Ah, Lilli Palmer.
I wanted to read this memoir because I fell in love with Lilli Palmer's face a little when I watched Mädchen in Uniform. Who was this woman whose countenance, with every change of the camera angle, shifted between a likeness of Lucille Ball, Audrey Hepburn, and Julie Andrews? Who was this actress whose presence -- somehow both youthful and regal -- was so commanding that I was holding my breath when she was onscreen?
Unfortunately, Lilli Palmer's memoir isn't nearly as exciting as that onscreen presence.
The real problem with this memoir is that it's a lot of performance and very little substance. (Actresses writing books, anyone?) Lilli doesn't seem to get that readers want to know about her, and thus she's written a book about everyone but herself. That's problematic for readers like me who couldn't give a rip what it was like working with Clark Gable, partying with Gary Cooper, hosting Greta Garbo, entertaining Noël Coward, meeting Helen Keller, summering with Wallis Simpson and Prince Edward, etc. etc. etc. When Palmer isn't discussing her famous friends, she's entirely fixated on the career of her husband, Rex Harrison, while only permitting herself to reprint one or two of her own positive reviews.
There are scant seconds of interesting moments -- referring to herself as a "fat" young woman when she couldn't have been more than 135 pounds; casually mentioning binge eating and swallowing handfuls of laxatives; revealing tidbits about the hot Latin lover she took after discovering her husband was boning a costar half his age; coming to terms with being a Jew returning to Germany 20 years after World War II -- but these are too few and far between.
And what a disappointment.
I kept waiting for the part where she'd tell us what the hell she was doing in a 1958 West German movie about lesbians. What was it like to make a movie that was 50 years ahead of its time? Was there critical or public backlash? What made her agree to do the film in the first place? But alas, we only learn that her costar gave her flowers on the first day of shooting.
Sigh.
Well. Okay, maybe she'll tell us what sparked her interest in doing The House that Screamed, another film with strong homosexual overtones and themes of torture, mental abuse, and incest. What was Lilli doing making a film like that...in good ol' Catholic Spain...in 1969? What brought on the desire? And what happened next?
Again, we get nothing.
Okay, so what was it like making The Counterfeit Traitor? Did Willaim Holden behave himself, or was he slipping the tongue on bad takes and falling down drunk between scenes? What was it like to play a woman whose grim fate so easily could have been her own?
>>Cue to crickets chirping<<
But Lilli, surely there must be something you're willing to give up to your readers? Did you really like doing all of those whitewashed American films, or were you into the darker and more complex things you were filming in Europe? Which male costar was the best kisser? What were you really feeling when you found out Rex Harrison was fucking Kay Kendall?
Really, Lilli. Who are you?
Well, that's one question you should never have to ask at the end of a memoir.
Lilli Palmer was an amazing actress, a gifted painter, and she had one of the most captivating faces I've ever seen. But we can't all be perfect.
Her book isn't worth reading.
Not good. Not bad.
Meh. Whatever.