J.W. McCormack

Nicolas Cage’s career is a categorical triumph of style over substance.

Biography at its best may only manage to capture the fanny packs and Groucho glasses of an author’s inner world, but sometimes there comes a telling quirk that gives the game away. To wit: a habit peculiar to Donald Barthelme—the legendary square-bearded author of nine short ...

It was 1972, and a bookish young ad man was losing his mind. He’d come up too quickly in the business and was staring down the barrel at a life as an anonymous copywriter, pining for a more creative outlet. He didn’t just want to be a writer, he wanted to dismember the codes ...

Make no mistake: Christsploitation is exploitation cinema. Nowhere is there the faintest whiff of sincerity.

The campaign song is frequently the porch popular music crawls beneath before it rolls into the fetal position and dies.

After reading Diane Williams, the classic short story seems like a sprawling black hole.

The President Is Missing, by Bill Clinton and James Patterson, merely confirms the claim of its title.

Alfred Döblin’s Berlin Alexanderplatz, a Modernist masterpiece with a new translation, makes hapless animals of us all.