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I gave up after the first third of the book. While his early life was relatively interesting, I soon wearied of his boasting of his many sexual conquests. (Ewww).
Growing up in the 50s Tony Curtis was one of the movie stars I liked. Who knew he was an artist. It was an interesting story.
It was Judy Garland. Namely, if you like him on the movie screen, don't read this book because it will disgust you whenever you see his face again.The book's title is a boastful misnomer--Curtis's celebrity died out years ago and his years as a screen star were limited to a couple of decades of often mediocre pictures, unlike true screen royalty like Cary Grant who lit up the screen for forty years and then still was an icon long after he stopped making movies. He doesn't explain how he managed it, nor is he able to tell how he attracted a young Marilyn Monroe--she just suddenly appears and he invites her out. Then he includes minor facts that go nowhere in developing his stories.
Come on, he didn't know Judy Garland when he saw her, yet he claims he was a movie addict. But in telling the story, he claims the police showed up at his parents house to say the missing brother was in the hospital and instead of his parents going to visit, 13-year-old Tony was driven there by the police and the parents didn't go until the next day when the brother was dead. He never reveals enough to explain some of his often difficult-to-believe stories.When he gets to Hollywood he claims that all sorts of people just happened to fall into his lap, like Monroe. In this 2 and 1/2-star book, Tony Curtis spins his life story in such a positive, princely way that you're not sure whether to believe him. He did a few decent pictures that were mostly "B" quality but considers himself an "A" lister. What's most sad is that his children are pushed to the side--he virtually ignores them in life and barely mentions them in this book. He even has to make sure to include the come-ons from men that rub up against him.
Was Tony to blame or not. The Curtis complains that even though they both were nominated for Oscars, Tony didn't win. He's not.He takes credit for casting Sidney Poitier in his first major role, The Defiant Ones. No explanation is given--why would the parents not go immediately. In other words, it's a mumbled mixture that ranges from fun behind-the-scenes stories to repeated immoral confessions.For example, his first chapter grabs your attention by discussing his getting a movie contract at age 22. He blames it on Hollywood's anti-Semitism. Is he kidding. He steals, lies, cheats, skips school--all without any remorse.
Most implausible was the first time he was at MGM in 1948, eating at the commissary and sitting down next to a girl he chatted with and asked for her name & number. Many of the stories are told in this way--very few details, no explanations, and hard-to-believe scenarios.Much of it seems like bragging--he tells how he knew at a young age that he was attractive, especially to older women. The book is also filled with crude language and could have been written with a little more class. He leaves out enough key details to make the reader question whether he's telling the truth. He writes, "I was making important pictures and I felt I deserved some acclaim from my peers." What a jerk.Curtis also feels the need to mention just about every sexual encounter he had, often with unknown or unnamed people who the reader will not care about.
The movie studios were filled with Jewish Academy voters. The entire thing is so repetitive--he tells little about the movies he makes and instead focuses each chapter on the women he beds, the stars he hangs out with and the people that adore him.The book just keeps getting worse as it goes along. He blames their bitterness toward him on his ex-wives, but it's easy to see here that he was a terrible father and horrendous role model. He doesn't seem to get that he wasn't in their league. He does, however, repeat insignificant details like the hotel where Monroe was living or that new friend Burt Lancaster grew up on the west side of Manhattan.Namely, this memoir is filled with minor trivia while failing to deliver complete versions of its most interesting stories.In the third chapter he discusses his brother's childhood death, which sounds like it could partially be blamed on Curtis.
He claims a "need" to "be loved" by women and uses that as his excuse for sleeping with just about every co-star. Then he didn't even call her. He claims to be a person who dislikes violence but then tells numerous stories of beating up kids who made fun of him, then not receiving any consequences.He compares himself as equal to pretty much every famous person he encounters--Sinatra, Olivier, Gene Kelly. Curtis becomes a despicable person who cheats of every wife without conscience. But despite Tony's self-love the book contains often entertaining stories, no matter how hard they may be to believe.
The man has had a far richer life than I would have imagined. His wives didn't understand him. I'm not a big fan of Hollywood biographies, but once in a while, I'll read one out of idle curiosity. His mom and dad were mean to him. Not a very nice person - and it is surprising to see that Curtis is arrogant and self-centered enough to believe people will want to read about his life. Marlon Brando and Bob Dylan also penned interesting biographies describing their very interesting lives, both outer and inner.I remember Tony Curtis from my youth as being a "pretty boy" who appeared mostly silly, forgettable movies, but also appeared in great films such as "Some Like It Hot", "The Defiant Ones" and "Spartacus".So why not, I figured, and spent the very few hours this book requires to read.It is, in a single word, awful. He was sensitive to slights, real or imagined, because he was a (non-practicing) Jew.
When he was in his sixties, he no longer got movie parts. My last excursion was William Shatner's autobiography and it was a delight. His children don't like him. Or perhaps more to the point, Tony Curtis presents himself as a rather vapid person whose overriding interest was having sex with virtually every woman he met (even during the course of three marriages), essentially ignoring the children he fathered in each of those marriages (and then complaining that most of these children have strained relationships with him), who his "close" friends were and are (Sinatra, Brando and Hefner, of course, and oh so many others), what cars he drove and so on and forth till the cows come on.Curtis is "oh, woe is me" from the first page on. He didn't have a lot of friends when he was a kid. And on and on and on.It is all about Tony Curtis, which would be fine if there was some depth of any kind to it, but there isn't.The book is a chronological catalog of his sexual dalliances, his movies, his various marriages, his trips here and there, throwing barbs at mostly dead enemies and people who he feels didn't treat him right.Overall, my conclusion is that Tony Curtis is a very shallow person who has spent his life feeling sorry for himself, still does, and used that as an excuse for the way he treated people, including his wives and children. About all that can be said in praise of this book is that co-author Peter Golenbock records this egotistical ramble in a readable style.Jerry
He keeps marrying really attractive women, but that's not his fault. Over and over and over and over. He's really good looking, Jewish, had a miserable childhood, and felt compelled to bed every good looking woman he met. He was addicted to cocaine, but that certainly wasn't his fault. Every single chapter. His children all dislike him, but that's not his fault. He doesn't take any responsibility for any of his failings, but seems to want us to like him. After reading this, I can't find much to like about him.
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