Most pretentious teenagers in the 20th century, before smart-phones became ubiquitous, had a favorite doomy book they liked to be seen “reading” — though precious little of that got done, the tome in question being an accessory every bit as much as a bag or boots. Angsty boys were keen on a bit of Sartre or Camus but because I was such a fan of the Golden Age of Hollywood even in my teens, mine was “The Day Of The Locust.”