Julia Phillips Youll Never Eat Lunch in This Town Again
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What I establish was a memoir from an egotistical, self-indulgent adult female who lacks humility and the capacity for self-analysis. 1 of those books where someone talks virtually all the drugs they've done, all the sh*t they've been through, only never seems to really examine the correlation between the ii. And if they practice accept responsibility for where they are, they only do it in tandem with i
Sigh. I'd e'er heard I needed to read this book - it was a 'must read' for anyone in The Industry in Hollywood.What I found was a memoir from an egotistical, self-indulgent adult female who lacks humility and the capacity for self-analysis. Ane of those books where someone talks virtually all the drugs they've done, all the sh*t they've been through, but never seems to actually examine the correlation betwixt the two. And if they do accept responsibleness for where they are, they merely practice it in tandem with insisting that the world is against them.
Certain, in that location were a lot of insights to the way things worked in Hollywood in the seventy'south and eighty's...sure, there were a lot of drug stories about famous people (large whoop). But what did I get out of this (besides the moral that Julia is a 'my way or the highway'-kinda gal, and that if others don't agree with her, they're against her)? Non much.
Actions have consequences. And then do behaviors. Grow up, Julia. Own your decisions, and recognize that your choices got y'all where you are.
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At 600 pages, this rant remains in dire demand of an editor, merely would benefit even more than from a plot. Basically, our not-so-humble narrator gets lucky with The Sting in 1973, then it all turns to drugs, then information technology all turns to shit. Her principal concern – beyond whatever pretence of fidelity to drug-dealers, family unit, colleagues and friends – appears to be keeping her table at a dining-hole in Hollywood where she can see and be seen, hence the tit
A long trawl through shallow waters - well, shallow people.At 600 pages, this rant remains in dire need of an editor, but would do good even more than from a plot. Basically, our not-so-humble narrator gets lucky with The Sting in 1973, and then it all turns to drugs, then it all turns to shit. Her primary business – beyond any pretence of allegiance to drug-dealers, family, colleagues and friends – appears to be keeping her table at a dining-pigsty in Hollywood where she can come across and be seen, hence the championship.
The fact that Hollywood power-brokers are non-creative, cliquey, scandalously overpaid, vain, ambitious, addictive, obsessive, compulsive and above all treacherous parasites should come as no surprise to anyone who'due south bothered to choice up this book. What is surprising is that an operator with all of those traits and more could vomit upwards a story from information technology and not pause long enough to find any redemption whatsoever in herself or her surroundings.
Perhaps the saddest attestation to this tragedy comes in reading it today, 15-years after publication. Names that once clattered when she dropped them now band hollow equally even the net tin't dredge up any trace of them. And as for those who remain 'names,' take a look at the bonus features disc of The Sting DVD – Redford, Newman et al looking back on their flick in 2005 (a film that Phillips spends half the volume telling us was her creative genius) and the name 'Phillips' does not come upwardly one time in hours of recorded material. Who she?
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It would be easier to
Julia Phillips burned her bridges beyond recognition with this memoir of life in the fast lane of 1970s Hollywood. There are very few people who were big from the belatedly 1960s to the early 1990s who aren't mentioned here, mostly unfavorably. The lady had good reason to exist aroused; the machinations of getting a movie fabricated are ludicrous plenty to drive anyone over the edge. She freely admits that she didn't help her ain cause by spending most of her time looking for her next high.It would be easier to be on her side - she was, later on all, the first female producer to win a Best Picture Oscar, and was behind some seminal films (The Sting, Taxi Commuter, Close Encounters of the Tertiary Kind) if she didn't go out of her manner to exist so unlikeable. She has the redeeming feature of the keen love she has for her girl, Kate, who sounds like astounding person. Other than that, all the same, she sounds like the archetype egotist (and, ridiculously astern in her language). She is smarter (in her ain mind) than almost everyone she meets, she calls black people the N-word and gay people all manner of slurs. Her bigotry about people who are overweight is downright repulsive.
Y'all'll Never Eat Lunch In This Town Again is total of aliases in order to avert lawsuits, I suspect, but I also doubtable that Hollywood insiders knew exactly which people Phillips was referring to when she changed a name. Even so, she is fine with naming and shaming Spielberg, Geffen, Erica Jong and numerous others. David Geffen was so furious with the release of this book that he dumped her from the negotiations they were in the middle of for Interview with the Vampire. And, as it turned out, she didn't have lunch in some of the near important places in that town once again. She got banned from Morton'south where, for many years, she had her own table.
I would have liked the volume better (I exercise love dish, then it would normally be tailor-made for me) if (one) it had been proofed for grammar (for someone who is supposedly and then intelligent, she should know how to use the words "I" and "me" in a judgement); and (2) if it had been shorter (a good editor could take shown her how to tighten information technology upward and dump the inapplicable, existential meandering). I'k very glad I read it; I just wish I'd liked information technology, and her, a bit more.
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But this is ane book written past a celebrity that is most definitely not ghost-written.... and maybe information technology should have been. It's hideously self-indulgent and seems like it was never edited or revised. I am a fast reader and it took me several hours to get through 100 pages of this book.
By all means this should be a fascinating, juicy Hollywood tell-all. I was thrilled to spot it in a secondhand store and grabbed it, primarily because of the first-class encompass blueprint on the vintage version I'd establish.But this is 1 book written past a celebrity that is most definitely not ghost-written.... and maybe it should have been. It's hideously self-indulgent and seems like information technology was never edited or revised. I am a fast reader and it took me several hours to get through 100 pages of this book. I could not cease it.
This COULD accept been dandy. And for a book that trash-talks and so many of Julia Phillips' peers at the time, it should at least be well-written to be worth burning all those bridges. Simply it'southward non.
Information technology reads exactly like how someone on coke talks, which is to say, rambly, incoherent, and irritating.
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A behind-the-scenes tell-all of my favorite UFO movie, written by a drug addicted film producer who happens to be the outset female person flick producer to win an Oscar for best picture? Sounded irresistible so I picked up a re-create of Julia Phillips' best-selling Hollywood relate. OK, there was far less most "Close Encounters of The Third Kind" than I had hoped for. "Yous'll Never East Lunch in This Town Once again" is really the autobiography of Julia Phillips. Truthfully, I had never heard of Julia Phil
A behind-the-scenes tell-all of my favorite UFO pic, written past a drug addicted movie producer who happens to be the commencement female movie producer to win an Oscar for best picture? Sounded irresistible so I picked up a copy of Julia Phillips' best-selling Hollywood chronicle. OK, there was far less nearly "Shut Encounters of The Tertiary Kind" than I had hoped for. "You'll Never E Lunch in This Town Again" is actually the autobiography of Julia Phillips. Truthfully, I had never heard of Julia Phillips who died in 2002 - ten years earlier I discovered her somehow, via my wayward web surfing.
Phillips begins by chronicling her childhood in Brooklyn during the 1940's. From there she makes her mode through college, and and so onto her union to beau producer Michael Phillips. Later about a 100 pages, she begins detailing her rising through the movie industry. Strangely, bated from the chapters on Close Encounters, Phillips discusses many more than pre-production situations virtually money, hiring, etc. - than she does the bodily work on the sets of her films. Sometimes, especially during the first half of the book, Phillips phases out of present tense, and holds flashback sessions in which she refers to herself in the third person. While reading, this technique seemed a tad confusing and unnecessary. Bated from that, Phillips' obvious talent as a writer demonstrates why she enjoyed such a successful pic producer - for a while, at least.
After reading "You'll Never Eat ...." here in 2012, I institute that information technology does not live up to avant-garde billing equally a "shocking tell-all." Perhaps I experience this style because I've become desensitized from 2 decades of celebrity tell-all books published since the initial release of Phillips' book in 1991. Even so, I should acknowledge that Phillips raised the bar for books of this nature when "Y'all'll Never Eat …" kickoff came out.
A lot the hubbub surrounding this book must have centered on her the countless derisive comments and personality critiques Phillips makes about influential Hollywood characters of the belatedly 70's and 1980's. Only aside from a couple notorious observations nearly Goldie Hawn, the dirt is usually limited to character assassinations of her business and picture industry contemporaries. And sometimes, she's even a flake evasive about the identity of her targets past skipping the name and but alluding to whom the person might be. This usually happens when she's discusses the drug use of other Hollywood figures. Not very over-the-top. And if y'all're too young (like yours truly) to be familiar with the movie moguls and big names of the 1970'southward you may not have an thought of who she's describing/disparaging anyway.
Toward the very end of the book, Phillips recounts a close meet (pun intended) with a fairly modern glory:
"Paula Abdul, who has choreographed several of Mary'south videos, comes over to say hello, and we invite her to sit down. Inside a minute, she is pouring her heart out to Mary well-nigh the lousy treatment she's received from Janet Jackson, who has non acknowledged Paula'due south contribution to her videos or her stardom. She must accept been truly hurt to be and then open up in front of a complete stranger. The onetime Hollywood boogie...... A twelvemonth afterwards Abdul'south album would have iv striking singles and soar to number one. Had she become a star because some other star rejected her? A case of 'fuck me? no fuck you' .......No doubt."
Phillips' motorcar-bio is replete with great observations like this one (above). In a manner, Phillips was holding a mirror upward to the ugly, selfish and greedy side of the entertainment industry - the side that near never see. Phillips' witty, and frequently mischievous writing style, combined with her very judgmental and sometimes spitfire attitude carried me though all 615 pages. In other words, "You'll Never East Luncheon in This Boondocks Over again" remains an engaging read - considering that it is a somewhat dated business relationship of the picture show industry in the late 70'southward and 80's.
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Until I read this volume, I had no thought what a producer might really contribute to a motion-picture show. Every bit described by Phillips, a producer pretty much does everything that no one else has done——and chronicles this
This was such an entertaining volume to read——very witty, very dishy, and so very Hollywood. Julia Phillips won an Oscar for producing i of the finest films in history, Shut Encounters of the Third Kind, and she was involved in the production of other fine films such as Taxi Driver and the Sting.Until I read this book, I had no thought what a producer might actually contribute to a motion-picture show. As described by Phillips, a producer pretty much does everything that no one else has done——and chronicles this in the context of a downward personal screw fueled past drugs du jour, by and large cocaine, the "breakfast of champions." Reminiscent of the every bit witty musings of Carrie Fisher but Phillips names names.
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Julia is a sharp wi
This is a Hollywood book that makes me glad my fantasies of becoming a feature filmmaker never came truthful. Julia Phillips was a successful female (one of the first) movie producer in the latter office of the 20th Century with credits such as "The Sting," "Close Encounters...," "Taxi Commuter," and others that have left their mark upon u.s. all. As a result, she looks at the motion-picture show business organization from the top down, the POV of the money people and decision makers that dispense everyone else.Julia is a sharp witted, sharp tongued niggler who manages to find fault with everyone she ever met, friends, concern associates, lovers, her ex-hubby, and herself. Regarding Goldie Hawn: "She is an okay wide. The best matter nigh her is The Laugh. The worst is that she is borderline muddy, with stringy hair - all the fourth dimension."
This nigh a political party at Jane Fonda's house loaded with top film talent: "...these social gatherings that Hollywood people invent for themselves, usually to raise money for the crusade of the calendar week, bring out my shyness. Maybe snobbery, too, because information technology's pretty funny, all this posturing, from a bunch of people who are predominately street hustlers, most of whom haven't gone to higher, let alone graduated from high school. They read moving their lips and they have horrible table manners."
Something else that Julia reveals is the prodigious amount of drugs consumed past the Hollywood elite. "To be perfectly fair though, I take been partaking from a panoply of mood enhancers, stimulants and depressants all day. Every in one case in awhile, I would strike upon the perfect chemical combination: for Oscar night information technology's been a diet pill, a small amount of coke, ii joints, vi halves of Valium, which makes three, and a glass and a half of wine. So far, I have a warm and comfortable feeling of well-being."
Say what?
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While Phillip'south account was compelling, a few thoughts nagged at me. Where was her husband all this fourth dimension? She describes him like a piece of furntiture leading a seperate life. How could she hold a job? Is Hollyowood actually that forgiving? Tin can you put all those drugs on your expense account? And what kind of parent was she to her immature daughter? Phillips spends a lot of time tearing downwardly other Hollywodo types (and may have been crossed off a few A lists), merely the book really paints a very disturbing portrait of its author. ...more than
But, oh, that first chapter. Phillips tells ALL nigh the dark she won an Oscar, every bit a producer, for The Sting, and it'south exhilarating to peek into the excess and ennui of the night. That first chapter I'll never forget.
I can't believe I've never read this, being an (abashed) Hollywoodphile. Turns out, I couldn't get through most of it. It was a box-part bummer, truly every bit miserable every bit it was juicy.But, oh, that commencement chapter. Phillips tells ALL about the dark she won an Oscar, as a producer, for The Sting, and it's exhilarating to peek into the excess and ennui of the night. That offset affiliate I'll never forget.
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To follow her wheelings and dealings is really fun. She always has a quick quip or snappy putdown, but she too works really hard and has plenty of practiced reasons for her creative choices. Her personal ones: less then. She likes handsome men, DRUGS, and spending money on furs, jewels, and travel. I'd love to hear what her daughter has to say most all of this: many of the incidents described in her home are HORRIBLE for children, from seeing her
This is corybantic and weird and funny and inappropriate.To follow her wheelings and dealings is really fun. She always has a quick quip or snappy putdown, but she likewise works really hard and has enough of good reasons for her creative choices. Her personal ones: less so. She likes handsome men, DRUGS, and spending coin on furs, jewels, and travel. I'd dearest to hear what her girl has to say nearly all of this: many of the incidents described in her home are HORRIBLE for children, from seeing her mom melt up freebase to having mom's boyfriend shoot up the house. She presents this as cool and funny, which it is, but too: a child without control of her own life and surroundings had to go through this.
She provides a lot of details in some places and not so many in others. She can tell you what she wore and where she saturday on a particular night, but the whole explosion that sent her out of Hollywood gets remarkably few pages. I reread that section a few times to see what I missed--was it throwing the drugs on the table of an important meeting? Was it the open hugger-mugger of drugs in full general? Was it the cowardice or weaseling of the people around her looking to push button her out? There's a bit of foreshadowing virtually betrayal, simply it'southward not clear to me how/why that exactly all went downward. She has the tone of someone being completely honest with you--almost her love/hate human relationship with drugs, about her triumphs and frustrations with the picture show biz, about her body and aging, near people she worked with, but underneath that at that place's a lot that goes unsaid. The denouement of Shut Encounters existence a case in point.
Her comeback is fascinating as well. The fact that she's a woman is all over this, running with the men, trying to become them to take her seriously, trying to play their game with their aggression and big egos, and succeeding for the most part, often to be reminded that she's a woman and therefore volition never really count as much. The transition to the "suits" of the 1980s and the money grubbing and greed and ridiculous pictures after the "creative" period of the 1970s is dramatic. She, as an individual, as a person, as a unique snowflake, obviously made her own choices. But there'due south the larger story of her fighting the world and using drugs as a creative enhancer equally well equally to handle the stress of Hollywood but also Hollywood equally a woman. I think she does a adept job of pointing out how she acted merely also the context in which she acted. And she never blames anyone else for the drugs--she liked them, she did them. Just it's piece of cake to run across the environment in which she did them.
I enjoyed the writing. Sometimes, her puns were a fiddling much for me (BALL JOKES ARE HILARIOUS, Even BALL JOKES We'VE HEARD Before). Just in full general, I found her style fresh and vibrant, and this was written twenty-odd years agone. I didn't always go the transition from first to third person or her movie script pieces. I recollect the third person is supposed to give her more a chance to reflect on what she felt (as a middle-aged adult female) coming through all of this, as her standard commencement-person autobiography narrates the events of life. These different sections become nearly indistinguishable both in content and format as her autobiography catches up with her present. And the movie scenes aren't a coherent movie (perhaps that's the point?) because they aren't used consistently enough or to tell a complete movie plot. But, as she says, what movie doesn't take its gimmicks? What life?
A fun read. Somewhen I only let the names slide over me and enjoyed the crazy ride.
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Beware of Warren Beatty.
A trivial dated, circa 1992, simply yet relevant if you desire to figure out the Hollywood movie subculture. LUNCH is autobiographical and as much a cautionary tale of drug addiction as insider info. I had a brief run-in with Hollywood when my novel BLUES Deluxe was published in the mid '90s; had my very own Hollywood Agent for a while, but nada always came of it, and B.D. is now out of print. Looking dorsum on information technology at present, my experience was a flake of a Catch 22: she snapped me up, on the take chances that my bo
A little dated, circa 1992, but all the same relevant if yous want to effigy out the Hollywood moving-picture show subculture. LUNCH is autobiographical and equally much a cautionary tale of drug addiction equally insider info. I had a brief run-in with Hollywood when my novel Dejection Deluxe was published in the mid '90s; had my very ain Hollywood Agent for a while, but nothing ever came of it, and B.D. is at present out of impress. Looking back on it now, my experience was a bit of a Catch 22: she snapped me upward, on the chance that my book might hit the best seller lists, when she would and then be positioned to make a deal; I was trying to practise it backwards, by finagling a movie deal to hype book sales.
Anyhow, Dejeuner is a lot of fun to read; the gal is a hell of a author. Julia makes herself look so bad that information technology'due south hard non to believe every word of her story. For sheer fun, this volume is hard to beat out, and yous may acquire a thing or 2 virtually Hollywood while you are grinning and laughing. And so groaning at how a once powerful woman could get herself into such a mess.
WHAT DO Y'all SAY WHEN WARREN BEATTY SUGGESTS A THREESOME WITH You AND YOUR TEENAGED DAUGHTER? Julia: "We're both also onetime for you lot."
I also enjoyed James Bacon'southward HOLLYWOOD IS A Four LETTER TOWN, only that'south even more dated, at ©1976, about a supporting actor who mingled with a lot of "the greats." It has Steve McQueen, Jackie Gleason, Scarlet Skelton, Stan Laurel, Bing Crosby, Bob Hope, Zsa Zsa, Groucho, Sinatra, etc.
Another awesome book on the Hollywood power structure, also from 1992, is THE Order RULES by Paul Rosenfield. Very literary, and perceptive; Rosenfield fabricated me terminate reading often to think about the implications of what he was writing.
I oasis't kept up on the latest Hollywood Exposé books. But the central Hollywood truth won't change no matter how the tiny details adjust.
Nobody In Hollywood Wants To Hear About Anyone They Haven't Already Heard About.
You won't "break in," they will hear nigh yous and and then they will come for you (with every intention of robbing you blind); and then get 3 contained experts to sextuple-check any bargain y'all are thinking of signing.
I have a shelf of books on how to break into Hollywood and how to write screenplays, stuff like that. Reading near of them was a waste of fourth dimension. (Except that I'm a "carrot" not a "stick" kind of guy, so maybe I needed to read lots of crap to "go on the dream alive" and then I would keep moving forward.)
David Chasman'due south thin volume of aphorisms, EVERYTHING I NEEDED TO KNOW ABOUT SUCCEEDING IN HOLLYWOOD I LEARNED FROM MY PIT-BULL, circa 1995 still kicks ass in 2013.
THE DEVIL'S GUIDE TO HOLLYWOOD by Joe Eszterhas ©2006 is the most up-to-date Hollywood book I've read, only, while I
do recommend this book, it mostly expands on the info in PIT-Bull.In the mid Ninties I wanted to write a screenplay of my novel BLUES Deluxe. My vague idea was that this would somehow help me to "Break Into Hollywood." The actual screenplay format is a simple construction; even so, I knew I didn't cartel jump right in and write the BLUES DELUXE screenplay. I needed a learning feel. And then, I wrote an original activity run a risk screenplay first. It'south really non too bad. (Needs work.) But I learned a lot, by really writing a screenplay: then that is my communication to other writers who want to acquire how to write a screenplay. Write one! Then write the one you really want to write.
I am somewhat disappointed that I really prefer the BLUES Deluxe screenplay I wrote to my original novel. The screenplay is actually better, in my stance. [insert sad-face icon] At present get read YOU'LL NEVER Swallow Luncheon IN THIS TOWN AGAIN. @hg47
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Because Ms. Phillips, while being a "woman pioneer in a male dominated manufacture" also shows that actualy she gets somellace in it considering she is an asshole like the rest of them, the men she hates for the particulars she always remembers. She hates herself, too, incredibly so, for the kinds of men she gets downwardly with plow out to be the very sort "proto-feminists" like her have complained well-nigh for years. But hey this is Hollywood! Nobody will dear you for who you are, and they will detest you lot for what they think y'all are.
She becomes a starting time-class crack addict pretty quick as soon equally the starting time freebase torch shows upwards. All these Hollywood-sorts can ignore the drug laws- they far are above being mere mortals anyway. They get their dope messengered-in by courier. They tin accident off court appearances, mail bond, get fined a slap on the wrist and be back in action next week. They tin fly around the world with a stash in their sock, sneak coke into rehab, and do all way of things that you lot and I, mere little people, have to realize are across our own boundaries to attempt.
Now that I know this was all a keen portrait of 80'southward-xc's excess, in many means it is a very proficient film of a dysfunctional careerist in a business I don't think I would want much to do with (and and then why did I report film in higher anyway, if what might have happened was, I'd have concluded up as a 3rd string grip working for assholes like Ms. Phillips! Perish the idea.)
So she gets ii stars, mainly for being a train wreck, and why the hell I ought to intendance about a cleft freak but because she made a large name for herself being as much an asshole as the men she felt the need to destroy (along with the usual cattiness against sis movie-people) by writing this.
"I did it my style." Oh, just didn't you. ...more
Parts are hilarious. Parts (like dealing with Scorcese on the Taxi Commuter editing and Truffaut and Dreyfuss and the intricacies of the marketing on CETK) are incredibly compelling. I enjoyed her childhood and adolescence stuff too Julia Phillips was a trail-blazer. Brilliant, driven. An amazingly accomplished person. Many of her feats in the film industry might exist deemed inspirational. She is also a fantastic writer...sort of. Unfortunately...she's doesn't deliver a fantastic autobiography hither.
Parts are hilarious. Parts (like dealing with Scorcese on the Taxi Driver editing and Truffaut and Dreyfuss and the intricacies of the marketing on CETK) are incredibly compelling. I enjoyed her childhood and boyhood stuff as well. The prose is ofttimes evocative and sometimes poetic. Yet...when Julia hits the 80s, the attraction of this book falls autonomously as quickly every bit her life did back then. Her writing in the first half isn't gentle, it's spinous and acerbic, and she takes no prisoners, but in the 2nd one-half is an enraged stomp over well-nigh everyone she encounters. Information technology's likewise, early 80s onwards, incredibly depressing, with her self-indulgent and self-destructive slide (leap!) into drug-use and bridge-burning. She sorta comes back to life and work in the late 80s, but she is a mere shadow of what she once was.
Julia Phillips was an enormous bowwow - if this book is whatsoever indication. She slams every unmarried person she mentions (except her daughter) mercilessly, seeking out the negatives far more consistently than the positives. Withal - credit to her - she doesn't hide her ain character. Warts and all, she comes across as almost every bit despicable as the people she encounters on her sorry slingshot through life.
A talented author - although the book has most four times as many ancedotes equally information technology needs (there'southward some juicy bits, only far as well much repetition about drugs and people we don't care about, specially in the 2d half). A talented, bright person - but this is buried underneath a priviledged, racist, narrow-minded, rich bowwow sensibility.
Julia Phillips had many facets - and accomplishments - that I adore. However this book let me with a colossal amount of pity for her.
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