adventures of a suburban boy / anna may wong: from laundryman's daughter to hollywood legend

[February 25th, 2004] adventures of a suburban boy

It is a rare thing to find a movie memoirist who does not succumb to the pitfalls of self-congratulation, mendacious spin and tittle-tattle--flaws that characterize the genre. In Adventures of a Suburban Boy, British director John Boorman (Deliverance, Hope and Glory) binds himself to humble roots in the unremarkable suburbs of wartime Southern England, refusing to be swept along by the currents of egomania and hyperbole that flow freely from Hollywood.

Despite a long and varied career, Boorman's voice remains that of the lower-middle-class boy from the suburbs, an overachiever who fooled "them." Even in the contentment of old age and repeated artistic success, his is a voice that prefers to concentrate on others, still subdued by ingrained, caste-driven shyness and humbled by honorable failures. But somehow Boorman the storyteller, through many affecting anecdotes and reflections that ostensibly focus on his close friends--notably Lee Marvin, with whom he made Point Blank--reveals his own humanity.

The deep-seated class loyalty informing Boorman's approach actually makes Adventures a better read. Essentially, this is the self-portrait of a man in love with his craft: "Only the artist's metaphor can transcend the banality of the physical world...uncover the mystery that lies hidden beneath." The anecdotes and stories of a life in film that color the rest of the book provide consistently fascinating light relief. Fans of film lore are regaled with countless gems that reveal the chaos of production, the fickleness of the studios and the entertaining idiosyncrasies of many famous names. As with great films, Boorman's integrity pushes him beyond the superficial without compromising his love of narrative. Matt McNally

anna may wong: from laundryman's daughter to hollywood legend

Anna May Wong was born at the family laundry in Los Angeles in 1905, where she eventually worked even through the first few years of her film career. From bit parts in early Asian-themed silents, Wong made it big as the star of 1922's The Toll of the Sea (the very first Technicolor film), with a plot inspired by Madame Butterfly. But studio bosses saw to it that that was her last Hollywood success.

Tired of dressing up afterwards as servants and Eskimos, Wong left for Europe, where she reveled in the sophistication of Berlin, Paris and London, making friends and films that finally showcased her great talent. Ultimately, she returned to Hollywood, where during World War II she worked more in raising funds for Chinese relief than in film. With Hollywood's lack of interest in her as an actor, she took to drinking, and died in 1961.

As Wong's biographer, Hodges outlines this extraordinary life with thoroughness bordering on obsessive. But then there's his dead prose and inaccuracies cluttering every page. He describes Wong visiting the "Old Summer Palace" outside Peking, where she "took a ride on the famous concrete barge." Actually, it's the New Summer Palace; the barge is stationary, and is built of marble. And the book is tiresomely riddled with clichés about hearts that are brave, hearts that have songs in them, hearts that are tired and weary.

The book holds facts of great interest: Hollywood's racism, Europe's liberalism and Wong's possible affair with Marlene Dietrich. But Hodges is not the man for this job; in fact, he (a history professor at Colgate University) embodies the rule that those who cannot do should teach, though the egregious errors in this book makes one wonder whether he should be teaching, either. Grant Menzies