There are plenty of comedies that are known by many for their catchphrases and gags more than the actual plot of the movies — from “Airplane!” to “Blazing Saddles.” An easy addition to that list is “Anchorman,” the comedy about a 1970s TV newsman that has gained a cult following since it was released nearly two decades ago.

But in “Kind of a Big Deal: How ‘Anchorman’ Stayed Classy and Became the Most Iconic Comedy of the Twenty-First Century,” Saul Austerlitz makes a compelling — and hilarious — case that the movie deserves much deeper consideration.

An adjunct professor of writing and comedy history at New York University, Austerlitz tells the story of how the film about fictional newsman Ron Burgundy played by Will Ferrell made its way to the big screen. Featuring fresh interviews with Ferrell and director Adam McKay, among others, the book is a fascinating account of how much work goes behind creating a movie that has become a mainstay among weekend cable channel fare.

The details on ideas or cameos that didn’t make the screen are just as fascinating as what made the final product.

The book makes a strong argument for viewing the film as a commentary on the dangers of toxic masculinity, illustrated by the buffoonery that Christina Applegate’s Veronica Corningstone character endures as she pursues her dream of being an anchorwoman.

Austerlitz also doesn’t shy from pointing out the movie’s flaws, including jokes that haven’t aged well with time. He also raises the understandable question about whether some fans quoting Burgundy’s sexist jabs are in on the joke — or agreeing with his worldview.

One doesn’t have to be an “Anchorman” to appreciate the book. They could, as Ron Burgundy would say, just need an addition to the many leather-bound books in their apartment. — Andrew DeMillo, Associated Press

In 1954, Ralph Edwards, host of TV show “This Is Your Life,” introduced viewers to Alice Marble, a champ who held six prestigious titles simultaneously and “revolutionized the game of tennis for women.”

At the end of the program, Edwards noted that Marble’s car had “played its last match,” and presented her with a new Mercury. The gift, Madeleine Blais writes, implied that at age 40, “nothing in Alice’s present was as exciting as her past.”

In “Queen of the Court,” Blais — a journalism professor at the University of Massachusetts Amherst and author — provides an informative, if more dispiriting than inspiring biography of the largely forgotten tennis star of the 1920s and ’30s. Blais documents the emotional, physical and financial challenges Marble faced as an amateur, as well as her determination and good fortune. Until she won titles at Wimbledon and the U.S. Open, Marble supported herself with part-time jobs.

At the outset of her brief professional career (matches were suspended during World War II), Marble was paid $25,000 for a 4 1/2-month tour, one- third the salary of Don Budge, her male counterpart. An hour before a match, she threatened to strike, and the U.S. Lawn Tennis Association caved.

In July 1950, Marble urged the “sanctimonious hypocrites” in her sport’s establishment to desegregate the sport by allowing Black player Althea Gibson to compete in the U.S. championship tournament in New York. If Gibson “represents a challenge to the present crop of women players,” Marble declared, “it’s only fair that they should meet that challenge on the courts, where tennis is played.” The tennis association relented.

“Queen of the Court” is not without flaws. The narrative is cluttered with names and tennis scores. And the author devotes too much space to Marble’s long, lonely, financially strapped, alcohol- lubricated retirement. — Glenn C. Altschuler, Minneapolis Star Tribune