Peter Hutchings's Hammer and beyond remains a landmark work in British film criticism. This new, illustrated edition brings the book back into print for the first time in two decades. Featuring Hutchings's socially charged analyses of genre classics from Dead of Night (1945) and The Curse of Frankenstein (1957) to The Sorcerers (1967) and beyond, it also includes several of Hutchings's later essays on British horror, as well as a new critical introduction penned by film historian Johnny Walker and an afterword by Russ Hunter. Hammer and beyond deserves a spot on the bookshelf of anyone with a serious interest in the development of Britain's contribution to the horror genre. -- .

Peter Hutchings's Hammer and beyond remains a landmark work in British film criticism. This new, illustrated edition brings the book back into print for the first time in two decades. Featuring Hutchings's socially charged analyses of genre classics from Dead of Night (1945) and The Curse of Frankenstein (1957) to The Sorcerers (1967) and beyond, it also includes several of Hutchings's later essays on British horror, as well as a new critical introduction penned by film historian Johnny Walker and an afterword by Russ Hunter. Hammer and beyond deserves a spot on the bookshelf of anyone with a serious interest in the development of Britain's contribution to the horror genre. -- .

Combining industry analysis, interviews and detailed textual readings, this book examines the post-millennial revival of British horror cinema. Drawing on key films such as The Descent (2005), Eden Lake (2008) and The Woman in Black (2012), as well as lesser-known productions such as The Devil's Chair (2007), Doghouse (2009) and F (2010), the book analyses the cultural and industrial imperatives at work within (and beyond) these films, and the companies that produced and distributed them.

Rewind, Replay explores the birth and maturation of the pre-recorded video entertainment business in the UK. Informed by archival research and the examination of contemporaneous trade periodicals, industrial documentation and ephemera, it scrutinises distributors, wholesalers and shops. It explores industry shifts previoulsy unconsidered in scholarship, including video rental, market rationalisation and the development of 'sell-though' videocassettes to identify the key factors that led to the video boom.

Night after night, he guided the U.S. Navy SEALs through Iraq's most dangerous regions. A translator operating under the code name "Johnny Walker," he risked his life on more than a thousand missions and became a legend in the U.S. special-ops community. But in the eyes of Iraq's terrorists and insurgents, he and his family were marked for death because he worked with the Americans. Fearing for Johnny's safety, the SEALs heroically took it upon themselves to bring him and his family to the United States. With inside details on SEAL operations and a deeply personal understanding of the tragic price paid by ordinary Iraqis, Code Name: Johnny Walker is a gripping and unforgettable true story that reveals a side of the war that has never been told before. Includes a new afterword on the rise of ISIS

Rewind, Replay is the first history of Britain’s video boom. It considers the earliest video distributors who, from the late 1970s, took chances on a wide range of films and other programmes to attract consumer interest. It also addresses the phenomenon of the video shop, the speed with which video rental became a habitual practice among the British public, and the key industry players who, at the height of a recession, invested wholesale into what contemporaneous media reportage was describing as a mere ‘plaything’. Media historian Johnny Walker explores how distributors and store owners navigated various pressures including piracy, the video nasties moral panic and market rationalisation, as well as significant developments including the introduction of new legislation bespoke to the video medium and the corporate expansion of the industry in the late 1980s and early 1990s, to show how the pre-recorded videocassette, over the course of a few years, became a staple of high street retail.

The pervasive image of New York's 42nd Street as a hub of sensational thrills, vice and excess, is from where "grindhouse cinema," the focus of this volume, stemmed. It is, arguably, an image that has remained unchanged in the mind's eye of many exploitation film fans and academics alike. Whether in the pages of fanzines or scholarly works, it is often recounted how, should one have walked down this street between the 1960s and the 1980s, one would have undergone a kaleidoscopic encounter with an array of disparate "exploitation" films from all over the world that were being offered cheaply to urbanites by a swathe of vibrant movie theatres. The contributors to Grindhouse: Cultural Exchange on 42nd Street, and Beyond consider "grindhouse cinema" from a variety of cultural and methodological positions. Some seek to deconstruct the etymology of "grindhouse" itself, add flesh to the bones of its cadaverous history, or examine the term's contemporary relevance in the context of both media production and consumerism. Others offer new inroads into hitherto unexamined examples of exploitation film history, presenting snapshots of cultural moments that many of us thought we already knew.

The pervasive image of New York's 42nd Street as a hub of sensational thrills, vice and excess, is from where "grindhouse cinema," the focus of this volume, stemmed. It is, arguably, an image that has remained unchanged in the mind's eye of many exploitation film fans and academics alike. Whether in the pages of fanzines or scholarly works, it is often recounted how, should one have walked down this street between the 1960s and the 1980s, one would have undergone a kaleidoscopic encounter with an array of disparate "exploitation" films from all over the world that were being offered cheaply to urbanites by a swathe of vibrant movie theatres. The contributors to Grindhouse: Cultural Exchange on 42nd Street, and Beyond consider "grindhouse cinema" from a variety of cultural and methodological positions. Some seek to deconstruct the etymology of "grindhouse" itself, add flesh to the bones of its cadaverous history, or examine the term's contemporary relevance in the context of both media production and consumerism. Others offer new inroads into hitherto unexamined examples of exploitation film history, presenting snapshots of cultural moments that many of us thought we already knew.

The phenomenon of so-called 'snuff movies' (films that allegedly document real acts of murder, specifically designed to 'entertain' and sexually arouse the spectator) represents a fascinating socio-cultural paradox. At once unproven, yet accepted by many, as emblematic of the very worst extremes of pornography and horror, moral detractors have argued that the mere idea of snuff constitutes the logical (and terminal) extension of generic forms that are dependent primarily upon the excitement, stimulation and, ultimately, corruption of the senses. Snuff: Real Death and Screen Media brings together scholars from film and media studies to assess the longevity of one of screen media's most enduring cultural myths. Thorough, provocative, and well argued, the contributions to this volume address areas ranging from exploitation movies, the video industry, trends in contemporary horror cinema, pornography and Web 2.0.

The phenomenon of so-called 'snuff movies' (films that allegedly document real acts of murder, specifically designed to 'entertain' and sexually arouse the spectator) represents a fascinating socio-cultural paradox. At once unproven, yet accepted by many, as emblematic of the very worst extremes of pornography and horror, moral detractors have argued that the mere idea of snuff constitutes the logical (and terminal) extension of generic forms that are dependent primarily upon the excitement, stimulation and, ultimately, corruption of the senses. Snuff: Real Death and Screen Media brings together scholars from film and media studies to assess the longevity of one of screen media's most enduring cultural myths. Thorough, provocative, and well argued, the contributions to this volume address areas ranging from exploitation movies, the video industry, trends in contemporary horror cinema, pornography and Web 2.0.

The Planet Blue - a childrens story teaching about love, respect and God. Harry Lee and Bingo travel from the PLANET BLUE to earth to help earth children learn about nature and the beauty of the world God created.

Young Johnnie Walker was obsessed with music and loved to share that passion. So it wasn't long after he'd started DJing in dance halls and pubs around his Solihull home that he got his big break: he talked his way into a slot with newly founded pirate station Radio England - and launched his incredible career. Here, he tells of forty years at the heart of British broadcasting, stints that involved working on the legendary Radio Caroline, BBC Radio 1 and BBC Radio 2; of the stars and musicians he's met and worked with; of how he won the hearts of his listeners and of his devotion to pioneering new music. Johnnie also speaks candidly about the personal challenges he's faced: divorce, exile and his very public struggles with drug addiction and cancer. His life has been inspiring and - above all - entertaining. His autobiography is no different.

Combining industrial research and primary interview material with detailed textual analysis, Contemporary British Horror Cinema looks beyond the dominant paradigms which have explained away British horror in the past, and sheds light on one of the most dynamic and distinctive - yet scarcely talked about - areas of contemporary British film production. Considering high-profile theatrical releases, including The Descent, Shaun of the Dead and The Woman in Black, as well as more obscure films such as The Devil's Chair, Resurrecting the Street Walker and Cherry Tree Lane, Contemporary British Horror Cinema provides a thorough examination of British horror film production in the twenty-first century.