Christopher Lee - The Authorised Screen History

Presenting Christopher Lee – The Authorised Screen History (2001) by Jonathan Rigby, published by Reynolds & Hearn—a handsomely morbid chronicle of the man who could make the word “Good evening” sound like both a greeting and a legally binding curse. ISBN: 9781903111116. This copy comes from the defiantly self-deprecating emporium Crappy Old Books and is graded Condition: Good—which here means “handsomely handled, not a drop of stage blood left on the pages, and the binding still stands to attention like a guardsman at a gothic mausoleum.”

This is the authorised account, which is a delightful way of saying the great man himself let the drawbridge down. Jonathan Rigby—gentleman film historian and keeper of the midnight flame—walks you through Lee’s screen life with the sort of informed relish that pairs perfectly with a velvet cloak and an ominous pipe organ. Expect the full procession: Hammer Horror nights where capes swish like cutlass blades, cloak-and-dagger matinees where villains purr instead of shout, and those elegant detours into detectives, dukes, and dastards of every flavour. You’ll find filmographies, production lore, candid insights, and the recurring lesson that menace, when correctly applied, is an art form with posture.

Highlights you can sink your teeth into:

• Dracula and beyond: the fanged years, of course, but also Scaramanga’s golden cool, Sherlock’s hawk-eyed intellect, and The Wicker Man’s smiling unease—the sort of range that suggests Lee collected genres the way other people collect stamps.

• Behind the scenes without breaking the spell: anecdotes that feel like Rigby has turned the set lights up just enough to see the craft, not enough to dispel the magic.

• A voice like velvet thunder: the recurring supporting character in every chapter. If baritones had a coat of arms, Lee’s would be embossed on it.

• Photo plates & production ephemera: the glossy reliquary bits that make you point and murmur, “Ah, that’s how they lit the cheekbones.”

About this particular volume: Good means the corners remain courtly, the spine uncracked by improper enthusiasm, and the pages delightfully free of pencil moustaches. It’s the sort of copy that has clearly been read at a sensible candlelit distance and then shelved upright, not stacked under a wobbling tower of lesser tomes. If there’s a whiff of the crypt, it’s purely atmospheric.

Buy it if you’ve ever:

• Believed that villains should be elegant, not sticky.

• Considered a raised eyebrow a special effect.

• Wanted to understand how an actor becomes a cinematic landmark: not just seen, but consulted like a cathedral.

• Needed a reminder that horror, when done properly, is less about shrieking and more about authority arriving quietly.

Why Jonathan Rigby? Because he knows his chiaroscuro from his camp and never confuses reverence with boredom. Why Reynolds & Hearn? Because they publish film histories that feel like curated retrospectives, not rummage sales. And why Crappy Old Books? Because they bravely say the C-word so you don’t have to—then hand you a decidedly un-crappy Good copy with a courteous nod.

In short: a richly atmospheric, properly sanctioned tour through Christopher Lee’s screen empire—equal parts biography, film school, and masterclass in poised menace. Delivered in Good condition from Crappy Old Books, where the only thing that goes bump in the night is your heart when you reach the photo section.

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