Many of us, I'm told, have dreams about holding long, intimate conversations with famous people and becoming their indispensable confidants. John Lithgow's book approximates that effect, and it's doubly spellbinding because his real, personal voice is so different from the loopy or far-gone characters he so often realizes on film, stage or television.
Here are John's formative years laid bare for conideration. There are funny showbiz anecdotes, like the time he lowered a stage backdrop onto Marcel Marceau's head, or the time an aroused dog attacked his leg as he was trying to make time with an influential casting director. All that is ticket-of-entry stuff, the kinds of war stories passed around a back table at Sardi's.
What comes across more indelibly, though, is the weird cocktail of emotions that propel a good actor forward -- ego and neediness, bravado and melancholy, and how they both marry an actor to the world and separate him. John is unstinting on that score, and also on his relationship with family. He makes you understand what a psychically rough business it is, and how scarred the survivors become.
This book is as close as most of us will ever come to having a complex, nuanced actor take you into his confidence and show you around behind his eyes. It is as if you are sitting down for a long, languid long-haul overseas flight and discover that your seatmate is John Lithgow; you have hours to kill, the bar cart is open, and he doesn't mind talking. What an unforgettable flight that would be, and what a book this is.