Nathan Rabin's Blog

J'ACCUSE!

Dear Misled Public,

Hi, my name is Nathan Rabin. That’s right: THE Nathan Rabin, millionaire playboy, yachting enthusiast and heir to the Rabin dynasty. Five years ago I signed a contract with Scribner to write an inspirational book about how advanced breathing techniques, faith and canny use of the Rabin family fortune enabled me to become the youngest man ever to win America’s Cup. The book, tentatively titled “The Big Rewind: How Advanced Breathing Techniques, Faith and Canny Use Of The Rabin

The Reviewer Becomes the Reviewed

Well wise and intelligent friends,

The first few reviews of "The Big Rewind" have trickled in and it has been a fascinating, terrifying, sometimes exhilarating experience being on the other side of the critic/criticized divide.

When I write reviews, I always try to bear in mind that that the people I'm criticizing are flesh and blood human beings with feelings and aspirations and mothers and fathers, not bloodless abstractions. True, sometimes I feel less like a critic than an Exorcist banishing

Books and Teevee

A few nights back I attended a lecture given by my old "Movie Club With John Ridley" colleague Josh Kun in connection with his nifty new book "And You Shall Know Us By the Trail of Our Vinyl: The Jewish Past as Told by the Records We Have Loved and Lost" presented by Nextbook in association with Spertus College.

It was the first time I had seen Josh since our little-watched basic-cable movie review panel show died an unmourned death four years ago. I went there mainly to see Josh but I was blown

The agony and the ecstasy of blurbage

Hola amigos,

I know it's been longer than a camel's dong since I last rapped at you (oh, but I will never tire of ripping off the prose stylings of Jim Anchower!) but I've been mad busy, rocking and rolling and also whatnot. Mainly whatnot.

My book has officially been put to bed. It's off to the printers and there ain't a damn thing I can do to stem the massive flood of embarrassing revelations it contains. I thought about cutting all the overly revealing stuff at the last minute but apparently

Kittens With Chainsaws

Hola amigos,

I know it's been a long time since I last rapped at ya but I have been busy as of late, rocking and rolling and whatnot. In a "Silly Little Show-Biz Book Club" piece a few weeks back I wrote that John Leguizamo's engaging but ultimately glib and unsatisfying memoir fatally lacked telling moments, vivid little snapshots that tell the whole story in microsm.

I singled out a heartbreaking passage in "Wired" where a wistful John  Belushi tells his dealer in the midst of an epic drug bing

A Preemptive Apology to the Profanity Police

I have been dicking around Amazon a lot as of late and I am continually amused by reviews by readers who profess to be open-minded libertines yet are apoplectic over the profanity employed by various scribes. It seems like every fifth review reads something like this:

I am the furthest thing from a prude. I've been known to chuckle at the satirical song stylings of Mark Russell and even some of the Capitol Steps less risque numbers. So I'm not some blue-haired fuddy-duddy who goes running to the

The Coldest Winter/The City, She Is a Harsh Mistress

On Friday I trudged through twelve inches of snow to attend a preview screening of Frank Miller's woeful adaptation of "The Spirit". I come from several generations of postmen, so I wasn't about to let a little precipitation keep me from seeing the big sexy-ladies-in-make-believe-comic-book-land movie.

The film was mind-bogglingly terrible. In a curious bit of reverse alchemy, Miller somehow managed to suck all the fun out of a softball team worth of femme fatales played by a veritable who's who

The Tin Can of Shame and Silver Chalice of Victory

In his wonderful memoir, "Yes I Can" Sammy Davis Jr. relates that when the big money finally started rolling in after decades of struggle and toil he went out and bought himself as a giant silver chalice for his beloved Coca-Cola. That was perhaps the most awesome waste of money ever. Sammy Davis Jr. was balling out of control and showing young people how to floss when Jay-Z was nothing but a lascivious gleam in his father's eyes.

Consequently, I have decided that if my book sells out of its fir

Turn up the cyber-lights. I want to see all my online friends!

In his audio commentary for "Mommy Dearest" John Waters wryly notes that it takes a weirdly narcissistic mindset to make your happiness dependent on the rapt approval of strangers, as actors and actresses often do. Incidentally, I was so totally not outing myself in that last sentence: I of course only watched the audio commentary for Mommy Dearest after talking about broads with all my friends from the dock, pounding some Budweiser and participating in several strongmen contests, among other ga

A funky introduction of how nice I am

When I began my career at The Onion A.V Club a little over a decade ago I liked to think that everything I wrote was immediately sucked up into a giant literary black hole, never to be seen or heard from again. There was something strangely comforting about that kind of anonymity. I secretly treasured the idea that nobody read anything I wrote. In my early days at the paper (I call it "The Paper" cause to me it's as definitive in its own way as The New York Times), it was fairly easy to maintain