Stephen Harrigan is the author of nine books, including the award-winning novels The Gates of the Alamo and Remember Ben Clayton. His most recent book is the forthcoming The Eye of the Mammoth, a career-spanning collection of his essays, many of which were written for Texas Monthly. He is also a screenwriter who has written many movies for television.
Usually the devil is in the details, but with “Texas Rising,” the broad brush strokes are more troubling.
Texas Rising has taken historic liberties that have undermined rather than enhanced the narrative momentum of the story.
Will Marco Perella’s portrayal of a loathsome jerk in Richard Linklater’s Boyhood turn out to be the biggest break of his long, low-profile career—or just another paying gig?
Watch any footage from the Texas Archive of the Moving Image, and you’ll find yourself mesmerized by the unfreezing of time.
Forty years later, I still can’t forget sitting in a darkened theater to watch “The Texas Chain Saw Massacre” with the movie’s leading man.
Sure, you can catch an awesome wave on the Texas coast, you just have to be patient. And clever. And patient . . .
Searching for signs of greatness in the tepid rom-coms of this year’s best actor.
Nearly everything about moviegoing has changed since I first fell in love with the big screen as a kid. But my ardor remains.
Stephen Harrigan bids farewell to John Graves, a great man of Texas letters, who died July 30, 2013.
I don’t know what it’s like to be the victim of a terror attack, but as of this weekend I know what it’s like to think you’re the victim of a terror attack.
The wild and powerful tarpon once ruled the seas off Port Aransas. Why did the ancient fish disappear? And could they make a comeback?
I was never certain how to explain the importance of the state to my three daughters. Now that I have two grandsons—named Mason and Travis, no less—I’ve realized something that I should have known all along.
A culinary obsession that began decades ago in my grandmother’s kitchen sent me on a quest through Central Texas (and way beyond) for kolaches—not the best ones but the ones that would lead me to myself.