Showing posts with label memoir. Show all posts
Showing posts with label memoir. Show all posts
When playwright James Kirkwood went on the road with Legends, a comedy about two aging and feuding divas, he kept a journal of the goings-on which is reproduced in this compulsory readable book. With what seems complete and often scathing honesty, Kirkwood dissects his stars, supporting players, director, and producers, but in so doing offers much insight into the process that goes on in mounting a production beset with insecure if massive egos, strangely inept and timid directors, producers who want power but don't have any experience, and a million problems that seem petty but interfere in both the creative process and in bringing the public the best possible entertainment. The talented Mary Martin has such terrible trouble remembering her lines that it's a wonder everyone didn't throw up their hands and fire her with regret, and the clown-like, almost grotesque Channing, while cruel and impatient at times, also had difficulty acting with someone who [during the first few months of performances] received all of her lines from a special plug in her ear. Of course the book, as wickedly entertaining as it is, does leave a few questions, such as how did Kirkwood [unless he taped everything or had an encyclopedic memory] manage to reproduce such lengthy conversations, even if he jotted things down a few hours later? He also doesn't seem to get why a black actress might have some problems with the sassy, lovable Hattie McDaniel-type maid she's required to play, seeing that McDaniel's hey-day was forty years earlier, but then Kirkwood refers to his and other's gay lovers as "dear friends" throughout the book, a practice which is both quaint and passe. Whatever its flaws, Diary of a Mad Playwright only confirms what most of us already knew or suspected about the overbearing egos of stars and others in the Theater. And it's a page-turner. One suspects that this book is better than the play that inspired it.
Verdict: No, it's not world peace, but try to put the darn thing down. ***1/2.
Michael Menzies, born in New Zealand, wanted a more fabulous life and convinced himself that he was the [highly unlikely] figurative and literal love child of two celebrities he admired, Noel Coward and Marlene Dietrich. Coming out and moving to London, then New York and Hollywood, he recognized he had no performing talent [although he has had some success as a writer] and took jobs on the fringes of show biz, such as working for film's DeLaurentiis family. Menzies did manage to meet Coward in the early days, but never did catch up with Dietrich, although he tried to model himself on their style and behavior. Frankly, Deeply Superficial, while a quick and basically well-written read, has a somewhat dated quality, as in these days of gay bears and increased knowledge of the diversity of the large gay male community, self-described "queens" who model themselves on divas are just a little passe, however amusing and likable. Most of the biographical notes on the two legends seem cobbled together from many, many bios on Coward and Dietrich, and Menzies admits that if the facts are dull he just elaborates a bit, therefore you have to take what he says about these celebrities with a grain of salt. The best chapter has to do with Menzies' friend who loves the same music as he does and dies of AIDS -- the book is temporarily transformed from a, yes, superficial tome to a trenchant and moving one -- but alas that is only one chapter. Still the book can be read in under an hour and has its fair share of entertaining moments, and his notes on his real parents can be poignant. This is similar to other books that link unknown show biz types to the much more famous, such as Under the Rainbow by John Carlyle.
Verdict: Superficial look at two major stars by an appealing supporting player. **1/2.
Jason Priestley became well-known when he appeared on the long-running television series Beverly Hills 90210 -- he has been a busy actor ever since. In this memoir Priestley, who started working as a model and actor at a very early age, writes about the effects of fame, his colleagues on the show, his film projects, occasional stage appearances, early girlfriends, a racing accident that nearly killed him, and his wife and children. Along the way he documents some truly stupid behavior, and on more than one occasion writes about how he needed to grow up, that being a celebrity did not prepare one for a normal life. Priestley is typical of some celebrities who bemoan the fact that they lose their privacy and all that goes with it, but forgets that this loss came about because of success, not because of a personal tragedy or some disaster -- would he rather have been an unknown waiter desperate for an acting career? McCarron insures that the book reads well, and it will probably be of interest to young, aspiring actors as it does describe how the business of acting, and making a career at it, works. Priestley writes hardly a word about his film with John Hurt, Love and Death on Long Island. For some reason Priestley uses a comparatively crappy photo of himself on the cover.
Verdict: Strictly for fans and aspiring actors. **1/2.
Robert Wagner appeared in a number of high-profile movies, such as A Kiss Before Dying, before becoming even more successful as a TV star in middle-age, with such programs as It Takes a Thief, Switch, and Hart to Hart. Wagner -- via Scott Eyman -- writes about his early life and his lousy relationship with his father, his desire to be nothing but a movie star from his youngest days, his marriages to Natalie Wood and Jill St. John, and the tragic night that Natalie drowned. There are some surprises in the book, such as (a very few) details about his four-year affair with the older Barbara Stanwyck, which may have been highly exaggerated. Wagner has a sense of humor, but comes off as a rather superficial third-tier celebrity bashing a few enemies -- such as Natalie's less successful sister, Lana, whom he skewers, and co-star Stefanie Powers, whom he felt betrayed him -- and justifying some of his bad actions as well. Wagner outs numerous people as gay or bisexual, but remains mum on the rumors surrounding his own sexuality. Although Wagner has pleasant things to say about some gay men he knew, he's not above the occasional stereotypical whack; he comes off as an old-fashioned guy trying to affect a liberal posture. If the book has any value, it is as an insider's look at old Hollywood, the dying (and now dead) studio system, and some of the characters who inhabited that long-ago world, about which much has already been written. The book is entertaining enough but overlong.
Verdict: Hardly essential reading, but Wagner's fans may eat it up. **1/2.
Evelyn Keyes was one of those innumerable Hollywood starlets who managed to have a few major roles in minor pictures, and small parts in big movies such as Gone With the Wind. When these "also-rans" write their memoirs they fill the pages with notes on the important people they knew and worked with, and do what they can to convince everyone that their life was fabulous even though Hollywood rejected them [or they rejected Hollywood, which sounds better]. Generally these books are about settling scores and perhaps there's a little of that in Scarlet O'Hara's Younger Sister, but what sets the book apart is that Keyes can write. This is not an "as told to" book where everything is interpreted by somebody else, but Keyes' story in her own generally well-chosen and witty words; it reads like a good novel where you're anxious to see what happens to our heroine next. The book is frank -- Keyes makes no bones that she slept with and married powerful men in the industry [directors Charles Vidor and John Huston, among others] -- although she claims it was a daddy fixation. The book, full of amusing anecdotes, explores the sleazy underbelly of Hollywood and the crappy way that women, instantly disposable, were treated by most males in the industry. The most interesting passages deal with Keyes' several-years affair with Mike Todd, which almost led to the altar [except he met Liz Taylor], and her marriage to nutty chauvinist bandleader Artie Shaw, whose punctilious behavior would have driven anyone crazy. [Keyes was still technically married to Shaw when this book was published. When he died several years after their 1985 divorce, Keyes successfully sued for half of his estate, but she herself was gone only a couple of years later.] If you're looking for behind-the-scenes stories of the movies Keyes appeared in, look elsewhere; she doesn't even have that much to say about The Killer that Stalked New York, in which she gave an excellent performance. Keyes also gave notable performances in The Face Behind the Mask and Ladies in Retirement.
Verdict: Absorbing life of a Hollywood insider. ***1/2.
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| Diana Barrymore |
This very frank memoir written by the daughter of John Barrymore was published in 1957 but reads like one of the "warts and all" embarrassingly frank Hollywood autobiogs of today. Barrymore seems to leave nothing out -- her three marriages, her promiscuity, her nearly hopeless alcoholism -- but one still gets the sense that this self-destructive individual didn't want to take full responsibility for her actions. True, her famous father [who was on a serious down-slide when Diana began her career] and mother, who wrote under the pen name "Michael Strange," were rather self-absorbed people and not the best of parents, but it's not as if Diana, on a trust fund, was raised in the ghetto -- although in later years when the money ran out she certainly got a stark taste of poverty and harsh reality. Thanks to co-author Frank, "Too Much, Too Soon" is compelling and often powerful in its delineation of the depths to which Ms. Barrymore would sink. She managed to throw away many opportunities others would have killed for, such as when she showed up for the first live telecast of "The Diana Barrymore Show" dead drunk and immediately lost the show and the lucrative contract. The anguish of her third marriage to washed-up actor and fellow drunk Robert Wilcox is sharply etched [her first husband was older actor Bramwell Fletcher of The Undying Monster, whom she was wretched to]. She can be capable of some raw assessments of herself, such as when she chastises herself for being outraged by her father's wanting her to phone a call girl service for him [which was a little tacky] when she later realizes she should have shown compassion for his being "sick and broken and lonely and old and unhappy." Whatever you think of Diana -- pathetic, out-of-control alcoholic, or simply a major fuck-up -- the book is a fascinating expose of the dark side of Hollywood that pulls you along from the first page. Diana managed to make about half a dozen films, but she died of an overdose only three years after this book was published. The film version of the book starred Dorothy Malone as Diana and Errol Flynn as her father. John Barrymore and future son-in-law Fletcher appeared together in Svengali.
Verdict: Pride goeth before a fall. ***1/2.