, bound but untamed, in The Groucho Letters.