Customer Reviews

Red Carpets and Other Banana Skins: The Autobiography

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To judge from this book, between his occasional acting jobs, Rupert Everett met a lot of famous people, got very drunk, and indulged in anything (or anyone) offered to him. There are enough names dropped to fill several memoirs, and so many of them became "close friends" that I ended up wondering if Everett, like Louis XIV, never spent a single moment alone. He "adores" everyone and they presumably adore him; he finally sums it up himself when he says that in his circle, most friends don't last more than 5 minutes. He seems to have been constantly in motion as he collected all these best friends in far-flung corners of the world, and it's easy to lose track of the who/what/why/when of the book.

Everett is an experienced writer (though his novels barely get a passing mention)and he writes well. His descriptions of people and places are precise, witty and evocative. But the anecdotes are too practiced and embellished, well polished for talk shows and dinner parties, and I didn't believe half the book really happened in such well-formed anecdotes. He is at his best describing the backstage warfare of the theater and the hothouse atmosphere of a film set, but his frequent refrain of "back then" or "in those days" made me think the novelist was at work, painting a world of generations ago, not a decade or two.

The ultimate test of an autobiograpy is the picture that emerges of the author. Everett comes across as glib, self-indulgent, and at times unprofessional. We learn nothing of his inner life. As a member of the "just do it" school, he has nothing to say about the craft of acting, a job he aspired to from childhood, and with a couple of exceptions we don't even learn the names of the people he was intimately attached to, which is to say sleeping with for protracted periods of time. He doesn't dwell much on the loss of friends to AIDS and is at times a little flippant in discussing it. He seems more upset over the demise of the South Beach party scene, and the only time he expresses true human emotion is when his dog dies.

I have nothing against Rupert Everett; in fact, I like him on screen and I respect him for being openly gay even when it hurt his career. But his book simply shows how far good looks, celebrity, and knowing the right people can carry someone in our gossip-crazy world. I thought he was better than this.

I first clapped eyes on Rupert Everett when he exploded on the London scene in the late Seventies. I was vegetating at a smart sit down dinner for Andy Warhol in the newly refurbished Casserole restaurant on Kings Road. It used to be a nice ordinary restaurant, populated mainly by drugged out members of the British aristocracy, where you could sit at wooden tables and fall happily into your soup. Then, Nicki Haslam, the social interior decorator put white billowing tents on the ceiling, transforming the restaurant into a pretentious Bedouin styled scenario.

'The restaurant was packed. There was nowhere to sit but I was about to fall down, so I squeezed on to the edge of a banquette and had a quick nap. A few minutes later I opened my eyes to find three extra-ordinary faces looking at me with amusement. Lady Diana Cooper wore a hat like a medium's lampshade with long white tassels. Next to her sat Andy Warhol under a weird peroxide wig, plonked the wrong way round on his head, and Bianca Jagger was sleek and glowing beside me with delicious smelling pomade in her hair. We introduced ourselves and I apologised with half-open eyes for the intrusion,' is a quote from "Red Carpets and other banana skins", Rupert Everett's recently published autobiography.

My memory has it that Rupert stormed into the restaurant and brazenly plonked himself down next to Bianca and stole the show. All eyes were on him as this handsome looking intruder chatted her up like there was no tomorrow. But, "Red Carpets and other banana skins" is Rupert's autobiography not mine.

Rupert Everett is a gifted actor, whose role as Guy Bennett in "Another Country" in 1984 blasted him to international stardom. Since then, he has worked periodically on the stage, specifically for Glasgow Citizens, and appeared in countless 'A' list movies including "Dance With A Stranger", "The madness of King George III" and wowed Hollywood for his work on "My Best Friend's Wedding", in which he portrayed Julia Robert's gay best friend. In 2007, he will be seen in Matthew Vaughn's new film, "Stardust", in which he co-stars with Robert de Niro and Michelle Pfeiffer, and "Shrek III", in which his distinctive voice again provides the Prince Charming role.

Rupert ('Roopie Poopie' to his friends) is unlike the majority of modern day celebrities who hire ghostwriters to script their life stories. Unlike the Jordans of this world, he has physically written his autobiography, titled "Red Carpets and other banana skins", and has done a very good job too. He's primarily an actor but his life story is so well written, he could easily cross over into becoming a professional writer if his parts dry up. But, as he is a character actor as well as a leading man, that concept seems highly unlikely.

I gobbled up Rupert Everett's exhilarating, celebrity stuffed life story. I couldn't put it down. For me, I thought the early chapters about his formative years were the most interesting. One really gets to know the author when he writes amusingly about his childhood and education: prep school, followed by Ampleforth, the catholic public boarding school, where he was educated by monks. Rupert was brought up by his upper-class parents in 'an old pink farmhouse with a moat, surrounded by the cornfields of Essex.' His father was a major in the Duke of Edinburgh's Wiltshire regiment before becoming a stockbroker. It's surprising that Rupert turned out to be so artistic. But, the first film his mother took him to see was 'Mary Poppins', which made a huge impression on him. In later years he would play Julie Andrew's son in "Duet For One".

'And then when Mary Poppins flew effortlessly down into the film something changed for ever. Was it that Julie Andrews looked and behaved somewhat like my mother?' Rupert recalls.

Rupert Everett's CV boasts a string of beautiful girlfriends, including a tempestuous love affair with Beatrice Dalle, the French actress. Unfortunately for his female fans, he is now totally gay. His showbusiness anecdotes about Dalle and his other famous girlfriends, i.e. Madonna, Julia Roberts, Sharon Stone and Doniatella Versace are insightful, which isn't surprising as these famous women are amongst his closest friends. Although Rupert didn't dish the dirt in his book, he made up for it by writing intrusive anecdotes about his celebrity friends. 'Madonna had a barbecue at her beautiful house on the bay.. it stood in front of a huge expanse of sea and sky and had a strange, uninhabited feeling. You wouldn't know she lived there; there was nothing personal within it.'

Rupert is an astute observer and a witty commentator about the wild escapades in his glamorous life. He's definitely a man who loves people, and has a gift for wittily writing about them without being vindictive or bitchy. He also knows how to laugh at himself. When he tried internet dating, he writes: 'In France at that time there was a thing called the mintel, which was like a computer, connected to your telephone. There was a screen and a keyboard and you could cruise online, so in the evenings I would make contact with people all over the region, then Mo and I would set out in the car with our map, to villages in the Alpes Maritimes, or to some suburb of Marseilles, only to find that the young Olympic athlete who had written so disarmingly about his sexual agility was in fact a roly-poly baker who would be hard pushed to touches his toes, let alone anything else.' Mo was his beloved black labrador, and when he died, Rupert wrote so movingly about losing his best friend, I cried.

"Red Carpets and other banana skins" is a well-written and fast paced read about an iconoclastic thespian's exciting life, and who knows? A chapter of the book might one day be adapted for Rupert's coming of age story. He would ideally like to make a movie about his encounter with a drag queen in the Bois de Boulogne when he was a boy. If the film turns out to be as funny, vivid, thrilling and sophisticated as his autobiography, it will be definitely worth viewing.

"Caution" is the best word used when approaching an autobiography about an actor who's still living, especially when that autobiography is written by the actor himself. Pretentiousness and self-importance are often affiliated with those who believe their acting gives them license to note how they "have affected the world around them."

I "cautiously" cracked open this book and began reading, wondering if I might throw it aside in disgust. But I didn't. Mr. Everett doesn't fall into the pretentious or self-important pit, but instead notes how the world manipulated him and how he came out the other end.

Starting with his days at a religious school, Rupert quickly learns that religion isn't for him. He finds the school overly-strict because "like bowel movements, punishment was always dictated at the appropriate time" (that's not the exact quote but the meaning is there).

Being gay was also an issue as he grows into manhood ("queenhood?") and then eventually learns the terribleness of the impending AIDS epidemic. Friends fall to the disease and Rupert wonders if he'll be the next one caught in its death-trap.

Mr. Everett also doesn't spout off all of the fantastic movies he's been in and instead gets us into the dirt on those films that were less than stellar. Falling into and out of the theater, Rupert Everett stumbles and swaggers through films, plays, and voice overs (he was the voice of Prince Charming in Shrek 2). He sugarcoats nothing, including his elicit drug use, alcohol abuse, and his interactions with stars great and small (from Elizabeth Taylor to director Marek Kanievska).

There is a bit of name-dropping toward the middle and end of the book, as well as some scattered thoughts about travels hither and thither, but the strong writing and its excellent insiders view make this autobiography a surprising winner.

Just coming off reading Martin Amis's latest, House of Meetings, I was in need of something a bit less soul-destroying, when who should happen to catch my eye but Rupert Everett peeking from the cover of his new autobio, Red Carpets and Other Banana Skins. Good choice, as it turns out.

Anyone looking for a bitchy tell-all will be sorely disappointed. He has hardly a bad word to say about anyone, and when he does, he usually tempers it with an exculpatory tale in the next breath. He's wonderful at description: "Miami International has always been one of my favorite airports. ...As the doors of the plane open the wet scented Florida air rushes into the cabin. It smells of sun cream, air-conditioning and tropical drinks. A light glow breaks out on the brows of the passengers like a golden shower from heaven, an instant feeling of health, and that glorious bucket and spade anticipation of a seaside holiday. Inside the terminal, the smell of damp carpet is the eau de toilette that will follow you around Florida. Rivers of delicious-smelling green fitted carpet guide the traveler past gates to destinations that have only been dreamt of or read about in the pages of Graham Greene or Ian Fleming. Port-au-Prince. Port-of-Spain. Caracas. Montevideo. Sao Paulo. Miami International is a traveler's sweet shop, and seeing the names of all these places made my heart miss a beat."

On living in Russia while filming And Quiet Flows the Don: "That night I took Mo (his dog) for a walk. It was warm as we threaded through the muddy labyrinth of high-rises around the hotel. Everything was falling to pieces. A porch hung precariously over a front door. Windowpanes were held together by tape and newspaper. Uner the trees in the little parks, broken people sat on broken benches, and children screamed on ancient climbing frames that looked like strange installations. Pollen floated in the air, which had a metallic taste. Old men twisted by arthritis and alcohol sat hunched over chessboards wearing army hats from the Second World War, while sturdy women in shabby mackintoshes walked dogs."

There are wonderful stories about celebrities, but there's also a great little chapter about a trip down the Rio Negro with his 83-year-old father, and a touching paean to his dog Mo, with whom you fall in love during the course of the book, so that I, at any rate, cried when he had to be put down at the age of eleven.

And the opening chapter - about growing up in a wealthy, horsey household in Norfolk - is wonderful, as is the bit about boarding school.

If you want some light reading in between doorstops, give Rupie a go.

Rupert Everett takes us on a wild ride through his bumpy stage and film career and his alternative personal lifestyle in his memoir, "Red Carpets and Other Banana Skins." His tales of substance abuse, hard partying, and freeloading off rich friends are both repellent and intriguing.

Although he clearly enjoys name dropping and traveling in the same circles as the rich and famous, he isn't afraid to reveal his insecurities and less glamorous traits as well. Most interesting to me was how he visited impoverished nations and struggled for a year not to think about what he experienced there. Ultimately he did use his many connections to do something about the devastation he witnessed.

At more than 400 pages covering nearly 50 years of life, this well-written book is a startling look at the entertainment industry that is hard to put down once you get started.

Leslie Halpern, author of Reel Romance: The Lovers' Guide to the 100 Best Date Movies and Dreams on Film: The Cinematic Struggle Between Art and Science.

I was quite sad to finish this wonderful book! When I bought it I worried that it might be a pretentious, name dropping bore but it was utterly delightful and I read much of it with a smile. Rupert Everett writes beautifully, eloquently and with such a lovely, self-deprecating humour that he remains irresistible. I kept the book beside my bed and looked forward to reading until I couldn't stay awake any longer, then picked it up first thing in the morning to continue.
He has a beautiful turn of phrase and I enjoyed every bit! I only hope he writes a second volume...

Judging by his performances in An Ideal Husband and My Best Friend's Wedding, Rupert Everett seems like the kind of actor who is always holding court in his trailer, surrounded by a gaggle of makeup artists and lesser-known actors. Picture champagne flowing, strings of lights sparkling, and laughter ringing, and you've pretty much got it. So his autobiography was bound to be entertaining if not hilarious, and the audio version--read by the actor himself--even more of a romp.

The audio book Red Carpets and Other Banana Skins succeeds on every count. Everett is at turns delightfully droll, surprisingly thoughtful, and deliciously wicked. His account of his early childhood in England could conjure up a longing for drafty old farmhouses and wellies in even the most decidedly American among us. His entrance into theatre life at boarding school is classic, and his escapades in the theatre world are full of both anticipation and struggle. And that's all before he's gotten to the forlorn heat of Miami and the juicy gossip that surrounds Hollywood.

Whether speaking wistfully of his youth in the countryside or revealing Sharon Stone's wackiness, Everett is engaging and candid. His voice is smooth as silk, and his tone--from the hint of sarcasm and blush of sorrow to the swell of humor--is always perfect. The combination of Everett's vivid descriptions, complete with spot-on metaphors--and his all-knowing voice allows him to recreate scenes of his life as clearly as if they were playing on a movie screen.

Finally, the playful violin with just a touch of melancholy at the beginning and end of the recording give the reading just the right punctuation. The whole piece feels somewhat like a good Irish wake, celebrating the ups and downs of a life well lived. Slide it into the CD player, add your favorite cocktail, and enjoy.

Armchair Interviews says: Fun story, well read by the man himself.

The book was very enjoyable and was obviously written by Rupert personally. A ghost writer could never have mimicked Rupert's incredible quick wit and humor. Rupert's writing ability and style is as good as his acting ability. He also has amazing depth and understanding into life's sensitivities and feelings.

The book is more a memoir than an autobiography. Any chapter could be left out and would not have changed the story. For a person who does not speak French occasionally he included short French phrases that left the sentence or subject somewhat less meaningful. For one who speaks French they undoubtedly add an interesting, if not sometimes humerous dimension.

The book is rich, giving a good, and for some new, understanding of people whose life styles and careers not always familiar to the main stream population.

I loved this book. It is beautifully written, funny and smart and sometimes quite sad. The reviews calling it 'difficult to read' and saying that it 'jumps all over the place' are unfounded. I like that he doesn't sugarcoat his life making him some great man everyone fauns all over and adores everything about. He is so observant and often makes you feel as if you are there as a fly on the wall. It is also fun just to hear some celebrity dishing. I also felt I got a little inside information on how some very good people get wrapped up in movies that go terribly wrong. Good book.

So well-written and thoughtful, this memoir of Rupert Everett's career is a joy. Hearing the author read his words on the CD adds greatly to the enjoyment of his book.