BUT ENOUGH ABOUT ME by BURT REYNOLDS (and Jon Winokur)
"...Rock Out
With This Jock Out..."
In a purely
academic world, I suppose a snot-nosed celluloid aficionado would probably
award Burt Reynold's autobiography "But Enough About Me" four stars -
diligently pointing out its philosophical shortcomings and how it simply runs
out of name-dropping steam in its final chapters. But I say knob to that - I
found "But Enough About Me" five-star entertainment all the way. And
I think most anyone who has affection for Burt the Actor and Man (and there's a
lot who did and still do) and especially film in the Seventies will dig in and
have a hoop and a holler.
In both life and
death - Burt Reynolds was BIG. Big smile, big heart, big cheese puff. His
undeniably loveable personality comes shining through chapter after chapter (ably co-written with Jon Winokur) -
many of which are about his relationships with some seriously famous and
admired people – the mighty and generous Spencer Tracy (keep going kid), the
slippery but also generous US chat show host Johnny Carson who changed the face
of TV entertainment, the sexual chemistry gal Sally Fields that everyone saw
Reynolds falling in love with on screen, the dignified black giant Jim Brown
whom he counted as a best friend, the no-nonsense actor and director Clint
Eastwood still making class films into his late 80s and many other mentors he
clearly worshipped.
When Burt likes
someone, he pours it on. And if Burt feels he's ever done him or her wrong – he
expresses reams of paper hurt and flat out apologises with genuine sincerity.
In fact in his later years, regret seemed to play heavily on his mind. You
don’t have to read too deep between the open-wound descriptions of lovers and
liars to know that he is aware of mistakes-made in his career and personal life
– decisions that despite good advice sought – he went ahead with anyway.
Reynolds - the most popular film star in the world for five years running in
the 1970s - made some absolute howlers that cost him, his wallet and his
dignity big time. Burt was a hard man on camera (and in life too) - but in
direct contrast to that tough streak which made him a star – Reynolds (by his
own admission) was always putty when it came to strong women. This resulted in
his disastrous marriage to the bottomless money-pit that was Loni Anderson who
legally forced him to sell everything he treasured (film awards, football
trophies and even toupees) to keep up her extravagant lifestyle (even his
mother nodded NO as he walked to the altar). And yet you can't help loving the
guy.
His admiration
for stuntmen, risk takers and tough guys in general is almost like that of a
breathless child - one suspects because Burt knows what pussies most male leads
actually are (some have doubles for opening car doors). It’s a very funny read
too. You get recollections about Frank Sinatra's prickly card games (grubby and
generous as the mood took him), Jackie Gleeson's inability to speak a word of
the script yet still make everyone howl with laughter spouting his
different-every-time 'sum-bitch' ad libs (the Smokey & The Bandit film
audience loved him to bits even if the studio thought he was all washed up),
Lee Marvin's instigated bar fights yet strange aversion to needless violence
on-screen, the classy she-ups-everyone's-game-by-just-being-around-them Dinah
Shore and the legendary pain-resistant stuntman Hal Needham (who moved into his
pool room after a messy divorce and was still there 12 years later). Burt
regales the story of how Hal stood in a hospital corridor chatting up a cute
nurse literally ignoring a broken back (for the second time). And as they
lung/spine puncture him, Needham doesn't blink - but his body does and
unfortunately deposits something on the uniformed lovely holding his legs
steady that definitely rules out her phone number. These are the kind of
Hollywood insider anecdotes that will have you beaming from ear to ear and
chuckling in equal measure.
Even towards the
end, the famous names just keep coming at you and you begin to wonder was there
anyone of substance he 'wasn't' pals with - Farrah Fawcett (blew a date by
turning up in a Ferrari he couldn't drive), Goldie Hawn (a jealous husband Kurt
Russell wasn’t too enamoured with their friendship), Chris Evert (the World No.
1 tennis player who liked him anyway), Marlon Brando (clocked him as rude and
lazy and Burt was none too impressed), Dom DeLuise (Directors would add 2 days
to shooting schedules to allow for wasted giggle-time) and even Hollywood uber
Royalty like Fred Astaire, John Wayne and Cary Grant (again more great puns and
anecdotes). The chapters on his adopted son are lovely too – humane and full of
a father's pride. There is also much about his own impenetrable home-from-WW II
father (big Burt) who scared the living crap out of most human beings including
his son and despite decades of steady stardom-rise found it hard to show
affection or pride for his famous boy's obvious achievements. And perhaps most
impressive of all is Reynolds' track record when standing up to industry-wide
redneck racism with regard to his coloured colleagues – actions and deeds that
smack of a fighter and not an appeaser.
Burt Reynolds
enjoyed himself, screwed up regularly and probably bedded more women than was
humanly good for a chap and his crown jewels. But because of his
commercially-successful yet perceived substance-less movie choices and his
sometimes overly rampant and naive ego – Reynolds never really got what he
craved - recognition from Hollywood – and not just for his huge popularity with
the public around the world but for his undoubted screen presence and craft
especially when given the right role ("Deliverance", "The
Longest Yard", "Sharky's Machine", "Boogie Nights").
He recalls with tangible disgust (and sorrow for his work pals) his notorious
appearance as a centerfold in the Cosmopolitan magazine in 1972 (something he
thought would be a laugh). Burt knows it subsequently cost him and the
"Deliverance" movie dear at the Oscars – visionary Director John
Boorman and his fellow actor pals Charles Durning and Jon Voight sticking by
him in public, but in private most likely seething at him for such
unprofessional self-centeredness.
Already old and
visibly frail and yet still prepared to show the truth in his sunken eye
sockets - his final film "The Last Movie Star" made in 2018 was
brilliant, bare, open, sad and joyful into the bargain. He must have known that
the end was nigh and the small but hugely affectionate movie cleverly included
CGI scenes with him talking to his younger all-man self in
"Deliverance" (sat at one end of a canoe) and smirking womaniser in
"Smokey & The Bandit" (passenger seat of the famous Trans Am) -
trying to advise the young buck in both instances to listen – to take heed. But
of course youth doesn't - and pays the price in life and love.
Burt Reynolds
rocked as does his memoirs, and I for one loved every
dancing-with-your-tackle-out chapter of it. God Bless You mate wherever you may
be and thanks for all the great memories and laughter...
