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A review of Shirley MacLaine's
My Lucky Stars: A Hollywood Memoir
By Carol Huebner
Let's get the wisecrack taken care of: Of which of MacLaine's lives is this a memoir? Answer: Her Hollywood life. Now
that that's taken care of, it can be said that this is an excellent book. Answering the question, "How did you manage to retain the
capacity to have your feelings hurt?," the memoir describes the making of several movies, figures important to MacLaine during her
career, what it was like to co-star with her leading men, discovering the truth about her husband, and details about her love affairs.
MacLaine offers a lot of analysis and interpretation. If you have read any of her other books, you may recognize and become impatient
with the tone. You may not want to be told again that "we can do something about who we are. We can do nothing about anyone else."
Perhaps other Hollywood stars would remember or interpret incidents differently. Interviews or their own memoirs might reveal a
different Danny Kaye or Robert Mitchum. Certainly some of MacLaine's analyses refute popular perceptions about Jerry Lewis
and Dean Martin, for example. If the standard for judging any memoir is the extent to which it provides juicy, previously unknown tidbit
about famous people, then this book deserves an 'A'.
Her closing suggestion that if actors had received more love and attention as children, they might not have needed Hollywood might
give a reader pause. But not enough to outweigh the lively candor of the whole book.
Bantam Books: 381 pp., $22.95
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