Hollywood Lies is a collection of seven suavely bewitching stories, all with a Machiavellian twist at the Marilyn Munroe as virtual reality's most valuable asset . . . A fading film producer whose impending death becomes the ultimate career break . . . A screenwriter terrorized by the character he creates - a force that refuses to die, either on screen or off . . . An outsider's vengeance on one of Tinseltown's royal families, which is also the greatest performance of her life . . . Against a backdrop already larger than life, each scenario mixes the mysterious with the supernatural in a toxic cocktail of malevolent wit - Hollywood's glitter balancing on a scalpel edge of madness.
Inexplicably (since I don’t watch them and couldn’t recognize anybody involved in their manufacture) I am drawn to what-went-wrong books about movies, which is why I read David Ambrose’s Hollywood Lies. Unfortunately, this book turned out to be something different: a collection of short stories, Hollywood-focused and fantasy-tinged. There was one I enjoyed - “The Fame that Dare Not Speak Its Name”- and one line I found very funny: “The thing about this town, … is you have to be grateful to be working with thieves and liars, because the alternative is idiots.” Otherwise I can recommend the book only to fans of Stephen King’s short stories who are willing to settle for something like them except nowhere near as good.
"Ragazzo, questo è un mondo finto. I denti, le tette, i capelli delle star sono finti. I set sono finti. Le storie sono finte. Il loro lieto fine è doppiamente finto. Perfino la musica è finta. Ma permettimi di dirti una cosa che devi avere ben chiara se vuoi avere successo in questo mondo: qui tutto è finto, ma non puoi fingere di essere finto, devi esserlo per davvero."
★★★★★: "Le bugie di Hollywood", "Uno scrittore da due soldi" ★★★★✰: "Un mito vivente", "Il sangue blu di Hollywood" ★★★✰✰: "Ti ricordi di me?", "La fama che non osa dire il suo nome", "Il mio fantasma canta"