FROM ONE FILM BUFF TO ANOTHER...

When I published my first magazine, with a friend, in the fifth grade, we had a circulation of three: one original, and two carbon copies.  We then graduated to a mimeograph machine.  If someone had told me that some day technology would enable me to communicate with people around the world electronically, I wouldn’t have believed it—any more than I could foresee the day when changing type faces meant a click of a button rather than applying press-on letters to a piece of paper, one character at a time.

This was the cover of my fifth issue of Film Fan Monthly, published in October, 1966 when I was fifteen years old.

My mind raced back to my earliest days as a publisher when I recently read the obituary of comic actor Eddie Bracken.  It took no effort at all to remember one specific day when I was fifteen years old.  Bracken was the first actor I ever interviewed for Film Fan Monthly, in 1966.

Long before I learned the intricacies—and frustrations—of trying to contact celebrities, I did things the old-fashioned way.  I waited outside the stage door of the Broadway theater where Bracken was performing in Neil Simon’s The Odd Couple.  I’d just seen the matinee performance, and hoped he would eventually come outside, where I would press a copy of my brand-new magazine in his hand and ask for an audience.

Sure enough, after a short time, there he was—and very approachable.  I gave him a copy of FFM and he immediately invited me to return for an interview in his dressing room after the Saturday matinee.  It was just that simple.  I wasn’t a very good interviewer, and I hadn’t seen enough of his movies to ask all the questions I should have, but he couldn’t have been more gracious.  (I was also too green to know how and when to question some of his claims, such as appearing in the Our Gang comedies.  He later explained that he was in a rival series called The Kiddie Troupers.)

That experience whetted my appetite to conduct more interviews, and I’ve never lost the taste.  When I began editing and publishing Film Fan Monthly, I had to feel my way when it came to contacting potential subjects, but in time I learned what sources to pursue, what publicists to avoid, and how to present my case in the best possible light.  I had some disappointments, but many more success stories (Anita Loos, Burgess Meredith, Patsy Kelly, Gale Sondergaard).  By the time I made my first trip to Hollywood, in 1968, I knew to set my sights on movie veterans who hadn’t been “talked out” by other people already.

Many years later, my job on Entertainment Tonight opened many new doors, and gave me access to an astonishing array of stars and filmmakers.

In recent years I started feeling the itch to publish my own magazine again—in part, to publish articles I felt like writing, although they didn’t necessarily have “mainstream

Lovely Mary Brian in a portrait from the late 1920s

magazine” appeal.  I also wanted an outlet for interviews I’d been conducting over the past twenty years that hadn’t yet appeared in print.  (I started stockpiling these interviews after living in Los Angeles for a while; it occurred to me that I ought to be talking to movie veterans who were still alive and well, even if I didn’t have a place to publish those conversations.)

Leonard Maltin’s Movie Crazy is in many ways a reincarnation of Film Fan Monthly, which I edited and published for nine years, from 1966-75.  Back then, I happily accepted contributions from some of the top writers in the film-buff world, including William K. Everson, Anthony Slide, Doug McClelland, David Chierichetti, Kirk Crivello, Gregory Mank, and James Limbacher.  This time around the writing is all mine.

For my first two issues, I knew the interview I wanted to feature: a long, fascinating conversation I recorded with Mary Brian.  Mary made her memorable screen debut as Wendy in the silent-film version of Peter Pan – back in 1924!  How many other people, at the dawn of the 21^st century, could recall parties at Pickfair and San Simeon, or describe the perils of making her first talking picture?  She is a valuable link to the past, and in part 2 of our interview she discusses working at Paramount’s Astoria studio, going on location to make The Virginian, and filming The Front Page at night.

Yes, that's Chaney Avenue as in Lon, and it was named in 1928!

Having a newsletter also inspires me to write articles I’ve been carrying around in my head, like the mystery of Cayucos, California, where in 1928 a developer decided to name all the streets after MGM personnel—on both sides of the camera!  Or the story, which led off my premiere issue, of how Orson Welles nearly came to star in and direct The Man Who Came to Dinner—just after completing Citizen Kane.  It’s a story that I stumbled on quite accidentally in the Warner Bros. archives at USC’s Doheny Library and one that has never appeared in any of Welles’ many biographies.

Being your own editor and publisher—like running your own website—is a heady experience.  Having worked for many other editors and producers over the years, it’s more exciting than ever to have an outlet where I can express myself without having anyone

Find out more about Leonard's brand-new newsletter. It's Movie Crazy, too.

looking over my shoulder.  It also means I can embarrass myself at times, or make mistakes, but the risk is minuscule compared to the reward.

If you haven’t yet subscribed to my newsletter, I hope you’ll give it a try.  And if you’ve never seen my original magazine, I think you’ll find much to enjoy in its pages. We’re offering twenty-five different issues right now, featuring everyone from The Three Stooges to Olivia de Havilland, and will have more for sale in the months ahead.

I’m grateful for all your positive response to this site, and to my work in print.  I’m just glad I don’t have to use rubber cement or mimeograph ink to get the word out any more.

[Go to the STORE link for a list of Film Fan Monthlys current available, or NEWSLETTER for information on subscribing to Leonard Maltin’s Movie Crazy]