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4 of 4 people found the following review helpful:
5.0 out of 5 stars
It's just so awful, it's terrific!, March 28, 2004
Robert Evans is the baddest boy in Hollywood, and if there's a shred of reticence or shame in his personality, he's keeping it well-hidden. If you like celebrity dish and are not offended by the flagrant vulgarity of Evans' self-told tales, there isn't a Tinseltown story better than this one.If Evans was assigned a copy editor to work over the manuscript, he or she must have simply thrown up their hands and let him rip. This stream-of-semi-consciousness story runs away like an eighteen-wheeler with no brakes. Unlike Julia Phillips, whose memoir, "You'll Never Eat Lunch in This Town Again," spits acid in the faces in practically everyone but herself, Evans isn't particularly nasty about other people. His most unspeakable stories are told about himself, as though he can't bear to share the spotlight--not surprising, considering how tiny and unremarkable his career as an actor turned out to be. (Life most closely imitates art when Evans plays the caddish Dexter Key in the film version of Rona Jaffe's "The Best of Everything." In the book--though not in the movie, heavens, not in the '50s!--Dexter takes his bewildered small-town sweetheart to a New Jersey abortionist in a limousine. He's just that Evansy kind of guy.) Evans is unabashedly proud of his many, many lapses from grace, both professional and personal. The only tedium in "The Kid Stays in the Picture" comes from his (yawn) innumerable sexual conquests, which all sound the same after awhile. Leaf past those and focus on Evans' rise to preeminence as a producer in the film industry in the '70s, making some of its very best movies, including "Chinatown" and "The Godfather." In Dominick Dunne's novel, "An Inconvenient Woman," the coke-snorting, career-in-a-tailspin producer Casper Stieglitz is reportedly based on Evans. However, Evans didn't really have a toupee for each day of the month, with lengths ranging from just-barbered to needs-a-haircut. "I made that part up," Dunne said. But after reading "The Kid Stays in the Picture," Evans' excesses appear so legendary that one is forced to admit that Dunne's little fib might just as well have been true. Part of my weakness for this lusciously tacky book comes from the fact that the copy I own used to belong to Peter Bogdanovich. His name is rubber-stamped all over it, and the flyleaf bears Evans' lavish inscription, "Peter-- Let's make magic together!" The dealer who sold it to me said that Bogdanovich unloaded his library during one of the many times that he ran short of ready cash. Just another Hollywood story. But even in paperback, this book is a substance-free indulgence, unless you're in a twelve-step program declaring that you are powerless against the temptation to read trash. "The Kid Stays in the Picture" is a no-cal, fat-free, smokeless treat.
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