Disclaimer: I have developed,
recently, quite a passion for salacious non-fiction; among them, the memoirs of
porn stars, pick-up artists, weirdo rock stars and dysfunctional politicians.
This review refers to the book that started it all.
This is the juicy, filthy memoir of a Hollywood ‘fixer’. Scotty Bowers, now 88, was a
Marine paratrooper, petrol pump attendant and bartender who carved a bizarre
niche for himself during Hollywood’s Golden Age.
For six decades he claims to have arranged or participated in the
sordid trysts of some of the biggest names: Katharine Hepburn, Vivien Leigh,
Edith Piaf, Spencer Tracy, Cary Grant, Tennessee Williams, Rita Hayworth, Bob
Hope, J Edgar Hoover and even the Duke of Windsor and ‘Wally’.
Although fascinating, Full
Service isn’t an easy book to read, for several reasons.
Chief among them is the reader’s growing skepticism about the book's
veracity, especially because almost so many of the celebs Bowers mentions are
long dead and unable to refute his accounts of their peccadilloes.
(Interestingly, Gore Vidal, who is apparently an old friend, vouches for
Bowers’ authenticity on the cover.)
The prose is also what we call ‘purple’: so extravagant or flowery
as to draw attention to itself. Purple prose is sexually suggestive beyond the
requirements of its context.
This could be why critics have been skeptical. “This is offensive
gibberish,” said The Daily Mail. “If you take it
as a novel, however, rather than non-fiction, it is weirdly impressive.” Yes,
there’s another way to look at the book, which reads like a historical document
– the Kinsey report, if you will, on the sex lives of the rich and famous.
(Bowers claims to have helped Alfred Kinsey research his famous book.)
The only endearing aspect of Full
Service is the author’s astonishing tolerance for the weirdness of human
passions. Nothing shocks him. He will describe some outrageous preference; then
say how charming the person was who held it.
If you're looking for a morality tale where Bowers eventually realises
the error of his ways, this isn’t it (Jenna Jameson’s How to Make Love like a Porn Star is – read that instead). But if
you're looking for an unvarnished account of the shenanigans of 1950s Hollywood
– and you like a good trashy read – Full
Service will enthrall you.
publicly glorified and then just-as-publicly crucified James Frey for writing an 'autobiographical account' of 
that was, actually, largely fiction, I snorted and harrumphed along with everyone else. The shyster! I thought. The liar. The cheat. I bet he can't even write.
so aptly puts it, 'Frey really can write. Brilliantly. And if you don't think so f*** you.' (Frey also has a sense of humour. His first page reads, 'Nothing in this book should be considered accurate or reliable.')
rips the glittery veil off the city of Los Angeles, revealing beneath its pocked and grimy skin, topped with a pair of fairly pretty (if bloodshot) eyes. To do so, Frey uses a cast of related-yet-unrelated characters who get up to mischief or sadden us or force us to recognise within them strong hints of real celebrities (look out for Tom Cruise, Perez Hilton and several others). Frey also injects each chapter with real-life facts, stats and figures about LA - some of which are, frankly, horrifying.
, anyway.