I know many of my friends just laughed when I told them that I was excited about Val Kilmer’s memoir. I’m not sure if they were laughing because there are rumors he is a little odd, because his movies are few and far between, or because they know I’m a little obsessed with the show Psych, full of Val Kilmer references. Who knows? The fact that it came out in the middle of the shitsami known as 2020 made it even more welcome. To me, at least. I’m a little biased because I love the guy and think he’s a bit of a misunderstood genius. The book confirmed it.
Here’s your first startling fact: This motherfucker is DEEP. Not deep in manure like Cheeto Face, but deep as in significant thoughts and ennui out the wazoo (probably not the best choice in visuals). I took my time reading it, because there was a lot of serious thought processing coming to life on the pages. It’s not The Tibetan Book of the Dead, but it’s also not Archie comics, either. There is a lot of discussion toward the reader not just about his upbringing and career, but also about his Method acting, his thoughts on the spiritual plain, his love life, Hollyweird, Marlon Brando, Cher, and the current state of the world we live in. Here’s your second startling fact: This motherfucker is funny. Dry, sarcastic humor. The type that registers hours after you read/hear it. Typical Capricorn. Really, I cannot recommend it highly enough to read during this pandemic. Puts a lot of perspective in your pipe to smoke. Definitely one of the better nonfiction books that I have read this year.