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Godnatt, dyre prins : John Barrymores romantiska levnad

av Gene Fowler

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2112127,303 (4.12)4
To read this book is to know the rare and tragic man that was John Barrymore.
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Very entertaining biography of the great actor, his prodigious talent, his famous family and friends, and his unfortunate battle with the bottle. Index. ( )
  scribe-214 | Sep 7, 2018 |
GOOD CONDITION ( )
  leslie440 | Jan 6, 2012 |
Visar 2 av 2
The language of Mr. Fowler has no structure and no harmonics. It is something that is exhaled like breath or exuded like perspiration. And yet the fuzzy raffish style of this book has its special appropriateness to the subject: it is a literary equivalent for the atmosphere in which the events take place. What we get here is the folklore of the Barrymores; and, as you read, you can smell the aroma of the Manhattans and highballs and cigars of the old Hoffman House and the Knickerbocker bar, you seem to drift on the long late conversations at the Players club and the Lambs on which the Barrymore mythology was nourished. John Barrymore did in a sense live his legend; but you cannot really feel its validity unless you see it presented in terms of the smoking room, the city room, the green room, of the mirrors behind the bar and the shaded lamps at the club, all elements of urban life themselves rather remotely associated with the realities of common day...

John Barrymore was a gifted person, and he counted for something in the life of his time. The extracts from his letters and diaries which Mr. Fowler has included in this book show his wit and his sensibility, and a refractory integrity of character which has nothing in common with the temperament of the ordinary popular actor. He belonged to an American tradition of the high-strung man of talent who makes hay of the American standards—runs amuck, takes to dissipation and is broken down young. But poor Barrymore never realized himself in either his painting or his acting as, say, Poe or Stephen Crane did in his writing, and he never found the right thing to do or be. It was only when some aspect of a character he was playing coincided with some aspect of his own personality that he was really creative on the stage.
tillagd av SnootyBaronet | ändraThe New Yorker, Edmund Wilson
 

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To his great friend
Edward Sheldon
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A STRANGE thing happened to me shortly before I decided to undertake this work: several strange things.
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Nota bene! As an evidence that I am getting either very pure or very dull, I forgot entirely to remark that the whales mentioned were in amorous dalliance when photographed (if anything so enviably and titanically active comes under the head of dalliance!) but be that as it may, we eavesdropped, and I trust, for the stimulus of one's old age, recorded the largest mammals in flagrante delicto!
I tasted it, dear reader, black or white. It was heaven. It was liquid manna. It had the frou-frou of ambrosia, the tender unctuousness of a melted pearl. The planets seemed to pause a moment in their circling to breathe a benediction on that Mexican's brewer's head. One felt some great rubato, sweet yet vibrant, in the celestial orchestra of the revolving spheres. It was like a slight ecstatic sigh from the left lung of the Cosmos. Then the universe went on its wonted way again. Hot Dog! But that was a glass of beer!
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