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Youll Never Eat Lunch In This Town Again Paperback – Apr 2 2002


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Product Details

  • Paperback: 656 pages
  • Publisher: Signet (TRD); Reprint edition (April 2 2002)
  • Language: English
  • ISBN-10: 0451205332
  • ISBN-13: 978-0451205339
  • Product Dimensions: 13.6 x 4.3 x 20.3 cm
  • Shipping Weight: 544 g
  • Average Customer Review: 3.6 out of 5 stars  See all reviews (34 customer reviews)
  • Amazon Bestsellers Rank: #436,554 in Books (See Top 100 in Books)

Inside This Book (Learn More)
First Sentence
She watched herself watching her nails dry and the news washed over her, a litany of chaos, lies, and despair. Read the first page
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Front Cover | Copyright | Excerpt | Index | Back Cover
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Customer Reviews

3.6 out of 5 stars

Most helpful customer reviews

1 of 1 people found the following review helpful By A Customer on Sept. 3 1999
Format: Mass Market Paperback
This book is the biggest waste of paper and ink I've ever read. The book purports to be an autobiography; it's actually written in third person and nobody but the author could understand it. She brings up about 3 new people per page and doesn't explain who they are. I wish I had read a biography of the author so I could know what she was talking about!
The author rambles unashamedly about her drug use. I think she must have shared some with the editor and publisher of this book.
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1 of 1 people found the following review helpful By A Customer on May 14 1999
Format: Mass Market Paperback
this was shallow, poorly written book. the writer has the insight and maturity of a self-absorbed nine-year-old. every paragraph begins with "I did this" and "I saw this person". the writer has no interest in anyone else but herself. the index tells it all, entries are who sat across the room from her at a restaurant. you'll come away with no insight about anyone except the author. read "easy rider, raging bull," it's a masterpiece compared to this trash.
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Format: Mass Market Paperback
This is a Hollywood tell-all from a woman who keeps calling herself a New Yorker. Uhmmm, no. New Yorker's don't end declaritive sentences with the word, "Babe," as in, "I'll ring you tommorow, Babe. Ciao." That's Hollywood.
The book is interesting. Good insights, interesting subject matter. But I got the impression reading it, she wrote every paragraph on an index card, threw them in the air, stapled them together, then gave them to her publisher as a 'book.'
There's such a thing as flow. Continuity. Most paragraphs in a book generally have something to do with the paragraph preceding and following them. The author seems like the kind of person Ritalin was invented for. I got the feeling she drank 3 pots of coffee before she started typing.
A manic-depressive without the depression. If Bette Midler or Liza Minelli took a lot of crystal meth then wrote a tell all, it would come across like this. A series of asides and name dropping pasted together. But the story is interesting.
I got the book because it was mentioned in "How to lose friends and Alienate people" by Toby Young, which was a very funny book about the magazine publishing world. Also name dropping, short asides, but working as a writer as opposed to producer/promoter, he knows about flow, even if he's also another manic type.
That said, I recommend this book. The author is very intelligent and funny, the subject matter interesting.
It's just that Hollywood types annoy me as superficial speed freaks with no attention span unless they're discussing money.
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Format: Mass Market Paperback
In her Oscar acceptance speech for Best Picture, Julia Phillips described herself as a "nice Jewish girl from Great Neck." Well, she got 2/3 of it right. But nice? No way.
This book is one of the greatest acts of literary self-immolation ever published. It's hard not to feel sorry for Phillips at first, suffering as she does from a toxic mother, a workaholic father, insomnia and a Talmudic intellect.
But you get over that feeling in a hurry, as Phillips bullies, maneuvers, sleeps and stomps her way to the top, winning an Oscar for The Sting at the unheard-of age of 29. Her motto: overcompensate; overachieve. If you can't be best, be first.
As she notes, no young person is ever ready for massive success, and her career crashed just as quickly. After being more or less fired from Close Encounters by Steven Speilberg, her life became a broken record of drug abuse, failed relationships, financial problems and closed doors gleefully slammed by those she used and abused on the way up. Through it all she makes it all seem like a big game, but the human wreckage strewn across the landscape will give the reader pause.
It's hard to know whether Phillips' broadsides at anyone and everyone with whom she had contact are simply through spite, or whether we'd all be better off if Hollywood simply disappeared in the next big quake. Phillips claims that she's just being honest, but snide remarks about a crewmember's physical deformity make her seem only nasty.
Hate it as she did, Phillips revelled in the politics, the backstabbing, the lies and shallowness, the feeling of power that came with the title of Producer. She learned fast ("Always negotiate the height and WIDTH of your [on-screen] credit," she advises, after her on-screen credit for The Sting is "willow thin.
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By A Customer on March 25 2002
Format: Mass Market Paperback
I recently picked up "You'll Never Eat Lunch in This Town Again" at my local Store ...after all, I like a change from the fantasy of novel reading, to the fantasy of stars and their satelites. If it's cheap enough. I enjoy the irony of the tales of wealth and excesses of people who have (& abuse) so much, while we mere mortals are stressing over the next rent payment, thankful we aren't among the homeless and hungry.
I expected standard Hollywood dirt-dishing. I was unprepared for the vengeful & venomous whining from a woman who'd once set a new standard for women in 'the industry', yet never saw she'd helped create the viper's nest she later exposed in over 600 paqes of difficult to read complaining.
Yet I read it all. I thought the bitter and mean-spirited texture of the book, with it's raw self-revelation/loathing theme, would have some gentler conclusion, message, or lesson learned by the author. It didn't. As tough as Julia Phillips was, she never beat her addiction...to Hollywood.
Julia lost sight of the fact that though she was singular in a particular era of film making, she was not unique in the battle with the temptations of self-medication, or the quest for happiness we all make. This "but I'm so special as a woman" sexist vein is the glue that held this book together, and would have been acceptable to the reader if we could feel at the end that Julia ever really "got it". I found the book drew me into the nastiness, though it seemed obvious the fine details of every deal or friendship were written for insiders. Name- dropping as the weapon of choice.
We all love the movies; have our favorite actors and directors; we like to believe there really is some impossible magic, and that true artistry will win out and be noticed in a flood of wannabes.
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