Where to Buy Youll Never Eat in This Town Again
Sigh. I'd always heard I needed to read this book - it was a 'must read' for anyone in The Industry in Hollywood. What I found was a memoir from an egotistical, self-indulgent woman who lacks humility and the chapters for self-analysis. One of those books where someone talks about all the drugs they've done, all the sh*t they've been through, but never seems to really examine the correlation betwixt the two. And if they do accept responsibleness for where they are, they merely do it in tandem with insisting that the world is against them. Sure, there were a lot of insights to the way things worked in Hollywood in the lxx'southward and 80's...sure, there were a lot of drug stories about famous people (big whoop). Only what did I go out of this (besides the moral that Julia is a 'my way or the highway'-kinda gal, and that if others don't agree with her, they're against her)? Not much. Actions accept consequences. So practice behaviors. Grow up, Julia. Ain your decisions, and recognize that your choices got you where you are.
A long trawl through shallow waters - well, shallow people. At 600 pages, this rant remains in dire demand of an editor, but would do good even more from a plot. Basically, our not-so-humble narrator gets lucky with The Sting in 1973, then information technology all turns to drugs, then it all turns to shit. Her primary concern – beyond any pretence of allegiance to drug-dealers, family, colleagues and friends – appears to be keeping her table at a dining-pigsty in Hollywood where she can run into and be seen, hence the championship. The fact that Hollywood ability-brokers are non-creative, cliquey, scandalously overpaid, vain, aggressive, addictive, obsessive, compulsive and above all treacherous parasites should come every bit no surprise to anyone who's bothered to pick up this book. What is surprising is that an operator with all of those traits and more could vomit upwards a story from it and not pause long plenty to detect any redemption whatever in herself or her surround. Perhaps the saddest testament to this tragedy comes in reading it today, xv-years later publication. Names that in one case clattered when she dropped them now band hollow as even the internet can't dredge up whatsoever trace of them. And as for those who remain 'names,' accept a wait at the bonus features disc of The Sting DVD – Redford, Newman et al looking back on their flick in 2005 (a picture show that Phillips spends half the book telling united states was her creative genius) and the proper noun 'Phillips' does not come up one time in hours of recorded material. Who she?
The more scandalous aspects of this book (drugs! sexual activity! Goldie Hawn never showers!) have probably overshadowed how funny and truthful it is. Julia Phillips is an incredibly accomplished woman and this is the story of her rise (she was the first adult female to win an Academy Award for best motion-picture show) and subsequent fall. She is unafraid to call out powerful friends, sometime friends, and herself for rediculous behavior, and her sharp writing and brutual honesty keep this from becoming another tired Hollywood memoir.
Julia Phillips burned her bridges beyond recognition with this memoir of life in the fast lane of 1970s Hollywood. There are very few people who were big from the late 1960s to the early 1990s who aren't mentioned here, mostly unfavorably. The lady had good reason to be angry; the machinations of getting a film fabricated are ludicrous enough to drive anyone over the border. She freely admits that she didn't assist her own crusade past spending well-nigh of her time looking for her next loftier. It would exist easier to be on her side - she was, after all, the beginning female person producer to win a Best Picture Oscar, and was behind some seminal films (The Sting, Taxi Driver, Close Encounters of the Tertiary Kind) if she didn't become out of her way to be and so unlikeable. She has the redeeming characteristic of the groovy honey she has for her daughter, Kate, who sounds similar phenomenal person. Other than that, withal, she sounds similar the classic egotist (and, ridiculously backward in her language). She is smarter (in her own listen) than almost anybody she meets, she calls black people the N-word and gay people all manner of slurs. Her discrimination about people who are overweight is downright repulsive. Yous'll Never Consume Lunch In This Town Once more is full of aliases in order to avert lawsuits, I suspect, but I also suspect that Hollywood insiders knew exactly which people Phillips was referring to when she inverse a proper name. Even then, she is fine with naming and shaming Spielberg, Geffen, Erica Jong and numerous others. David Geffen was and then furious with the release of this volume that he dumped her from the negotiations they were in the middle of for Interview with the Vampire. And, as it turned out, she didn't have lunch in some of the near important places in that boondocks once again. She got banned from Morton's where, for many years, she had her own table. I would have liked the book better (I do love dish, then information technology would normally be tailor-made for me) if (1) it had been proofed for grammar (for someone who is supposedly so intelligent, she should know how to use the words "I" and "me" in a sentence); and (2) if information technology had been shorter (a good editor could have shown her how to tighten it up and dump the extraneous, existential meandering). I'grand very glad I read information technology; I simply wish I'd liked information technology, and her, a flake more.
Ugh. What a rambling, self-centered piece of crap. Reading this made me feel similar I was in a therapy session with the author, except without any sort of cocky-exploration or willingness to await at the role that SHE might take played in her circumstances. "My parents (peculiarly my mom) fucked me up! The producers/directors/actors/what have you fucked me over! Poor me!" I kept waiting for some sort of realization and ownership of her actions, merely information technology never came. This volume has really driven home for me the thought of "Life is too curt to read books yous hate."
I felt like I had to fight through a thicket of coke-befuddled dithering to get to the dirt, and even then I wasn't sure what was going on -- was that a sex scene between Julia Phillips and Julie Christie? Who edited this? Anyway, this hasn't earned its reputation as a trash-talkin' masterwork.
By all means this should be a fascinating, juicy Hollywood tell-all. I was thrilled to spot it in a secondhand store and grabbed it, primarily because of the fantabulous embrace design on the vintage version I'd found. Simply this is ane volume written by a celebrity that is nigh definitely not ghost-written.... and perchance it should take been. It's hideously cocky-indulgent and seems like information technology was never edited or revised. I am a fast reader and information technology took me several hours to get through 100 pages of this book. I could non cease it. This COULD have been great. And for a book that trash-talks so many of Julia Phillips' peers at the time, it should at least exist well-written to be worth burning all those bridges. But it's not. It reads exactly like how someone on coke talks, which is to say, rambly, incoherent, and irritating.
Phillips begins past chronicling her babyhood in Brooklyn during the 1940'southward. From in that location she makes her way through college, and so onto her wedlock to fellow producer Michael Phillips. After near a 100 pages, she begins detailing her ascension through the pic manufacture. Strangely, aside from the chapters on Shut Encounters, Phillips discusses many more pre-production situations nearly money, hiring, etc. - than she does the actual work on the sets of her films. Sometimes, specially during the first half of the volume, Phillips phases out of present tense, and holds flashback sessions in which she refers to herself in the third person. While reading, this technique seemed a tad confusing and unnecessary. Aside from that, Phillips' obvious talent equally a writer demonstrates why she enjoyed such a successful movie producer - for a while, at least. After reading "You'll Never Consume ...." here in 2012, I establish that it does not live up to avant-garde billing as a "shocking tell-all." Perhaps I feel this way because I've become desensitized from ii decades of celebrity tell-all books published since the initial release of Phillips' book in 1991. Nonetheless, I should acknowledge that Phillips raised the bar for books of this nature when "Yous'll Never Eat …" showtime came out. A lot the hubbub surrounding this book must accept centered on her the endless derisive comments and personality critiques Phillips makes about influential Hollywood characters of the late 70's and 1980's. Merely bated from a couple notorious observations about Goldie Hawn, the dirt is usually limited to character assassinations of her business and film industry contemporaries. And sometimes, she'due south fifty-fifty a chip evasive about the identity of her targets by skipping the proper noun and simply alluding to whom the person might be. This usually happens when she's discusses the drug use of other Hollywood figures. Not very over-the-height. And if y'all're besides immature (similar yours truly) to be familiar with the picture show moguls and big names of the 1970'due south you may not have an idea of who she's describing/disparaging anyway. Toward the very cease of the volume, Phillips recounts a close come across (pun intended) with a fairly modern glory: Phillips' auto-bio is replete with cracking observations like this i (in a higher place). In a way, Phillips was holding a mirror up to the ugly, selfish and greedy side of the entertainment manufacture - the side that most never see. Phillips' witty, and often mischievous writing mode, combined with her very judgmental and sometimes spitfire attitude carried me though all 615 pages. In other words, "You'll Never East Lunch in This Town Again" remains an engaging read - considering that it is a somewhat dated account of the picture industry in the tardily 70's and fourscore's.
A behind-the-scenes tell-all of my favorite UFO movie, written by a drug addicted movie producer who happens to be the first female movie producer to win an Oscar for all-time picture? Sounded irresistible then I picked up a copy of Julia Phillips' best-selling Hollywood relate. OK, there was far less nigh "Close Encounters of The Third Kind" than I had hoped for. "Yous'll Never Due east Luncheon in This Town Again" is actually the autobiography of Julia Phillips. Truthfully, I had never heard of Julia Phillips who died in 2002 - 10 years before I discovered her somehow, via my wayward web surfing.
"Paula Abdul, who has choreographed several of Mary'due south videos, comes over to say howdy, and we invite her to sit downward. Within a minute, she is pouring her heart out to Mary about the lousy treatment she's received from Janet Jackson, who has not acknowledged Paula'due south contribution to her videos or her stardom. She must have been truly hurt to be then open up in forepart of a complete stranger. The old Hollywood boogie...... A year later Abdul's anthology would have four striking singles and soar to number ane. Had she go a star because another star rejected her? A case of 'fuck me? no fuck you lot' .......No dubiety."
This was such an entertaining book to read——very witty, very dishy, so very Hollywood. Julia Phillips won an Oscar for producing i of the finest films in history, Shut Encounters of the Third Kind, and she was involved in the production of other fine films such as Taxi Driver and the Sting. Until I read this volume, I had no idea what a producer might actually contribute to a film. Every bit described by Phillips, a producer pretty much does everything that no one else has done——and chronicles this in the context of a downward personal spiral fueled by drugs du jour, mostly cocaine, the "breakfast of champions." Reminiscent of the equally witty musings of Carrie Fisher but Phillips names names.
A looooooong, sometimes dishy, sometimes torturous, sometimes fascinating, sometimes intensely annoying lived-to-tell-the-tale autobio of a too smart, as well honest, also too Oscar-winning producer who had information technology all then lost it, became a junkie, and then pulled herself together and did her best with this tome to requite readers the real unvarnished truth most the Hollywood grind—and what a grrrrriiiiind it is.
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