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Hector G. "Alydon" (Britain)

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What Fresh Lunacy is This?: The Authorized Biography of Oliver Reed
What Fresh Lunacy is This?: The Authorized Biography of Oliver Reed
by Robert Sellers
Edition: Hardcover
Price: £16.00

3 of 4 people found the following review helpful
3.0 out of 5 stars What Fresh Lunacy?, 31 Oct 2013
Another book on another drunken oaf and it looks like Robert Sellers is trying to corner the market in rehashing all the old stories of all the dead and foolish actors who graced film and pub in yesteryear. Indeed I was surprised to see this book as Mr Sellers had more or less covered similar ground in Hellraisers, though this is a much more detailed account of that most wasted talent, the actor, Oliver Reed.

Certainly, if you didn't know much about Reed this is a good place to begin and Sellers has made a fine job of collecting all the tired old clippings and bar room tales and sticking them together again to make a biography of this most public of court jesters. Always delivered in his too, too blokey style we have here a collection from Reed's finest and infamous moments.

I think much of this book will be enjoyed if you buy into the myth that alcohol makes you witty, charming, a bit of a character and one of the lads; for others the booze filled stories are a bore like the subject himself. But the tragedy in Reed's case was that he had a giant of a talent and could have gone on to become one our most respected actors. Reed's early film appearances under the guidance of Ken Russell were templates of brooding power, and almost any appearance of Reed on and off screen had an immediate danger and the impression of a man on the edge of insanity.

Though born into a privileged family with many connections Reed seem to stumble into acting and his upbringing now days would have social services knocking on his door, but it was his early devil- may- care attitude which probably got Reed into acting in the first place. Though many drunken episodes later we finally catch up with Reed at the end of his too short life, collapsing in a bar and dying while making a come back in the film, Gladiator.

I would have liked more of who Oliver Reed really was from Robert Sellers and less of the boorish tales of the well know drinking sprees and silly TV chat show appearances, which rather than be funny are a sad reminder of the destructive force behind Reed's demise. Like many actors Reed pretended to drink for fun, but used drink to cover up his fear of failure and behind the mask there was a controlling bully, who had no respect for himself and many he came into contact with.

It has always been believed Richard Burton wasted his talents, but there was an intelligent and erudite man who left us some extremely good work but seemed the be consumed by demons, the worst of them drink. Oliver Reed put his talent on a funeral pyre and there appears to never have been much behind the booze soaked braggart. One story Robert Sellers would not have come across is some people I knew got to know Reed quite well from drinking in a pub in Dorking, Surrey, where Reed had a house. When they first met, my acquaintances was sitting at the bar and Oliver Reed blustered up to them and said, 'You don't know who I am, do you?' Well, yes Oliver, I think you summed it all up in that one sentence.
Comment Comments (4) | Permalink | Most recent comment: Jan 9, 2014 6:04 PM GMT

A Serbian Film (Uncut)
A Serbian Film (Uncut)
Dvd ~ Srdjan Todorovic

1 of 2 people found the following review helpful
2.0 out of 5 stars A Serbian Mess, 20 Oct 2013
This review is from: A Serbian Film (Uncut) (DVD)
A Serbian Film has almost become a rite of passage in the amount of endurance the film goer can take, and in an ironic way has become as notorious as the very subject matter it so salaciously depicts. However, reading all the negative and horrifying accounts of it, I was very loath to even entertain viewing it, but like opening Pandora's Box, it stands there waiting to drag you down to the very depths of human depravity and insanity, and with so much written on it and discussed over the internet it invites you to actually take a deep breath and view the finished product yourself.

Well, how was it from this viewer's point of view? A Serbian Film is a very silly film, in fact I thought it so far - fetched and over the top that I walked away unscathed thinking I'd see some sort of mixed up pastiche of all those very unpleasant video nasties which were banned in the 1980s. I will admit I did fast forward some of the now notorious scenes which I need not go into again in this review, only needless to say I find the idea that a fellow human on this planet could even think the whole thing up extremely disturbing.

As has been mentioned in other reviews this film is actually well made, probably too well made, and if the subject matter had been toned down by at least two thirds we might have had a watchable and thought provoking piece of film, but for general consumption this is never going to be your average family viewing. Rather than have some of the horrific scenes imprinted on my mind, which have been mentioned many times over, I turned the film off thinking this whole thing had been a vehicle for the writer and director to get some enormous kick out of it: like a load of school kids wondering how they could come up with something so shocking it would end up plastered all over the internet.

One last thing; it is all to do with your perception of what works and doesn't; whether you can indulge a massive suspension of disbelief, and if you really want to believe in this type of torture - porn, cum bloodbath, and whether the concept (an allegory of the state of Serbia - utter bilge) works for you. As to whether you bother seeing it, that is only down to you. Personally, I'm glad to have finally crossed the thing off the list, but quite frankly go and find yourself another film, something which has nothing to do with Serbia, snuff movie makers and lots of blood soaked bodies. Breaking Bad, anyone?

Blink: The Power of Thinking Without Thinking
Blink: The Power of Thinking Without Thinking
by Malcolm Gladwell
Edition: Paperback
Price: £6.99

2.0 out of 5 stars Not Too Much Thinking, 16 Sep 2013
Verified Purchase(What is this?)
Only just finished this book, so will "thin slice" it very briefly here.

In essence not a bad holiday read or just to pass a few hours with, but as many other reviews have stated just doesn't deliver anything new or have any lasting profound insights. The basis of the bulk of the book is a series of duller and progressively tedious factual examples of how the human mind can make snap decisions rather than collate a huge amount of data before doing so - the type of facts a professor at a seventies psychology seminar would recite to a group of star - struck doe - eyed students. One of the main faults is that we never seem to get any progression throughout the book, so the whole effect is like listening to a CD which keeps jumping on the same track.

I like Malcolm Gladwell and usually like his writings, but all I can see in this work is a very wafer thin bit of theory spun out for an entire book. All the author has come up with is if you have an immense prior knowledge of a subject you can then short - cut to the essence of a given problem or situation. This is hardly the stuff of cutting edge thinking. It is obvious that a man who has thousands of hours under his belt in the art world might easily be said to be able to spot a fake, or a hard bitten military commander will be able to out - smart a geek straight out of military college. But then again the mind can play tricks and mistake can be made using the same theory - again nothing to get excited about.

As with many of these pseudo - science/psychology books, they start of with a bang and end up by p38 being left unread on the sideboard. In a final irony to Mr Gladwell's book I used my own gut reaction when considering this work and just came up with 2 stars - 1 for the writing, 1 for the content.

nowhere (nothing Book 1)
nowhere (nothing Book 1)

2 of 2 people found the following review helpful
5.0 out of 5 stars Turn on, tune in, and drop in on Dottyville., 25 May 2013
Verified Purchase(What is this?)
In an interesting reference in Jenny Norris' new novel, Dottyville, we are told the phrase was conjured up by WW1 poets Wilfred Owen and Siegfreid Sassoon to describe Craiglockhart War Hospital where both men were receiving treatment. It is certain that both men would be delighted if they knew the name they had devised had been resurrected and used so aptly here.

Anyone who has had the experience of visiting Glastonbury or Totness, or is familiar with the writings of C J Stone will have had an inkling of our society's alternative culture, and anyone who hasn't could do no better than to drop into Jenny Norris' fictional village where everything alternative and new age leaps out of the pages. After the deluge of `chick lit' et al, this author could be said to have created the genre of `new age lit,' and what tantalisingly promises be a series of Dottyville books.

But Dottyville is much more than a series of amusing vignettes and stereotype `far out' hippy folk, for Jenny Norris has created a humane and plausible tale. The book's narrator, Jennifer Greenaway is a slightly chaotic but down to earth single mother, and the author has skilfully managed to avoid the deadly trap of making her annoying, patronising or just someone we just don't care about. Together with her sassy and streetwise daughter Lizzie, the pair have a rather bizarre series of mishaps before being summoned to the aid of Jennifer's ailing mother; a thoroughbred old hippy and original earth mother, Beryl Armitage, or Gypsy, as she likes to be called, complete with Peruvian culottes and soon they are in the village, or Dottyville.

It is soon apparent as to why the title is so apt as we have shamans, magic gems, crackpot therapies and herbalists seeping out of every corner with Jennifer and her daughter trying to make sense of the seemingly mad world they have entered, while all the time trying to cope with the marvellously cantankerous and exasperating Gypsy and her caravan. As the story unfolds we meet amongst others the wonderfully irreverent Cockney Carole - Gypsy's carer, Costume Chrissie, The Sheep Lady and many more who still think time has stopped in 1967. As with the main protagonists, there are no cardboard - cut-out characters, nor are any of the set pieces as in the hilarious scene in The King Arthur public house contrived or awkward, and it is obvious the author has paid a great deal of time researching this quirky world.

But Jenny Norris' book contains an underlying sub-text which we are drawn into throughout the story beginning with a letter to her eldest daughter, a sort of off - stage sleeping character who we never meet but propels her mother to reveal in sketchy form the events of the next chapter, and which form a preface to each one. And as the book unfolds we glimpse that the alternative life so favoured by some has all the same problems the rest of society holds, and far from freeing the individual can sometimes entrap them. As the male characters are introduced; Oscar, Mr Andrews and Danny O'Sullivan, Dottyville begins to reveal and join together all the threads of Jennifer's past and the final denountments bring all the strands of the book together in a satisfying conclusion.

One of the funniest and memorable nights I spent was at a Spring Equinox held at Stonehenge and as the fire burned and the stories flowed we entered a magical world spun by keepers of the faith, but at first light the embers sparked no more the dream had gone. Fortunately, in Jenny Norris' book the dream can be relived over and over again and may it continue.

St George's Day [DVD]
St George's Day [DVD]
Dvd ~ Frank Harper
Offered by Jasuli
Price: £7.95

5 of 7 people found the following review helpful
4.0 out of 5 stars Diamond movie, my son!, 31 Dec 2012
This review is from: St George's Day [DVD] (DVD)
Forget any deep Freudian intent and a cinematic work made for posterity, Frank Harper's directorial debut in the crime caper, St George's Day, is a film which has set the British film industry back at least thirty years, has a plot with more holes than the ozone layer, acting so wooden it comes from Ikea, and a psychological depth which makes an episode of Corrie look like Ibsen. In other words, we have a work which is one of the most watchable diamond geezer films for many a moon.

If you were worried about all those negative reviews - well forget them - they are missing the point. Sometimes you get sick to the back teeth of films with sub-titles or with people called `Hobbits,' and decrepit old actors trying to bring you the `feel good factor.' No, what some of us geezers want is a load of old fashioned villains; a script my seven year old son could have bashed together; psycho Russian mafia types and enough strippers and lap dancers the like of which would make Peter Stringfellow blush.

In essence, St George's Day (and yes, they really did remember the apostrophe) concerns a bungling, over the hill London crime firm loose a load of Columbian marching powder in the North Sea they are buying from the Russian mafia. They have sensibly gone to collect it in the middle of a force eight storm, in a dingy with a crew as daft as Basil Brush. When the Russians want their dosh the firm can't pay it as gear they were going to make millions from has now has been washed up on the beach, and is in the hands of the local old bill. So the firm, headed by Micky Mannock, also played by Frank Harper does the only thing you can do in the circumstances; decides to stage a diamond heist abroad. Thrown into this shenanigans we have a double measure of ridiculous jingoism, football hooligans about to run amok, and all of this to kick off - you've guessed it - 23rd April; St George's Day.

It has to be said that some of the acting is quite good. Frank Harper is a composite if not world weary figure whose, "A wise man once said..." style of voice- over had me thinking I had gone back in time and was watching the opening of the seventies kids series, The Water Margin. Craig Fairbrass is always terrific playing Craig Fairbrass, and here he exceeds - we love you Craig - really. Vincent Regan is wasted as the film's token nutter, Albert Ball, and it was good to see Charles Dance turn up, obviously for a much needed pay cheque, playing the Mr Big, a cross between Arthur Daly and the Godfather. A special mention must be made of Jamie Foreman who plays against type and brings us the most anachronistic detective to be seen on screen for a long time - actually, I mean a very long time: a sort of lost cousin of David Jason's, Jack Frost, complete with silly trilby and charity shop suit. The female contingent fair badly, headed by Keeley Hazell, who plays her part like Ali G on coke - Frank Harper should have left the birds pulling pints or in the bedroom.

To talk subtleties and nuance of script is superfluous in connection with St George's Day. All the supporting actors and extras have been put through a kind of film producer's blender and come out - well - all the same. We have a flow of comic book Dutchman, a Russian mafia boss with a ponytail, men in their middle years talking about Churchill and the war time spirit as though they are old veterans down the British legion club. There are more grasses cropping up than in a football pitch, a village idiot type, Micky's brother, leading a gang of football thugs to Amsterdam and then Berlin where the heist is going to take place, but by then I'd lost track of the whole thing. There are also loads of talk about the good old days and how the modern British gangsters are losing their grip because of all the nasty Eastern gangs moving in on their manor - there is also a toast involving a drink called `Nelson's blood,' as though the great man would have used these men for anything else other than cannon fodder.

But in conclusion if you want to get a few sherbets in with the lads and watch a quality piece of old baloney then you're in for a treat! This film has dinosaur written all over it - catch it before it becomes extinct - a real blinder, my son.

Charles Manson: A Chilling Biography: Coming Down Fast
Charles Manson: A Chilling Biography: Coming Down Fast
by Simon Wells
Edition: Paperback

2 of 2 people found the following review helpful
5.0 out of 5 stars No Sympathy For The Devil, 1 Oct 2009
In a recent TV sitcom, a character was compared to Charles Manson and the studio audience roared with laughter. It was revealing because the laughter contained all the popular misconceptions of one of the most infamous figures of the twentieth century. The name, Charles Manson, conjures up a wild - eyed maniac, the leader of a sinister cult, a madman who was responsible for some of the most senseless and horrific murders of modern times. The truth, although containing shreds of those misconceptions, is somewhat different and far more complex, and anyone interested in unravelling the myth would do no better than to read, Charles Manson: A Chilling Biography: Coming Down Fast, by Simon Wells: Hodder & Stoughton.

Coming Down Fast, could have easily been subtitled, Charle Manson and his World, so detailed and absorbing in painting the scene Manson fell into in 1967, following his release from prison; San Francisco's, Haight - Ashby, the music, crazy cults, mind bending drugs and the Summer of Love. A fresh - minted account of this much written upon subject is never going to be easy, but the author achieves just that, together with a depth of knowledge of the Sixties and in the extensive research on Manson and his circle, using much new original source material.

If anyone could be said to be shaped by their upbringing it was Charles Manson. Born illegitimately in 1934, Manson grew up in a fractured and disprutive enviroment, and by 1967 had spent most of his adult life behind bars thanks to being involved in many petty crimes. One of the great ironies of the Manson story is that for him prison was home, and he was reluctant to finally leave it behind him. Having immmersed himself in the study of psychology and some of the quasi - religious cults which were emerging, including Scientology, when Manson was released from prison he was fully equipped to manipulate and coerse the many vunerable and lost souls who would later be termed the "Family."

Simon Wells goes on to give us a comprehensive and well balanced portrait of Manson. Manson the man is given a fair hearing and it is soon clear that far from planning a career as the leader of a cult (which he never was) he actually wanted to become a successful song writer and performer. Indeed, what is clear throughout this book is that all Manson really wanted was a record deal, and it was the frustration of never achieving this that would culminate in the events of 1969. Each of the book's chapters is preceded by some of Manson's own words: Manson the deep thinking individual, who although took on the appearance of a scruffy street hustler, had the power to persuade dozens of people to follow him. But we are reminded that Manson was able to operate as he did because of the times he lived in; a sex and drug fuelled commune was not exactly new in the late Sixties. Had Manson been released from prison in 1973 instead of 1967 there would probably be no Manson story at all.

One of the author's great strengths is his detailed knowledge of music, especially the music of the Beatles, who played their own strange part in the Manson saga. It was after Manson moved his ever growing band of followers from a remote ranch, which was a disused Western movie set, to Barker Ranch in Death Valley that events signalled the beginning of the end. The combination of the natural elements, drugs, orgies, internal violence and the frustration of still being refused a record deal, despite the involvement of the "Family," with Dennis Wilson of the Beach Boys, Manson's rants reached a insane level, culminating in what he called "Helter Skelter." Manson's obession with the Beatles, White Album is well documented here, and his vision of an apocalyptic race war in which he was being instructed by the Beatles album in conjuction with the Book of Revelations, is fasinating to read and a feat of research in itself.

Of course, the centre piece on any book on Manson will be the Tate/LaBianca murders. The complexity and threads which lead up to the murders is clearly explained, and the description of the killings are still painful to read. It is all well told with a journalistic eye for detail, and even now the ruthfulness of the four attackers is chilling, with the heavily pregant Sharon Tate pleading with the recently deceased "Sexy Sadie," Susan Atkins, for the life of her unborn child, together with the other three participants, "Tex" Watson, Linda Kasabian and Patricia Krenwinkel, who under Manson's orders slaughtered everyone in the Cielo drive house and then shortly afterwards the same four with another menber of the "Family," murdered Leno and Rosemary LaBianca. It is also disturbing to read, but for a quirk of fate, that furthur murders which were planned never took place. In the bloody aftermath it might suprise modern readers, with the wealth of technology available nowdays, that it took several months for the Sheriff's Office to finally piece together enough evidence to make arrests and bring charges against those responsible, Manson being charged with murder and conspiracy, though he never actually took part in the killings.

Coming Down Fast, contains a first rate narrative of the following trial which almost descended into a farce and became a media circus, with President Nixon throwing the trial into jeopardy when he declared Manson guilty before the trial had ended; added to this Manson conducting his own defense and members of the "Family" shaving their heads and sitting outside the courthouse. In a final twist, the defendants had their sentences changed to life imprisonment instead of the death sentence handed out to them, as California temporarily abolished the state's death penalty.

For all the millions of words written about Charles Manson, his life produced no good at all, and to the families, relatives and friends of those who were murdered, he is indeed a satanic figure. Simon Wells book firmly puts Manson in the context of his times, but offers no excuses for Manson's actions. Rather it is laid bare that Manson represented the very worst flip side of the idealised culture that was prevelant at the time of his crimes. Manson today, forty years after the fateful events of 1969, still sits in prison and still fascinates and revolts at the same time; Comming Down Fast, amongst all the other important literature on Manson probably does the best in telling us why.

Sometimes, a book is published which marks the author and his work an authority on a given subject. Simon Wells should be proud, he has, with Coming Down Fast, earned this accolade. A fine achievement.

Bits of Me are Falling Apart: Dark Thoughts from the Middle Years
Bits of Me are Falling Apart: Dark Thoughts from the Middle Years
by William Leith
Edition: Paperback

19 of 22 people found the following review helpful
4.0 out of 5 stars More Pieces Than Bits, 23 Aug 2008
William Leith is a journalist and the author of the bestselling book on over-consumption called, The hungry Years, in which his addictions to food, alcohol and everything else were torn apart in minute detail to great acclaim.

I will confess that I had never heard of William Leith nor his previous book until I read several other reviews of his new book, Bits Of Me Are Falling Apart. Immediately I was fasinated to read this book. Firstly, I'm about Leith's age and it sounded as though we shared some common ground in the fact we both feel at that time in life when you are more old than young and things are never going to get better. And secondly, the author of the book I had just bought lived just down the road from me via a couple of villages, so we were off to a good start.

This book could have been written for the fortysomething bloke who may feel washed up and in despair as to what to do next before time runs out. But it is a book for anyone who enjoys reading what a skilled writer can do when they wish to weave their web in a casual and direct way. Of course, Leith has had years of perfecting his art, and his style has been honed to taking the trival and everyday and turning it into wriiten gold.

Leith begins by waking up on a mattress in his office and from then on we are treated to just over two hundred pages of a day in the life of William Leith and his thoughts on just about everything for the banking system to the state of his left shoulder. This is done in an almost rambling, stream of conciousness style. His body is falling apart, cells are conflicting with each other causing everything to go wrong, and this in turn is Leith's metaphor for what is happening in society: everything is falling apart.

From the start Leith tells us all about his particular falling apart and I found he sounded more like a sixty-seven year old suffering from hypochondria rather than a forty-seven year old with the same complaint. Leith must have played hard to end up in this condition and he seems preoccupied with all types of illnesses which he may or may not get.

This of course all adds to the writer's arsenal of material which fellow journalist, the late Jeffrey Bernard used so successfully in his Low Life columns in the Spectator magazine. Rather than Bernard, I immediately thought of Simon Gray's diaries when reading Leith's thoughts on the human condition and the way he so brilliantly slides off his subject and on to another and another. If Leith is very, very clever at this then Simon Gray was the ultimate master of it, chewing and mulling over words, paragraphs and then almost throwing them away and then catching them again.

Leith can't quite take away Simon Gray's crown with this book nor has he intended to; he is far too good a writer for that. There is a certain take on a subject that may leave some readers feeling cold and there is a lot of bleakness here as well. Leith's day has the feeling of just coming out of rehab and having to face the outside world again without the booze and drugs in a nervous fractured way.

But if like me you want someone to sum what semi-middle age is all about then they will do no worst than to investigate Leith's thoughts on the subject. I'm glad to have found William Leith but I'm not sure if I like his world. This book is at times too near the truth, and that is why it deserves to be a best-seller.
Comment Comment (1) | Permalink | Most recent comment: Jul 30, 2009 9:15 PM BST

Hellraisers: The Life and Inebriated Times of Burton, Harris, O'Toole and Reed
Hellraisers: The Life and Inebriated Times of Burton, Harris, O'Toole and Reed
by Robert Sellers
Edition: Hardcover

24 of 28 people found the following review helpful
4.0 out of 5 stars Drinking in Heaven, 28 May 2008
Hellraisers: The Life and Inebriated Times of Richard Burton, Richard Harris, Peter O'Toole and Oliver Reed, by Robert Sellers, recounts the lives and deeds of four of Britain's most talented actors and also the most sozzeled in a generation of highly smashed thespians.
In our sanatised age when a couple of drinks too many will send a present day celebrity to the Priory for six weeks of counselling, post war Britiain produced a group of actors who drank, fornicated and caused hell wherever they went.Possessing larger than life personalities, distinctive of feature and voice, while at the same time having star quality and a crate full of raw talent they lived life to the full. Beginning in the fifties, this group of actors boozed their way through three decades, untill death, ill-health and too many late nights caught up with them. Out the four actors featured in this book, and many more mentioned in passing, only Peter O'toole, now frail and in his mid-seventies is still with us.
Robert Sellers has written a cocktail of a book, weaving biography and well worn tale together. Rather than give us a six chapters on each actor, Sellers jumps around from one to the other as we follow them up the ladder to stardom and the booze soaked tales. Although some of the stories in this book are as old as the hills and have become drinking folklore such as Oliver Reed drinking 126 pints in 24 hours or Richard Harris being so paralytic he went to the wrong room in his hotel and climbed into the bed of a young couple, Sellers sets such a pace that reading Hellraisers is like spending a boozy night out at the pub and laughing yourself stupid at the same story your've heard many times but actually finding it funnier in the upteeth telling.
The personalities of these four giants of the cinema and stage come over extremely vividly. Although each drink stained page recounts yet another pub brawl or broken relationship the sheer determination and talent of these four hits the reader between the eyes.
So, how inebriated were they? By the standards of today, very.
Richard Burton's personality comes over as dark and troubled even though he attained fame and riches beyond his dreams. His alcohol consumption which consisted of two bottles of vodka a day and anything else in slight turned him morose and even violent at times. When he died at the age of fifty-eight many said he had wasted his God-given talent.
Richard Harris on the other hand played the stage Irishman all his life.What he lacked in talent he certainly made up with sheer maddness and guts. Reading of Harris's comsumption (drugs as well as booze) one wonders if he was on a death wish, and some of his drunken pranks, like running down the highway attacking cars, mark him out as top hellraiser with Oliver Reed.
Peter O'Toole remains the most enigmatic and charismatic figure in an age of hugh personalities. Drinking for Britain, this Irish born actor nearly died in his mid-forties from the bottle and certainly the only reason he is alive today is giving up or definitely cutting back (nobody seems to know whether he still drinks or not). O'Toole comes over as totally eccentric and at times on the edge of maddness. While notching up fantastic screen roles he even had time to fit in playing Hamlet at the National Theatre whilst getting hammered every night after the play.
If a person knows nothing about Oliver Reed they will know he was probably Britain's biggest drinking actor and one of the funniest. Not bothered about being the next Olivier or appearing at Stratford, Reed smashed his way into films and for the next four decades amused the British public with his bizarre behaviour and amazing drinking feats.
Of course not all of Sellers book is a big drunken hoot. To be one the recieving end of Harris' boozed up temper or finding yourself in the middle of one of Reed's practical jokes probably wasn't as amusing as it reads. And as for these actor's wifes and partners life could not have been the great party portrayed here. The trail of destruction too, caused by alcohol to this book's subjucts should not be overlooked and one wonders where Reed, Burton and Harris would be in the acting firmament if they had moderated their booze intake or had had a wake-up call like O'Toole.
Sellers has written with affection on probably our four greatest acting boozers who we must not judge by today's standards. They were a product of their age and it is impossible for even the most puritanical of us to read Sellers book and not wish we had been a bit more like them.
Clearly put beside the so called talent and celebratly of today, Burton, Harris, O'Toole and Reed and all who boozed with them, cast these pretenders into the shadows with a gusto and force which is never likely to be seen again.
Comment Comments (2) | Permalink | Most recent comment: Dec 18, 2013 7:11 AM GMT

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