The Princess Diarist by Carrie Fisher
My rating: 4 of 5 stars
This was a tough book to read, and is a bittersweet review to write, knowing that this woman's witty, funny voice will not be heard again. Supposedly, Carrie Fisher was a top Hollywood "script doctor" (brought in to fix shooting scripts, often at the last minute) for years, and after reading this book, I can see why. Her writing abilities, to me, are especially evident in the prologue and the first three chapters, where her sardonic, snarky wit shines. This is encapsulated in a rather creepy anecdote told about Warren Beatty, her costar in her first movie, Shampoo.
Warren, the star, cowriter, and producer of Shampoo, was asked by the costume department if he wanted me to wear a bra under my tennis clothes or not. Warren squinted in the general direction of my breasts.
"Is she wearing one now?"
I stood there as if my breasts and I were somewhere else.
"Yes," responded Aggie, the costume designer.
Warren pursed his lips thoughtfully. "Let's see it without."
I followed Aggie to my hamster-cage trailer and removed my bra. Whereupon I was returned to Warren's scrutiny forthwith. Once again he squinted at my chest, impassively.
"And this is without?" he asked.
"Yes," Aggie groaned.
"Let's go without," he pronounced, directed, charged, commanded.
My breasts and I followed Aggie back to my dressing zone and the subject was closed.
Good heavens. That sort of thing would be enough to put me off acting permanently, and also watching Warren Beatty's movies.
Of course, the big reveal in this book is the fact that Fisher and co-star Harrison Ford had an affair during the filming of Star Wars. Mr. Ford, to be frank, does not come off very well in the telling. There was a fifteen-year age gap, and Fisher was an insecure young woman with incredibly low self-esteem, something Ford plainly recognized and took advantage of. Carrie Fisher writes about him from a place of hard-won perspective and dignity forty years later, and is far kinder to him than he deserves. (Screw these strong, silent, uncommunicative John Wayne types. This particular one was apparently good in the sack, but even if he hadn't been married at the time, I would have dropped him like a hot rock. Which, again, speaks to the inherent creepiness of the whole thing.) She also includes an extensive selection from the journal she kept during filming, most of which was naturally about the affair. Some of her poetry wasn't too bad, and as raw and unfiltered as her nineteen-year-old thoughts and emotions were, she did an excellent job of capturing them. One can see the glimmers here of the professional writer Carrie Fisher would become.
There are so many different directions this book could have gone, and I wish she had delved into the filming itself in more detail. Still, what I've read has encouraged me to look for her other work, and mourn the loss of this woman. RIP, Carrie.
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