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Book Review: The Liar

Readers who approach The Liar expecting the acerbic wit of Stephen Fry demonstrated in his QI outings may find themselves disappointed

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Readers who approach The Liar expecting the acerbic wit of Stephen Fry demonstrated in his QI outings may find themselves disappointed. That is not to say that The Liar is not a humorous book, but it is self-consciously so and whilst it could not be described as a laboured effort, it is perhaps a little “sixth-formerish” in places.

The action centers around the principal character Adrian, who spends the first chapters playing at being a dandy in his public school in England. It is difficult to warm to him, as his verbosity can come across as affected rather than a manifestation of his, we are assured, fertile mind. The plot is in parts disjointed, which proves to be both an excellent example of the use of a selective narrative, Adrian being the primary source of information for the reader but also exposed as unreliable, “Liar” of the title, but also a little frustrating as the frequent brief interludes dealing with characters described only in terms of their clothing, “peaked cap” or “grey suit” appear to be somewhat redundant until quite late on in the novel.

Fry shines less when he is dealing with the grosser details of public-school life and male prostitution, the descriptions of which can feel rather gratuitous at times and far more when he is allowed to go about his business of revealing titbits of information, which he does with aplomb when let loose on philology. He also details with adolescent love without being patronising, describing Adrian’s lust for Cartwright both in terms of “baby love” and “Lesbia” to Adrian’s “Catullus”. The prose has moments of brilliance in which Fry shows off his wit and intelligence to great affect but I must admit, a combination of superfluous sex scenes and an overly complicated but ultimately unsatisfying plot left me cold.

This allusion to Catullus brings me rather neatly to my final verdict on the book. It is not that Fry does not address his themes well, it is simply that others address them better. Fry deals, for example, with love in all its manifestations. However if it is love that you’re after, whether the first pangs of it, foul-mouthed anger arising from it, or the endless potential of it, you could do worse than to read Catullus.

The Liar
Author: Stephen Fry
Publisher: Arrow

Books

Book Review: The Disaster Artist – My Life Inside the Room, the Greatest Bad Movie Ever Made

I cannot recommend The Disaster Artist highly enough. It might be one of the best reads I’ve had in a very long time.

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In 2003, the world of filmmaking was shaken to its very foundations. Bursting onto the scene and blinding the city of Los Angeles and Hollywood like a renegade supernova, was a film that went by the insipid title of The Room.

The Disaster Artist: My Life Inside the Room, the Greatest Bad Movie Ever Made is a book all about the making of that film. For those who haven’t seen The Room, the basic synopsis boils down to a ‘love triangle’ plot, between a banker, Johnny, his fiancée, Lisa, and the best friend, Mark. There’s romance, betrayal, drama and finally tragedy. Seems simple enough, right? Wrong.

The final instalment of The Lord of the Rings trilogy might’ve won all eleven Academy Awards that year, but it was The Room that still managed to be the talk of the town (and eventually, the world) amongst many filmgoers.

Don’t be mistaken, The Room wasn’t a sleeper hit or master class in filmmaking. In fact, it was the complete opposite. A train wreck so disastrous that it’s still being watched, studied and talked about, to this day. “So bad it’s good” and “The Citizen Kane of bad films” are quotes often thrown around whenever The Room is muttered.

What makes The Room so bad? Well, to put it bluntly, everything. From the acting to the directing, to the sets and continuity, is a consistency of abysmal filmmaking. Yet despite its terribleness, there remains a kind of loveable charm. Most of this charm seems to stem from the man who helmed the project, the weirdly fascinating and enigmatic, Tommy Wiseau. Wiseau was responsible for acting as the lead character, Johnny, writing, directing and producing The Room (Orson Welles, eat your heart out).

Greg Sestero and Tom Bissell’s book, The Disaster Artist, doesn’t start at the premier of The Room in Los Angeles, 2003. It starts instead a year earlier, with a lunch between Greg and Tommy, a lunch so bizarre and off-the-wall, that it almost reads like sketch comedy. It’s a day before official production is about to begin on The Room, and Tommy with genius-gusto, decides to offer Greg one of the lead roles in his film, as Mark, Johnny’s (Tommy’s character and fictionalized version of himself) best friend. A plan so flawless, until Greg reminds Tommy that the role is already cast.

In the next chapter, we are taken back to 1998 in San Francisco with Jean Shelton and her acting class, where Greg relates his early origins into acting and his dreams of “making it”. It’s here that he meets the one-and-only, Tommy Wiseau, for the very first time. They’d later on become acquainted with one-another, after Tommy steals the show by giving one of the most ludicrous renditions of the famous ‘Stella’ scene from A Streetcar Named Desire ever witnessed.

“Most bad performances are met with silence. This was something else. There were murmurs. There were giggles. Everyone in that basement studio knew they had just witnessed one of the most beautifully, chaotically wrong performances they would ever see.”


 – The Disaster Artist

What follows throughout the book is parallel storytelling, or intersecting storylines. One side focusing on the making of The Room, and the haphazard tyrannical way in which Tommy went about acting, directing and interacting with the cast and crew. The other, on the growing friendship and relationship between a young, Greg Sestero and not-so-young, Tommy Wiseau, both bonding on their dream and love for acting (and in particular, James Dean). Each storyline is as equally entertaining, funny and at times touching as one another.

The Disaster Artist is a book that doesn’t quite feel like it’s written from someone with journalistic prose looking-in on The Room, or the life of Tommy Wiseau. Instead, it’s a book written by someone who lived and breathed these experiences and moments. The final result is a raw and believable account, with a striking amount of humility and sincerity. The praise in this regard goes solely to Greg Sestero; he is quite possibly the best—and only—person capable of telling this story. His perspective is paramount to understanding the making of The Room, and Wiseau.

In terms of the content itself, there are many reasons why fans—or even those unfamiliar with The Room—might want to pick this up. For years, people have been baffled about almost every aspect of this film and the mysterious man behind it. From, “How did Tommy manage to get $6 million to fund this film?” to something as simple as “Just where in the hell is Tommy actually from?”

You don’t have to be familiar with the film itself, or even know a great deal about the players such as Tommy Wiseau to find this book enjoyable. After all, driving the engines is a timeless story, full of great characters and great moments.

I cannot recommend this book highly enough. It might be one of the best reads I’ve had in a very long time.

The Disaster Artist

by Greg Sestero & Tom Bissell
(Simon & Schuster)

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Books

Book Review: Birth School Metallica Death – Volume 1: The Biography

Nothing Else Matters. Literally.

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In December 2013, when six of the world’s continents could no longer accommodate Lars Ulrich’s ego, Metallica made history by playing a gig at an Argentine research station in Antarctica. The band also, however, gave its fans an early Christmas present and made the Freeze ‘Em All concert available online free of charge.

This double-sided, complex character of arguably the world’s best-known metal band has been one of Metallica’s defining elements – Metallica is both grandiose and generous, seminal and self-absorbed. This duality has found expression everywhere: critical and commercial success versus fabulous flops (remember Lulu?), pioneers of the thrash metal genre versus contemptible, self-indulgent sell-outs. James Hetfield’s dark lyrical ruminations have also given Metallica an intellectual quality absent in other heavy metal groups; this quality only presents itself, however, when Lars Ulrich stops verbalizing his every thought.

As you can see, I can throw quite a few things at Metallica, both positive and negative. However, I could never accuse Metallica of being boring, which, unfortunately, is the first adjective I reached for when reading Volume 1 of the group’s biography written by veteran music journalists Paul Brannigan and Ian Winwood and narcissistically titled, Birth School Metallica Death.

A slight qualification is necessary here. Volume 1 covers the band’s early years until the Black album, and there are moments of great writing and intrigue. The authors make an admirable examination of the childhoods of each band member and find, unsurprisingly, that hardship, loneliness and family strife ensured that music became the only solace available. The memorable phrase “hormonal clusterfuck of adolescence” wonderfully captures Hetfield’s isolation and aloofness, when social acceptance and popularity were still a long way off.

The authors’ exploration of the band’s formation and early struggles is also quite interesting. The intellectual merit I associated with Metallica at the outset was, at this point, somewhat rudimentary: Metallica’s forerunner, Leather Charm, produced the risibly titled, ‘Hades Ladies’. Had Ulrich and Hetfield chosen something else from their proposed list of band names, like say, Thunderfuck, it’s doubtful they would have found the same level of success.

Such deft humor and interest quickly become scarce and are smothered by the laudatory sentiment the authors adopt – the sense of destiny that Metallica was always going to become the world’s greatest metal group: Metallica’s “ascendancy seems inevitable to the point of being preordained.” The group’s originality is staggering, as they “had begun their journey not so much on a road less traveled as on a thoroughfare entirely of their own making.” This may flirt with the truth, but its painful repetition soon becomes tiresome.

The authors’ choice of subject matter is frustrating in parts. They spend far too long on tedious subjects and give scant attention to more complex themes. The tales of tour debauchery quickly exhaust their interest, while parts of Metallica history suggesting that the band is fallible receive just casual mention. This includes the band’s poor treatment of original bassist Ron McGovney and the cruelty visited upon Jon Zazula, the tireless producer responsible for the band’s early success. The authors seem to dismiss this as a positive, almost necessary cruelty that enabled Metallica’s advance to stardom. (The exception here is a semi-decent glance at Metallica’s conduct towards Jason Newsted, who comes across quite well.)

The end result of all this is a biography that reads like an extended schoolyard discourse on why Metallica is the greatest band ever and why all other bands suck. This would have been an apt subtitle. It’s not enough to heap praise on (almost) everything the band has done; the authors feel the need to throw stones at the bands who didn’t reach Metallica’s success: Anthrax, Slayer, Ratt, and Scorpions all come in for criticism, or are presented standing in awe in Metallica’s vast commercial shadow. This doesn’t just seem misjudged, but pointless. The annoying, diehard Metallica fans who think that the four elements of the title truly comprise life will no doubt lap this up, but the more discriminating fans will be left discontented. If the authors had excised just some of the more congratulatory sentences, the book’s length could have been significantly reduced, rendering unnecessary Volume 2, due out this year, when we will probably be told that really, honestly, after the 12th listen, St Anger isn’t all that shit. It is. So is this book.

Metallica

Birth School Metallica Death – Volume 1: The Biography

by Paul Brannigan and Ian Winwood

Published by: De Capo Press

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