This is a difficult book to rate. I appreciated the storytelling skills displayed, but the main character was the author writing about himself, and he was, er, hard to put it any plainer than this: he was stupendously, unrelentingly and irredeemably through to the bitter end (of the book) utterly awful.
I love a good story and movies are often one avenue for becoming engrossed in a good story. I hate celebrity gossip, and like everyone else, find myself pulled into its vortex without my consent, so avoid celebrity gossip websites and magazines like the plague. All the insider/celebrity storytelling, including the anonymised snippets which broke up the autobiographical material, were scandalously tantalising, as I'm sure they were meant to be, although they are time-warped into the period during which the author's time in Hollywood was at its peak, namely the mid 1980s through to the late 1990s. So it's all a little out-of-date.
The author is an excellent storyteller, but a lousy human being. Dressing up anecdotes about his ghastly behaviour and piteous internal dialogue as some kind of raw honesty, he comes across as a man who has zero self-awareness. As a man who has never grown up, never left behind that Hungarian refugee tag he grew up in Cleveland, Ohio, trying to escape.
He chain smokes, he is unapologetically unfaithful to his devoted (first) wife Gerri, he is ego-maniacal, he drinks like a fish. None of this is supposition or reading between the lines. He tells us these things, almost like he's … well not so much proud of those things, but that he's owning up to them.
Instead of coming across as courageous self-reflection turned into a redeemed man, it comes across as crass braggadocio. Like a character in a movie, probably played by Joe Pesci, bragging about beating someone's head in with a baseball and having a weird and frightening pride in that "accomplishment".
The part where this lack of true self-awareness comes into play most is in describing the events which led him to be with his current wife, Naomi. The hypocrisy at play during those sequences was loathsome, the ability to defend the indefensible boundless, the self-deceit astounding. These are people deeply lost in the emotional jungle who have no hope of getting out, their moral compass having been lost to them long ago. But then again, by Hollywood, er, 'standards', I guess it didn't seem that bad.
The formatting and punctuation in the book was also strange. Bulleted lists of things that were great about Cleveland. Lots and lots of exclamation points! Like a 15-year-old writing in their diary about Major Stuff! It was juvenile! And annoying!
Apart from Jagged Edge, which I enjoyed enormously (but now I'm going to put it down to great acting, directing and post-production), the other movies Joe Eszterhas has written were juvenile junk. How they grossed anything has less to do with his skill as a screenwriter and more to do with the movie machine into which his words were thrown, I am choosing to conclude.
A strange book, which had its poignant moments (his childhood stories were the most touching, although of course one has to wonder how much of it is true, the author being who he is and memory being what it is).
I also found some of the recalled dialogue from fights he had in Hollywood eye-brow raising. How could one remember exactly, precisely, the words one spoke oneself, and the words ones conversation partner said, 10 years after the fact? And yet, they are written as, yes, dialogue in a film.
The author also includes "copies" of letters he sent, often vile, vicious and delinquent missives, in their entirety. Some go on for pages and pages and pages. I'm not sure if he's trying to convince us of anything with these, they seem strange. Like he's trying to get us over to his side somehow, but in sharing with us these letters, he's achieving the exact opposite of that - reminding us, yet again, of his boundless undeveloped ego and the limits it will whiz by to be assuaged in a town of limitless undeveloped egos.
Read at your own risk... it's like fast food - it can taste good while you're eating it, but you feel sick afterward. Except in this case, I felt sick during the eating part a good bit, too.
But the man can write. Hence the two stars.