My thanks to both NetGalley and the publisher Simon & Schuster for an advance copy of this memoir/ history/screed about Hollywood, adventures in the writing trade, and a world that seems to be living an artist behind, something the writer is not happy about.
One of the few art forms that I have never been into is theater be it dramas, comedies, Broadway, off-Broadway experimental, kindergarten. I have read a lot of plays, but have never really had the bug to see them live, though I love music, love movies, and love words. So my familiarity with the works of David Mamet are more from his writing, movies, and television work, rather than his plays. I enjoyed the Untouchables, loved the Spanish Prisoner and House of Games, and still use lines about producers from the underrated film State and Main with a friend all the time. Everywhere an Oink Oink: An Embittered, Dyspeptic, and Accurate Report of Forty Years in Hollywood is a book that is pretty much summed up in the title, at parts a memoir about Mamet's work in LaLa Land, at times a history of Hollywood, a bit of odd culture warrior whingeing and angry letter to the editor of a local newspaper that comes out once a week.
The book begins with a talk about Hollywood and how it started with filmakers fleeing Thomas Edison's lawyers and goons trying to keep control of the new medium of making movies, The west had the weather, and the lack of controls, so filmmakers could be the robber barons they so wanted to be. Mamet describes the levels in Hollywood, Producers with the money schemes and couches, Agents who might do work for the pay. Readers get stories about Mamet, getting a job by pushing a friend to recommend him, and a lot of old stories on Hollywood's forgotten past. Scandals, rip-offs, and faded stars and dreams. These stories are quite interesting and very well written, along with an essay about racism in Hollywood that really makes one wonder what people were thinking. However balancing this out is what can only be called a lot of of Old Man Yells at Cloud, to quote the Simpsons sections, that seem to be injected randomly not to trigger, more to confuse.
A memoir that is about Hollywood and seems like a Nolan film. Not really following a narrative, moving from past to present, to rambling about COVID for a phrase, not a sentence just a phrase, and moving on. The history and tales of stars the Mamet have met are very good, a story about Sean Connery is surprisingly touching, as one wouldn't have expected it from Connery. Discussions about old directors, older actors, some known, some lost in the nitrate of film history, are really good. However the writing, even with all the big words seems choppy. I don't think Shel Silverstein is mentioned in the book without the words my friend before it on every occasion. Weird lines about a constitutionalist appear, with nothing else to explain why. There are some snaps at people who gave him grief and trouble, but others remain nameless. When the book is on, Mamet really is good, the Hollywood history is fascinating, as well as some of the making of his films. But the book really needed an editor, which I am sure Mamet would have threatened, or just a little James Ellroy removing every other word, even though the book is kind of slim. I am omitting the cartoons and odd Granddad jokes too, as I only remembered they were they when I saw the cover, as they don't add anything to the story, and further the idea of yelling at clouds plot line.
Recommended for fans of Mamet and Hollywood history, with the proviso this isn't his best work, nor a real memoir as I don't remember much about his stage work coming up, except in a discussion about the great Ricky Jay. Some essays were quite good, some were quite something, but while I was sometimes confused, I was never bored.