By Kendra Hibbert
March 26, 2004
Though the majority of Hollywood actors are content basking in the adoration and admiration of millions of fans, there are those strange genus of the species who aren’t content to sit idly by as their ‘creativity’ is wasted in only one medium. Yes, occasionally there are those brave soles who venture forth into unexplored realms, switching careers mid-fame to discover new worlds for their aging careers and, at the same time, forging a path by which future failing actors can follow. For example, there was a time when the music industry was off limits for the Hollywood actor until valiant pioneers like David Hasselhoff and Eddie Murphy broke down the doors of prejudice. We have only them to thank for the musical careers of Corey Feldman and Billy Bob Thornton.
The most recent medium leaping craze to hit Hollywood is to become a writer of children’s books. Billy Crystal did it most recently with I ALREADY KNOW I LOVE YOU, Jay Leno is doing it and then, of course, there are Madonna’s books, ENGLISH ROSES and MR. PEABODY’S APPLES. However, if you’re looking for something actually entertaining to read you need to skip these titles and look for other writers formerly of the acting profession (though neither of them have given up performing completely) – like silver-domed funny-man Steve Martin and former Galactic princess Carrie Fisher.
Steve Martin’s impressive writing resume begins with a natural foray into the screenplay, co-writing his hits THE JERK, DEAD MEN DON’T WEAR PLAID, THE MAN WITH TWO BRAINS and THREE AMIGOS! before venturing off on his own with ROXANNE and LA STORY. He then made the leap to the stage with the play PICASSO AT THE LAPIN AGILE (among others) and then to print as a frequent contributor to magazines, most notably The New Yorker (a collection of these articles can be found under the name PURE DRIVEL). His first novel, SHOPGIRL, came out in 2000. His second was published last October called THE PLEASURE OF MY COMPANY.
THE PLEASURE OF MY COMPANY is really more of a novella although at 163 pages with no discernable chapters, it reads more like a diary. The diary of a madman or, more to the point, a terribly neurotic man named Daniel who has rules about stepping off curbs and being in crowds of more than four people and if situations get too hectic and uncontrollable for him he locks himself in his apartmen and makes elaborate Magic Squares (those mathematical puzzles in which each row of numbers add to the same sum). Most days he stays inside and watches the women in his life from afar. There’s Elizabeth the real estate agent for the apartment building across the street and Zandy the young pharmacy clerk he’s infatuated with, buying copious unneeded boxes of earplugs just to catch a glimpse of her. Then there’s Clarissa, the student therapist who visits him frequently but seems more interested in her own problems than his. It’s when Clarissa’s problems spill over into Daniel’s that he really starts to open up and one by one his phobic obsessions melt away.
This is, of course, a funny book - but much more than that it’s smart. There are plenty of opportunities for Martin to make fun of Daniel and his neurosis but he opts instead to take the high road. His intellectually whimsical style makes this a very enjoyable read, one of those books you can’t put down but don’t realize you can’t put it down until you’re on the last page. Despite its subject matter it’s still light-hearted. It’s not going to change anyone’s life but it’ll probably amuse and entertain you for a few hours.
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Carrie Fisher’s new novel THE BEST AWFUL is in much the same category. Fisher’s first book POSTCARDS FROM THE EDGE (later made into a movie for which she wrote the screenplay), was largely seen as a disguised autobiography, her fictional alter-ego named Suzanne Vale sharing some uncannily similarities with the author’s own life including an aging starlet mother and a public battle with drug addiction. After two more novels SURRENDER THE PINK and DELUSIONS OF GRANDMA in which Ms. Fisher explored other characters (who also resembled her, though not as much) Suzanne Vale is back. This time she’s got a daughter, fathered by a man who left her for another man - a debilitating episode she’s still trying to get over when our novel starts and which sends her into bouts of manic-depression.
THE BEST AWFUL is very much the sequel to POSTCARDS FROM THE EDGE. Suzanne hasn’t settled down too much since the first book, despite supposedly giving up illegal drugs. Her decision to stop taking her prescription meds is what leads her on her latest adventure, desperately trying to find love, fulfillment and a cure for her psychological disorder with a tattoo and a trip to Tijuana. Like the first book Vale’s escapades with the bizarre are treated with her unflappable dry humor making every episode all the more funny. At times it reads like a doomed sitcom complete with wacky house guests and a lesson learned at the end of every episode.
Like all Hollywood sequels, the things that attracted people to the first book are repeated again in this second one. Once again Suzanne Vale travels to hell and back and comes through her journey a smarter woman. Once again she weathers all storms with a healthy sense of irony and sarcasm. One of the more entertaining features of this series is the guessing game you can play though the books – who is the aging Hollywood bad-boy Suzanne sleeps with at the beginning? What about Craig her constant friend in the LA trenches? And how much of the Tijuana trip is true?
THE BEST AWFUL is like a tell-all bio without quite telling it all. It’s fun gossip and amusing anecdotes hidden behind a fictional cover to protect the innocent (and not so innocent). Best of all it’s a chance to be treated to Ms. Fisher’s humor for almost 300 witty pages. Again, it’s not going to cure cancer but Hollywood isn’t known for its Oncological scientists (unless it’s Oscar time and there’s a feel-good movie involved). With this book Carrie Fisher does what she was born to do – entertain – and she does it very well. Maybe that’s all we need to ask from Hollywood.
Next Column: The very last-ever FOREST OF DEAD TREES column in which I reveal my closely guarded secrets to spotting a good book from a mile away.
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