Ethan Hawke. If that's his real name, it's a cool one. As for his movies, looking over the bio, I think I've seen only one: Dead Poets Society. And I only remember two actors from that movie -- Robin Williams as the teacher standing on the desk and the kid who ultimately offs himself at the end (tall, thin, dark haired, and most certainly not Ethan Hawke).
So why did I pick up this book? Ron Charles, Washington Post, assuring his readers it's much better than average. I don't know about the much part, and I'm even iffy on the better part, but not a total loss, and, Hey Mikey! I finished! (That's LIFE.)
It's about an actor (well, duh) performing Shakespeare (Henry IV) on Broadway as he is coming off a divorce to a big-time pop singer. He drinks, does drugs, feels sorry for himself, has two kids he loves, feels insecure about his stagework (he's a movie guy), and cheats on his soon-to-be ex-wife.
Where do you find stories like THAT? Right. National Enquirer and on the cameras of the nearest paparazzi.
So what's to like here? Mostly the insight into what it's like to be an actor, especially on the stage, especially putting up with other giant egos like your own (if you're an actor). Enough -- just -- to keep turning pages.
And what's not so much to like? Mostly the clichés of an actor's life. And a few writer clichés to boot. Like guy is ridiculously famous, guy gets girl(s) -- all of them -- guy feels sorry for himself while he struggles with fortune's whims (love-hate relationship with fame, struggles with domestic life, mostly), and guy talks about how rough it is to be roguishly handsome and 180 pounds of muscle.
Another problem? Two kids who are worse than precocious in their dialogue.
Oh. And the amount of advice on life and love and acting. Really. This guy has more Yoda-figures in his life than most of us have Chewbacca-figures on our hardwood floors (rug burn joke).
It came across like Ethan Hawke, author, has a lot of deep thoughts and decided to "hide" his wisdom in multiple side characters (who sounded similar), hoping we wouldn't notice how deep he is (hiding, not so well, behind the arras).
A final plaint: The wheels come off a bit 3/4s through when random characters (e.g. Dad) who've barely been mentioned suddenly get dropped into the narrative so they can eat up 20-30 pp. Why bother?
But still, I liked all the Shakespeare. And what life was like for auditioning, memorizing, practicing, performing, etc. Clearly Hawke knows of what he writes in that case and, for this book, there's the rub (read: value). If you read it, take it for what it is. Lights, action, READ!
Only don't forget the "light" part refers to "light reading," which has its merits. Not everything you read should be Henry IV, after all.