Choking on Marlon Brando: A Film Critic's Memoir about Love and the Movies

I had read Antonia Quirke's book on JAWS that she wrote for the uneven BFI series on notable films, but I must re-read it now that I know so much more about its author, sort of a real life Bridget Jones who proves that sometimes, you can get too much into the movies and they prevent you from having satisfying experiences in your real life romantic life. What guy in real life can compare to the rush of sexuality young Antonia got while watching STREETCAR on TV as a young girl? And that's just the beginning of an amazing read, in which she lays bare the dynamism of literally hundreds of male screen idols, while a few dozen earthly Englishmen fail to capture her attention for more than a few dates apiece. Her book is very funny in parts, and in other parts she seems to recoil from the path she's leading, so the clash of the two genres, comedy and a tragic self-destruction, produces sparks but also gives the book a rueful texture. Makes you feel complicit even for reading it. Now and then one just wants her to find the right bloke, but most of the time one longs for her to meet another loser in life while drooling over another he-man in the cinema. She makes you appreciate the erotic perfection of even unlikely idols, such as Kevin Costner. She knows he's dopey, dull, superpatriotic, and probably conservative, but he's got something going on and she details it all. Remember Madonna pretending to gag after Costner told her that her show was "neat"? Hark Antonia Quirke: "That hollow cacophonous bird made of beaten tin painted gold (and failed actress) who sticks a finger down her throat after meeeting Costner [is] blind to the non-synthetic idiosyncrasies that unspun blandness might contain." He has a "beautiful veim of sadness running through everything he does, like when the light begins to strain at the end of a summer's day." You think David Thomson has it bad for Nicole Kidman? Wait till you hear Quirke on Depardieu!! Or Keanu Reeves, the male Marilyn Monroe: "Like Marilyn, Keanu introduces an electric tension into everything he does because of the combination of uncontrollable charisma and technical incompetence." Most controversial will be her discussion on 228-9 of which star has, like her boyfriend Jonathan, the "perfect arse." She names James Dean, Dennis Quaid, Richard Gere, Gael Garcia Bernal--the usual suspects, reaching out to Terence Stamp in (POOR COW) and David Hemmings--she's as patriotic as Kevin Costner. She dismisses Clint Eastwood and Sam Shepard. But stop the presses, why is Dustin Hoffman on the list of "great arses"? The thought of it makes my gorge rise. And Jim Carrey? Yeah, his is great--for talking through! She names the four compass points that the perfect arse must balance itself among-- "a Gene Kelly gluteal muscle and a Keith Richards scrawn, a slovenly acre of sexless John Wayne flesh and a priapic preening Antonio Banderas baboon backside." I'm squinting but in the center of all those I am utterl

Wow. This book is stunningly great. Antonia Quirke's writing -- her voice, her control, her sheer prowess -- is blazingly magnificent. This book is a treasure, a discovery, a triumph of publishing. Pick up the book, read the first paragraph, and get carried away.