Jimmy McDonough, "Big Bosoms and Square Jaws: The Biography of Russ Meyer, King of the Sex Film" (2005)

Meyer's films are essential viewing for teenage boys, historians of the 1960s and 1970s, and fans of Boogie Nights. Meyer, for those who his name doesn't immediately conjure particular images, was a surprisingly financially successful director of movies that could perhaps be labelled... erm... mammary-obsessed, joke-infused, soft porn. This is not the type of porn that might make you feel particularly guilty or dirty, but rather the porn of a more... American version of Benny Hill type. It's nudity all seemed kind of... well... innocent compared to the graphic and grindy sex of porn intended purely to make money.

There's something that smacks of art in Meyer's films, in the same way that John Waters' films featuring Divine cross some strange line between art and trash. Additionally, Meyers' films often feature powerful, physically aggressive women, that seem to run counter to all popular understandings of graphic film produced for male consumption.

Unfortunately, McDonough's writing bears a certain resemblance to the late-career mammaries Meyer featured in his movies... over-inflated and self-consciously unnatural. In places it is almost painful to read. While the book provides some interesting back story to the production of Meyers' films, and is unique in that his life has not been examined in easily available book form (Meyers' multi-volume autobiography is priced at something like $400 USD), it is somewhat unsatisfactory in that it feels... superficial in many regards. Particularly disappointing is the last few chapters, when Meyer made the not too graceful transition from moviemaker to Alzheimer's-sufferer. Clearly, his financial, business and personal lives imploded, leaving many loose ends. McDonough, however, either because he was unable to find interviewees to explore these questions, or could not access the documentary record that might answer some of these questions, leaves the tragic denouement more to imagination than fact. Ultimately, this is unsatisfying as a narrative trope.