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on 30 November 2013
Simplistic but ego driven. Downloaded to Kindle and I read the odd chapter between books like I would a trash magazine, for light relief. No doubt he has had an amazing career and worked with top top names but his gossip isn't too interesting - like most actors - full of themselves,
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on 3 September 2017
Great read, but didn't like the paper.
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on 12 September 2017
quite interesting.
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on 5 February 2017
very good read
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on 10 March 2014
Mr. Langella has been in "the business" for a very long time and he writes well and fluidly. But he has chosen to write mainly if not exclusively about people whom he knew who are now dead and therefore cannot contradict his recollections or resent them. I found these stories fascinating in a kind of train-wreck way, and I did finish the entire book. But it left me with a greatly diminished respect for Mr. Langella's courtesy and compassion. Odd how that makes me reconsider his performances as well. Sorry that I bought this volume - wish I had taken it (and returned it) to the local library instead.
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TOP 1000 REVIEWERon 27 April 2013
Dropped Names is a highly entertaining collection of short vignettes detailing Frank Langella's encounters with the great and the good over the course of the last five decades or so.

The bar is raised early on in the book, as the young Langella attends an informal dinner party with John and Jackie Kennedy and Noel Coward. And from then on the stories flow freely as close encounters with the likes of Celia Johnson, James Mason, Yul Brynner, Laurence Olivier, Anthony Perkins, Ida Lupino, Bette Davis, Oliver Reed, John Gielgud, Alan Bates and Arthur Miller amongst others are described in sharp and witty detail.

Some, like James Mason, are brief encounters, others like Raul Julia and Alan Bates see Langella describing a lifetimes friendship and are warm and touching tributes.

Others fare less well. Richard Burton is portrayed as a crushing bore and Langella memorably describes Charlton Heston as possessing "as much sex appeal as a railroad tie and about as humourless as a CAT scan".

But as he admits in his preface, these are just his own views, "sometimes exaggerated and revisionist and likely prejudiced". But, all in all, Dropped Names is an enticing collection that never fails to amuse and sometimes move.
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on 18 October 2012
I was drawn to this book as much for the 'low down', subjective as it is, on the famous people contained within its pages, than any particular admiration of its author. Despite never reaching the dizzy heights of A-list movie star status (inasmuch as that carries any weight these days) it must at least be acknowledged that Frank Langella has lived a full and eventful life spent doing what he loves and doing it well. And given the wealth of experience he has both in theatre and film, his musings on the many friends and acquaintances he made during his impressive career certainly justifies the publication of this book.

I note with interest how other readers here comment on the inferior presentation of the book - its poor quality paper and the bemusing rough-cut and staggered edging to its pages. When I came across a brand new copy at the library I assumed it was just a one-off edition which had somehow been carelessly chewed up during the production process. But to realise this was intentional is strange, indeed. Unless that intention was to frustrate the readership by having them struggle to turn the pages then I'm afraid I fail to see the point, as it does nothing to help the book stand out in any cosmetically advantageous way.

Apart from anything else, one thing this book did clear up was something about Frank Langella I found most memorable, ever since seeing the 1979 film 'Dracula' in which Frank plays the eponymous Count. In one close up scene in that film Frank's eyes can clearly be seen 'vibrating' (as he calls it) with amazing speed - a trait I thought he'd impressively affected for the part and which I certainly couldn't emulate. But in the chapter about director John Frankenheimer, Langella reveals (page 210) how he was born with a condition called 'nystagmus', which causes his eyes to flutter rapidly whilst trying to focus. This particular chapter also provided one of the few (for me) laugh out loud moments when Frankenheimer explains to Langella the two positions an actor is in when seeking a role, the crude detail of which I won't relate here. But, ultimately, Langella infuriates Frankenheimer by going back on a decision to play a part he'd been offered, rejecting it in preference to another role. From that day forward until the day he died, Frankenheimer never offered Langella another part.

One unfavourable reviewer here has taken exception to Langella's cruelty. I didn't find it unduly so. And the above inclusion, and others like it, demonstrate that it's not one way traffic as Langella is just as ready to show himself and his past indiscretions in a poor light and is not averse to self deprecation or documenting his own imperfections. I didn't find the book, as with so many of this kind, an exercise in mud-slinging and/or egotistical self aggrandisement. At no time did I get a sense of him wanting to settle professional scores or dish the dirt just for the sake of it. He's just recording experience and opinion and, in the main, he qualifies his personal take on the luminaries he's had the privilege, or at least the chance, to work with and get to know, either on a superficial level or intimately, during his long and varied career.

Yes, there are those he clearly didn't like - Anthony Quinn and Lee Strasberg are two who spring to mind. I don't think Langella was Richard Burton's greatest fan, either - but then Langella is certainly not alone in granting Burton's irrefutable talent, whilst expressing a barely disguised irritation at the overbearing, egotistical persona that came with it. For instance, as Burton stood on the stage of the empty Martin Beck Theatre after one of Langella's performances, he asked, 'How many seats in this house?' 'About eleven hundred,' Langella replied. 'Hmmm,' Burton mused, 'can't gross enough for me.'

But there are many here who Langella greatly admired, like James Mason and Noel Coward - those he adored such as Alan Bates and Raul Julia - and there are many more of whom Langella's opinion comes across as ambivalent, leaving you with a sense of him having faithfully documented some worthwhile detail of his relationship with them, either professional or personal, but having no great love of, or aversion to, them one way or the other.

I was impressed with Langella's writing style. Sometimes a little over florid and melodramatic in his descriptions, belying his life long thespian disposition. But there's an erudition at work, both in terms of literary merit and undeniable professional authority, which left me with a sense of him giving a forthright and honest opinion of his subjects as he experienced them first hand.

But I'll finish on the two overriding impressions this book left me with. The first is the effect it had on my sense of the 'greatness' we attribute to those icons we've all grown up to believe have some kind of unique, god/goddess-like status. Names like Olivier, Gielgud, Bette Davis and Rita Hayworth. When you read here about their frailty, their doubts, fears, insecurities, and downright naivete, albeit often at the tail end of their lives and flickering careers, you realise how so many of them are no less vulnerable and predisposed to life's fickleness and occasional bouts of irrationality and paranoia, than anyone else. Indeed, at the beginning of the chapter on Anne Bancroft, Frank accedes to the popular cliche used to describe members of his profession which is that 'Actors are babies'. And in this regard, the book strips away the veneer and makes the pedestal on which many of us put them seem so much shorter than it did before.

I suppose the second impression is a kind adjunct to the first - a clue to which is to be found in the subtitle: 'Men and women as I knew them'. At the age of 74, it's inevitable that Frank Langella's reminiscences of the many famous people he's known and worked alongside are going to include many who are no longer alive. But when I tell you that, of the 60+ people featured in this book, the only subject among the living is the final entry, a centenarian named Bunny Mellon (unless you count the bit part players, such as Lauren Bacall and Kirk Douglas who appear only as cameos in an amusing anecdote during the chapter on Alan Bates) it will drive home the point that this is essentially a book about dead people. And as I read the inevitable finale to many pieces, be it Yul Bryner's death from lung cancer, Anthony Perkins' demise from an Aids related illness, or Alan Bates' stoical forbearance before finally succumbing to pancreatic cancer, to name but three, the more I read, the more I experienced a withering sense of my own mortality. As Paul Newman's 'Hud' Bannon famously said, 'It happens to everybody, nobody gets out of life alive.' But it's just a little unsettling to have it so relentlessly rammed home with such fatalistic inevitability.

Yet, I heartily recommend this book. Those who are interested in a plethora of private anecdotes which deal with intimate moments of the famous away from the public glare, not cobbled together by some hack at third hand but written by a worthy, articulate, raconteur who lived and was part of the world he writes of, will find much to enjoy here. I'm very glad I took the time to read it. So much so that it left me hopeful that Frank Langella will take the time to produce a second volume of 'Dropped Names'. Because on the strength of this commendable effort I'd certainly be keen to read more.
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on 23 January 2014
What an unpleasant book this is - and how clearly Frank Langella seems to depict himself. Does he realise, in these catty profiles of famous colleagues and alleged friends (among them Laurence Olivier, Elizabeth Taylor, Rex Harrison, Celia Johnson, Roddy McDowell, Anne Bancroft and Paul Newman), just how arrogant, cold-blooded, devious and insincere he makes himself seem? One would hesitate at encouraging this self-centred fellow's acquaintance, and the narcissism that so marked his early film roles is pretty blatant throughout, despite some token self-laceration. Several of his pen-portraits are openly hostile, and, even if Charlton Heston, Anthony Quinn and Lee Strasberg were as awful as he claims (easy to believe), the superciliousness he exhibits to certain others is deeply distasteful. He's not a terrible writer, but he doesn't disguise his passion for score-settling as cunningly as he believes, and he is impervious to the feelings of those left behind in the wake of his famous and now-deceased subjects. It's just a nasty read.
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on 26 February 2013
Well written and easy to read.I do love a bit of celebrity gossip,although some of the people he wrote about I am notthat familiar with.Frank Langella is a very interesting man as well as being a pretty good actor.
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on 16 January 2014
I don't usually read auto-biographies, and I have never before read anything autobiographical by any actor. I made an exception with this book by Frank Langella, because he is someone I recently discovered and I felt intrigued about him and because I like the concept of his book: a collection of short chapters about the people, more or less well known, he has met during his life.

Some reviews, like the one by the New York Times, can be misleading. This is not a book about his sexual conquests, as it has been suggested. This is a far more interesting book: this is a book about failure.
Mr Langella has met plenty of successful people, but he has also met with lots of actors whose early promise never materialised. Or actors whose early promise did materialise for a while but it was eventually ruined by the self-destructiveness, neediness, lack of emotional control, reality-denying narcissism and overwhelming emotional immaturity that seem to fall like a plague over many people in the acting community.

And even the successful ones are interesting for what they have in themselves of failure. One of the most interesting chapters is about the very successful playwright Arthur Miller. The chapter is focused in Langella attempt to put to stage on of Miller's less successful plays, "After the fall", where the main character is based in Miller himself. Miller is unable to see how the character that reflects him is a person no one in the audience likes. He obviously likes himself, and has everybody in the play say all the time he is such a great person. He is not, and that's obvious by everyone except the character and Mr Miller. Langella, at the end, and after plenty of negotiating with Miller, manages to get the author's agreement to have the character slapped at the end of the play. Miller didn't really understand why it was necessary. "Because someone has to", Langella said. That was great. Miller was slapped enough during his time with Marilyn, I suspect, but he may have chosen not to think too much it when constructing his idealized fictional persona. Good of him to manage that and to be able to describe it for us in his book.

His chapter about Elizabeth Taylor is painful to read. He dated her 10 years before her death. She was someone who couldn't remember a time in her life when she was not famous and who spent the last years of her life confined in a mansion full of tones (quite likely, literally tones) of clothing items, jewels and bottles of astringent lotion (she was promoting them and had to have them at home as a part of her contract, apparently), and no human contacts able to give her any type of emotional fulfilment.
Langella writes superbly, not as a stylist (he is good, but not outstanding), but as a dissector of human souls. He must be a good actor.
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