Preston Fassel gives us a book with no heroes in “Beasts of 42nd Street”

Who doesn’t love a good movie? No matter the genre, it’s a chance to escape from this world into a whole new one. And the rarer the better, right? Well, maybe not in this case.

 

In Preston Fassel’s new book, “Beasts of 42nd Street,” we’re taken on a trip to New York’s 42nd Street, a place where, no joke, getting stabbed and robbed isn’t all that unusual. In this kingdom of the damned we meet Andy Lew, an unrepentant junkie, voyeur and degenerate, only tolerated by the more dangerous men around him because he keeps the projectors at the Colossus theater running.

 

There’s something unique about Andy, though. He owns a movie—the only one of its kind. No one knows who made it and only he knows where it came from. The woman it stars is beautiful beyond imagination—and the images it depicts are worse than the darkest depths of Hell.

 

I loved the premise for this book and so Preston and I go on a trip to 42nd Street to meet Andy and learn what makes him such a scumbag. We talk about the movie and the grindhouse style of cinema that inspired it, something that Preston knows a lot about. We also see how 42nd Street has changed and what Preston learned when he went back a few years ago.