Okay, so at least you're interested enough to pick up this book and look inside. I think you and I are going to get along just fine.
Life is full of choices. Right now, yours is whether or not to buy the autobiography of a mid-grade, kind of hammy actor.
Am I supposed to know this guy? you think to yourself.
No, and that's exactly the point. Bookstores are chock full of household name actors and their high stakes shenanigans. I don't want to be a spoilsport, but we've all been down that road before.
Case in point: look to your left - see that Judy Garland book? You don't need that, you know plenty about her already - great voice, crappy life. Now look to your right at the Charlton Heston book. You don't need to cough up hard-earned dough for that either. You know his story too - great voice, crappy toupee.
The truth is that though you might not have a clue who I am, there are countless working stiffs like me out there, grinding away every day at the wheel of fortune.
If Chins Could Kill: Confessions of a B Movie Actor is my first book, and I invite you to ride with me through the choppy waters of blue collar Hollywood.
Okay, so buy the damned book already and read like the wind!
Best,
Bruce Campbell
P.S. If the book sucks, at least there are gobs of pictures, and they're not crammed in the middle like all those other actor books.
Chapter One
The Proving Grounds
There is an L-shaped scar on the left side of my chin. People always ask me how I got it and I've told them everything from "One dark night in Bombay," to "A scuffle with bad, bad, Leroy Brown ..."
In actuality, it came about because I was a fearless kid. I played outside a great deal of the time, in any weather and in suburban Detroit, Michigan, that's saying something. In this age where laser surgery rushes to correct every imperfection, I'm not going to touch that scar—it reminds me of too much fun.
Bilbo Baggins would have felt right at home in my neighborhood—it was a magical place. The Braes of Bloomfield was created by commuters hoping to get away from the faded glory of the Motor City, and the results were impressive. As a kid exploring the woods between these upper-middle-class homes, the city might as well have been a million miles away.
Unlike the embarrassing names attributed to subdivisions today—like "Pine Meadows," where there are neither pine trees nor meadows—if a street in my neighborhood was called Old Orchard, it was because there used to be an orchard on that very spot. Rogue trees in many of the yards still produced apples.
With street names like Braemoor, Idlewyle, and Darramoor, you'd think you were in rural Scotland. Most of the traditional ranch-style homes weren't all that big, but they had land around them. The best part of all is that there were virtually no fences—this was long before the"planned" communities of today, with guard gates, motion-sensitive lighting, and Neighborhood Watches.
Our neighborhood had an epic feel to it, and this broad range provoked a sense of unlimited possibility. As a result, the three Campbell boys (Mike, Don and Bruce) were "free range" and could explore at will.
I am the youngest of the three. Don is a year older. He and I wound up spending more time together than with Mike, six years our senior, but there were plenty of industrious summers spent as a threesome.
Sibling Rivals
Don and I were often mistaken as twins, although I still wonder why—his reddish brown hair and hazel eyes were a great contrast to my dark brown hair and muddy brown eyes.
As is normal for siblings, we competed for everything—particularly Mom's attention. That became obvious to me one school morning as I leaned down to buckle up my rain boots at the top of the stairs. Don saw this as the perfect opportunity to eliminate me from his world, so he planted a foot against my butt and shoved. T tumbled forward, sure of my fate, but Mom jabbed a finger into my belt loop and held me aloft just long enough to grab the railing.
This incident, no doubt, contributed to an altercation in our front yard years later. After provoking Don for some unknown reason, he chased me across our front lawn in a rage. Somewhere along my escape route, I managed to snag a screwdriver. As Don swung his fist, I raised the Phillips head and it promptly became impaled in his wrist.
"You stabbed me!" Don screamed, incredulous.
"I did not. You swung at me and I defended myself."
Aside from the occasional near-death experiences, Don and I actually got along well. As we aged and grew, our "roughhousing" became not only discouraged but feared. Epic wrestling matches encompassed the entire house and resulted in broken furniture. The fact that we were both on the junior high wrestling team only made things worse for my mother.
"What's the problem, Mom? We're practicing ..."
In the late sixties, war films like Kelly's Heroes, The Devil's Brigade and The Dirty Dozen seemed to be everywhere. Our favorite TV show, Combat, only encouraged this preoccupation with war, and Vic Morrow soon became my first favorite actor. He was the embodiment of laid-back cool and I loved how his cigarettes bounced on the edge of his mouth when he talked.
Years later, I worked with Michael Caffey, who had directed several Combat episodes. Instead of asking him for motivation, all I cared to know was who could kick whose ass—Vic Morrow or his commanding officer, Rick Jason? Don, on the other hand, was partial to the character Kirby because he had the coolest gun—a Browning automatic rifle.
Don took all this make-believe stuff a little too seriously. The difference between us was fundamental: I'd watch Combat and think, Gee, it would be fun to be an actor like that guy. Don would watch the same scene and think, Gee, it would be fun to be that guy. He went on to join the army reserves and got to play the ultimate "war game" in Kuwait during Desert Storm.
Don and I passed many hours with G.I. Joes. We had the basic ones—the Russian, the Cadet, the Japanese guy, the German—who didn't? They were cool, but unless you were Billy Jazinski, the spoiled rich kid down the street, there was a limit to how many you owned.
Fighting with "Joes" meant that our military engagements were restricted to "skirmishes." That wasn't enough for the post-World War II, pre-Vietnam kids that we were—Don and I wanted to stage full-scale invasions!
The only way to do this was with those little green army men. Down at the brand-new Toys "R" Us, a bag of what seemed like hundreds only cost a couple bucks.
Somehow, it didn't seem right reenacting D day in our living room. Too may soldiers fell behind the sofa, so the great outdoors became the place to rumble.
The backyard, however, was a no-go. Our basset hound, Nuisance, reigned supreme back there. The dangers of fighting in her territory were twofold: running the risk of having entire platoons chewed to death or, even worse, mounting a frontal assault through scattered piles of "dog dirt."
Our front lawn wasn't much better. There were too many trees and tall grass, so battles weren't practical. We'd lose a dozen of them with each "engagement" and Dad sliced any MIAs to ribbons mowing the lawn each Saturday. Of course, that wasn't all bad, because we could round up their shredded carcasses and use them as "casualties." Even at that tender age, we knew war was heck.
Our driveway proved to be a better staging area for campaigns. Because it was dirt, you had a good color contrast and we never lost a single green man. The driveway was also elevated above the lawn on fieldstone. This was ideal, because a defending army (usually Don's) could hole up in hundreds of nooks and it might take an entire weekend to flush them out.
A garden hose added the element of water. With it, an army could be flooded out into the open, where they could easily be massacred. The defending army in this case (usually me) had a certain amount of time to build up damlike fortifications until the evil attacker turned the hose on, unleashing torrents of water. The battles usually were declared over when either the water broke through the defender's dam, or Mom came back from the grocery store.
Eventually, the thrill of these games wore off, so Don and I resorted to more drastic measures: burning the little green men into puddles of goo. In the late sixties, before Ralph Nader halted all the fun in the world, the plastic used in those army guys must have been toxic—they made the coolest zzziiiiip, zzziiiiip, zzziiiiip noise with each burning drip. This game evolved into "lava tossing," where you flung the napalmlike substance at your opponent (or brother), as it dripped from the melting man.
Mom stopped us before Nader did, though, because one day a big flaming blob of plastic sizzled its way into my finger. I am reminded of this, happily, every time I type.
Born in 1952, my oldest brother Mike was a child of the Cold War. His favorite TV show, hands down, was Man From U.N.C.L.E., so everything he was interested in revolved around espionage. To protect sensitive information—sent mostly from himself to himself—he spent hours creating elaborate codes and writing them into tiny paper books. There was the Code of the Pointing Sticks, the Words-for-Numbers Code, and who could forget the O.O.R.A. Code (Off and On Reversible Alpha Code).
When not saving the world from evil invaders, Mike was making stuff. Never one for those goofy shop class projects, Mike went right to the real deal—like a memory device, an electric "stop" light over his doorway, and a metal locator.
It made sense that Mike went into computers because his mind worked like one. He made lists of everything: untrustworthy people (Don and I were often on it), his weekly income from 1959 through 1967 (in cents), and secret hand-to-hand combat routines. To this day, I still rely on "Routine number 6" (to "run headlong into them and tackle them") whenever I'm confronted by an enemy.
Rules of Engagement
Mike's use of extensive lists came in handy when it came time to determine the "rules" of our childhood. In a household of three boys who were always tormenting each other, a system of rules and fines was drafted and strictly adhered to. Many contained wording that would make a contract lawyer proud and all fines were "payable on demand."
It became our own brand of justice that addressed issues important to us all. A rule stating that Don owns half of the hall in front of Don's room was a key property right. The rule If Don or Bruce leaves or throws belongings in my room, they are mine unless they want to pay 20¢ seemed a bit harsh, but I'm sure it was just Mike's way of saying "leave me the hell alone."
Simple crimes, like borrowing stuff without permission, calling names or socking someone only cost the perpetrator 5¢. More obscure offenses, like hanging around doorway, fooling with light switches, or Mike's legislative masterpiece, squealing when I want to look at something Don or Bruce has, shot up to 10¢.
Some rules were obviously the result of either a pet peeve, or a very specific incident. There would otherwise be no explanation for the 20¢ fine of taking something from me while I was looking at it, or the 40¢ whopper for damaging rocket controls. In our draconian world, you could even be fined for suspicion.
Some rules, however, did make sense. In the tight quarters of a garage fort, it was simply a matter of decency to place a ban on "dirtey boots or shous" (spelling unaltered) and "letting gassers."
Of course, all of these rules did absolutely nothing to stop the sibling abuse. Mike once laid out detailed plans to raid Don's left-hand drawer in his half of the room (that he and I shared) that included an overhead diagram, complete with escape routes and a comprehensive list of excuses to use if he got caught. For some reason, even though Don did "hit, disobey, lie, steal stuff, and destroy," I don't think my mom would have let Mike off the hook.
Because these "raids" happened so often, we each devised ways to protect our "secret stuff." Mike hid things in every possible nook and cranny—I know, because I went through them all. Don often moved his precious things around, or hid them in "secret books." With a sharp razor blade, usually from Dad's shaver, he hollowed out numerous hard-cover masterpieces from the living room. It wasn't hard to spot which ones were bogus—War and Peace isn't usually paired with The Cat in the Hat on a ten-year-old's shelf.
Because invading each other's room was such a big deal, I had to do it as often as possible. One day, a plan to bother Don worked flawlessly. I raced into his room, made all kinds of noise and stole a white gym sock. Don was close on my heels as I ran away down the hall and ducked into the bathroom. As he entered the doorway, he saw me flush what he thought was his sock down the toilet.
"What did you do that for?! I'll kill you!"
In reality, I had ditched Don's real sock as I entered the bathroom and flushed a strip of white toilet paper (preplaced) into the septic tank. In the end, our fines evened out, because Don promptly gave me a thrashing—roughly equal to my 30¢ worth of transgressions. I wouldn't have been surprised if Don invented a fine for pretending to flush socks down the toilet.
Even the bathroom wasn't a reliable sanctuary. There was a lock on the door, sure, but it could easily be opened with a credit card. To combat this, a drawer by the door could be pulled out to block the way. This worked until Mike drilled a hole through the wall of our linen closet and rigged a coat hanger to the drawer itself.
I mocked Don through the door one day, protected by the door lock, only to look down and see the drawer magically slide back in all by itself.
"You were saying?" Don said, as he pushed the door open and began beating the grunt out of me.
Industrial-Strength Fun
Mike took charge of building a playhouse in our backyard. The end product wasn't some cute cardboard house with a couple of windows—it was a three-quarter-scale tank.
His plan was to make a mobile war machine that could presumably attack things and/or people. Taking into account all materials needed to build the tank, including plywood, two-by-fours, steering wheel, gun barrel, catapult, rubber slings, mirrors, fan belts and a pulley system, Mike estimated that the total weight would be 387 1/2 pounds with occupants. I'll bet he wasn't far off. The only scheme that never came to bear was mounting the damn thing on Dad's riding lawn mower.
To defend against attacking neighbors, we armed ourselves with cracker balls, rolls of caps, sparklers, balloons, squirt guns, sling shot rifles, rubber band shooters and the dreaded Ivory Liquid detergent bottles—the Super Soaker of their day. We used to beg Mom to buy the Ivory brand bottles because they had the best nozzles and could blast water the farthest. Mike was the best at this, because his hands were stronger. With a good squeeze, he could drench Don or me from twenty feet away. Over time, we learned to rinse the bottles out well—a soapy shot in the eye could ruin your whole afternoon.
The experience of building the tank only fueled other summer projects—like the tunnel. To protect ourselves from parental meddling, we always referred to it by the backward code name of "Lennut."
The first challenge was to choose a good dig site. To insure privacy, we picked a spot in the adjacent woods, but we had to be careful because tunneling too close to a large tree meant hassling with roots. Once we had the site, we excavated a horizontal trench and reinforced the sides with two-by-fours. This was then covered with plywood, six inches of dirt and plenty of camouflage. Now, we could begin digging the main shaft, which went straight down, until we hit water. To communicate with the outside world, a garden hose was lowered through a hole in the roof.
Play time in the "Lennut" was anything but—it was backbreaking work. After school, on weekends and even during vacations, we'd dig with hand trowels, chop and burn off roots, reinforce the walls, then dig some more. To provide a better working environment, Mike came up with an ingenious method of providing candlelight in a series of carved alcoves and even manufactured glow-in-the-dark candles from phosphorescent crayons.
Eventually, Don squealed about the use of candles, which was forbidden, and Dad gave the order to fill it in. We obeyed, but soon thereafter, Mike built a doghouse, supposedly for our basset hound, but it was ultimately just a front for a hidden tunnel entrance and we started the process all over again.
Most kids came home at lunch with grass stains. Mike, Don and I were a little more "earthy" than that, but it dawned on us that we could apply our extensive landscape knowledge to a project that wouldn't collapse, wouldn't get our knees muddy and didn't fill up with water every ten days—a golf course!
The Campbell/Ebbing Miniature Golf Course was next door, in neighbor Mike Ebbing's backyard. This club turned out to be very exclusive, mainly since few people actually played it, and our rule book (as you might expect) was more restrictive than the PGA's. People who brought in forged certificates or coupons, for example, were to be "escorted off the grounds," a measure that also applied to people with "malicious intentions," whatever that meant. No other "vendors" could sell their goods on or near the course unless a vast majority of the profit (between eighty and ninety-nine percent) went directly to the organizers—we didn't even give cut rates for people who brought their own clubs or balls.
Even with rampant overmanaging, we did make money—37¢ one day, $1.72 another. Personally, I lost interest in this venture when Don caught me in the bridge of my nose with a wicked backswing.
Soon, brother Mike was old enough to be more interested in girls and cars, so Don and I had to tackle any new construction projects by ourselves. Michigan is all about trees, so we decided to build the "mother of all tree forts" in the Tylers' backyard.
Our growing neighborhood provided all the building materials we would ever need. At any one time, there would be half a dozen homes under construction within walking distance. Don and T would sneak out at night, under the guise of going to Scott Tyler's house, and haul rolls of tar paper, wood scraps and nails through the woods back to our "house."
The completed palace was impressive. There was a main level, comprised of a rumpus room, with several "guest" rooms off to each side. The second story was a smaller, single room and above it was a crow's nest. Don was the only one who ventured up there because it was just too high. Built over an entire summer, this wasn't a fort—it was a fortress, with a shingled roof, wall-to-wall carpeting and power, thanks to a buried extension cord to the Tylers' house.
This refuge also served as a proving ground for adulthood.
Here, commerce took on a whole new meaning. Judy, a close neighbor, was an adventurous lass. She was happy to dole out a "squeeze" at 10¢ a pop. Let's be clear—a "squeeze" meant wrapping a clammy hand around her breast and holding on until she brushed it away. My day in the sun came when I saw a dollar hanging out of Judy's back pocket. Being an opportunist, I snatched it and bought ten of the most protracted squeezes you could imagine.
My buddy Bruce Clark was a man of the world. He had, for a short time, co-starred in an English TV show, The Double Deckers, so he was the coolest guy to hang around with. His garage fort was a great place to talk about some of the cute girls he met while "on location." Though I had no experiences to relate, the fact that we even talked about them was huge and seemed to consume days on end.
Bruce was convinced that girls liked performers, so we put together a dance routine to The Monkees "Last Train to Clarksville" and presented it to Ms. Butcher's third-grade class. It got a big response from the girls all right—in the form of laughter.
I threw out my Beatle Boots as soon as I got home.
Ground Control to Major Mike ...
Mike was Chairman of Research and Development for OOMPH—the Organization to Observe and Manufacture Phenomena of the Heavens. The translation of this mumbo-jumbo was that he liked to build UFOs and send them skyward. Don and I were his willing apprentices.
A staple of the time was the Estes Rocket. They had to be assembled from a kit that included the rocket, balsa wood fins, rocket engine and the parachute. All we had to supply was a dry cell battery to ignite the engine.
These fancy rockets were exciting to watch, but the expense was prohibitive, especially when you considered the short amount of time they were actually airborne, so we opted instead to build home-grown UFOs. These came in the form of a dry cleaning bag, held open at the mouth by a cross of balsa wood struts. Simple birthday candles, glued to the struts, provided the heat needed to fill up the bag and keep it aloft. Once we got the hang of it, a successfully launched craft would rise up slowly above the treetops, then hang for an eternity until a cross wind caught it and took it away to goodness-knows-where.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from IF CHINS COULD KILL by Bruce Campbell. Copyright © 2001 by Bruce Campbell. Excerpted by permission.
| Foreword | vii | |
| Introduction | xi | |
| 1. | The Proving Grounds | 1 |
| 2. | I Beheld the Future, and the Future Was Play | 19 |
| 3. | The Assembly of Like-Minded Individuals | 23 |
| 4. | High (jinks) School | 35 |
| 5. | Super-Duper-8 | 41 |
| 6. | First Look Under the Hood | 45 |
| 7. | "College Schmollege" | 51 |
| 8. | Low Man on a Greased Totem | 55 |
| 9. | Driving Miss Crazy | 59 |
| 10. | The Humble Beginning of the Humble Beginning | 63 |
| 11. | The Midwest Is the Thing | 65 |
| 12. | The "Prototype" | 69 |
| 13. | There's No Budget Like Low-Budget | 73 |
| 14. | Three Schmoes in Search of a Clue | 77 |
| 15. | "Do You Validate?" | 81 |
| 16. | The Quest for Moolah | 83 |
| 17. | What Else Have I Got to Do for the Next Six Weeks? | 91 |
| 18. | "On Your Marks, Get Set ..." | 101 |
| 19. | Aftermath | 119 |
| 20. | The Quest for Moolah--Part II | 127 |
| 21. | The First Picture Show | 135 |
| 22. | Birth of a Salesman | 137 |
| 23. | La-La-Land | 143 |
| 24. | Beware the Spores | 147 |
| 25. | Playing Kick the Cannes | 151 |
| 26. | The Downside of the Upside | 153 |
| 27. | Working in the Industry | 155 |
| 28. | The First "Hollywood" Film | 161 |
| 29. | Back to Basics | 171 |
| 30. | Go West, Young Man | 177 |
| 31. | Ca$hing in on the Cult | 183 |
| 32. | The Dark Side of Ambition | 189 |
| 33. | Second Time Is the Charm | 201 |
| 34. | A Fly on the Darkman Wall | 203 |
| 35. | Evil Dead Goes Hollywood | 207 |
| 36. | Anatomy of a Paycheck | 217 |
| 37. | Long Live the "Hud" | 219 |
| 38. | Life in the Fast Lane | 223 |
| 39. | Be Quick, or You're Dead | 233 |
| 40. | A Madness to My Method | 237 |
| 41. | Fanalysis | 245 |
| 42. | Doing the TV Shuffle | 251 |
| 43. | "X" Marks the Spot | 257 |
| 44. | Quest for the Holy Grail | 259 |
| 45. | The Higher the Budget, the Lower the Part | 263 |
| 46. | Messin' with the Myth | 275 |
| 47. | Suiting Up | 279 |
| 48. | Leather and Mace | 285 |
| 49. | Xena: Warrior Spin-Off | 289 |
| 50. | Full Circle | 293 |
| 51. | What You Don't See Is What You Get | 297 |
| Acknowledgments | 299 |
Barnes & Noble.com: Has your distinctive look hurt, or has it helped you get roles?
Bruce Campbell: Probably both. I'm sure that having defined features helped land the hero roles, but they may have hindered me when trying to land a particularly interesting role where the character didn't look anything like me.
B&N.com: You're considered to have a "cult following." Are you happy with that?
BC: I'm not sure what the whole "cult" thing is, or how it's defined, but I'm happy to have a fan base of folks who will support what I do. Hopefully, my book will be something of a reward for them, because there are dozens upon dozens of never-before-seen photos and gobs of all that fun, behind-the-scenes stuff.
B&N.com: Is it true you auditioned to replace David Duchovny on The X-Files?
BC: Very true. It was down to about three of us. I think Robert Patrick is very good for the role -- he fits that dead-serious, X-Files world very well.
B&N.com: Do you see a future for yourself as a director?
BC: I do. I've been directing television since 1994, and I look forward to applying what I've learned in the feature film arena. That'll be a long-term goal, however, since I haven't given up my day job yet...
B&N.com: You seem to have a good relationship with your fans -- why do you think that is?
BC: Well, I guess it's because I'm pretty available. Folks can email me if they want, or peruse my web site, or meet me at a convention. I also think that it's important for an actor to get a glimpse of who's supporting you -- what the folks like and what they don't. It's also a way to break down the fame mystique.
B&N.com: Is it true you'll be making a cameo appearance in the Spider-Man film?
A: Darn tootin'. I just completed that, as well as a small role in Jim Carrey's The Majestic, and a supporting role in Servicing Sara as Elizabeth Hurley's ex-husband.
B&N.com: What's the TV or film role you'd "kill" to do?
BC: Well, I try not to play that game, because it's so maddening, but I really enjoyed all those films noirs in the '40s -- they had a style and coolness that really appeals to me. So, if black-and-white ever comes back into style, I'll be ready!
Anonymous
Posted February 9, 2009
I Also Recommend:
This Bio of B-movie sensation, Bruce Campbell is hilarious and delightful. If you are a fan of B-movies or Bruce himself you are in for a real treat. I learned a lot about the face of the Evil Dead series. He is creative, throughtful, funny, etc. I throughly enjoyed this book.
1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.
Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.ever wounder what an actor who name you never heard of, who's movies you probably heard of but never saw it. or who was in it but had a very small part, or who was in a cult classic horror movie that was spawn in to 2 other cult movies , and always being called by the name of the character he played in!<BR/><BR/>well thats the type of story that bruce campbell wrote with a bite .<BR/>he also talks about his past life and what happened when he became the superstar of the " B-rated" movie world. He reminds you of someones family member who tell stories about what happened when he was young....with anger, or just a guy who likes to rant!<BR/>he makes fun of the " a-list" world and shows the not - so glamours life called hollywood.<BR/> if you like to read a biographic book with an edge that is sharp as a knife then read this book <BR/>its really " GROOVEY"
1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.
Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.Soviet_Hero
Posted January 9, 2009
Widely considered a God among men, , Campbell's flawless intonation, facial expressions, and sheer awesomeness have dazzled millions for many years making him the best actor to roam the earth. Now Bruce is prolly going to be known as the best writer in history. This book is made of win and lulz. Reading this book will make you feel like an ant compared to all the epic things Bruce has done. From being in a lead role of a movie or having a minor role that makes any movie over 9000 times better. This book also makes helps you see what it feels to be a actor and what you must go through. All i have to say is this book should become the new bible.
1 out of 2 people found this review helpful.
Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.DGBQ
Posted September 10, 2012
ALL HAIL THE KING BABAY!
Mr Campbell, you should run for president and that's that.
Man oh man this book is lovely, simply LOVELY!
Highly recommended for anyone looking to read an awesome autobiography.
This book is great. I've read it from cover to cover and have decieded that this is just another reason why Bruce Campbell should be president.
Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.Anonymous
Posted February 16, 2009
I'm a fan of Bruce Campbell as the King of B-movies and knew his work before his current run on 'Burn Notice.' I first saw him on 'Briscoe' and only later saw the incredibly cheesy and funny 'Evil Dead' series. This book is an inside (and possibly romanticized) look at what he and his friends put themselves and their families through to achieve a measure of success in the biz. I don't know if there is a ghost-writer or if BC did all the work himself, but the book is very funny and made me like him more. BC comes across as a guy with whom you could have a beer and enjoy an evening, and not as another insufferable Hollywood arse who sees no meaning in life other than himself.
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Posted April 20, 2006
Bruce Campbell has really made one hell of a book. I was a big fan of his, and when he came out with 'If Chins Could Kill' I immedietly picked up a copy at Barnes and Noble and brought it home and read it. It's amazing how at the end of the book you feel as if you are Bruce's best friend. The laughs don't stop and it's well, just hilarious and interesting. I think every Bruce fan alive should read it if they haven't already.
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Posted October 12, 2005
The great thing about Bruce Campbell is he loves his work as a B - movie star, and it shows in his writing. He has some absolutely hilarious side bits about his work on all his movies and how he came to be. If you are a fan of his work, or just want something fun to read, look no further than this book right here.
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Posted June 20, 2005
This book is just plan fun. I enjoyed it on so many levels. It reminded me of my own childhood.The crazy shenanigans kids get themselves into, and how that effects who we are going into adulthood. The thing I really enjoy about Bruce's style, writing or otherwise, is his honesty. He tells the tale or conveys his message with complete disclosure, blemishes and all. That's pretty rare. Now it may mean that what we hear my mess with how we think something should be; but hey, the man does NOT guild the lily for anybody. This book is funny, sweet, full of Hollywood truisms and secrets, but most of all it gives us a little insight into the man himself. A portrait of the King of B-movie cinema, the good with the bad. Great read.
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Posted July 29, 2004
In my opinion Bruce Campbell is one of the greatest actors out there. He was great in Xena(which im watching right now: The King of Assassins) and in all his movies. Its intereseting to see what an actor has to get through to get where they are and this book shows it. Everyone should buy this book. Hopefully i could become an actor like Bruce Campbell.
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Posted July 9, 2004
I found this book while browsing through the book shelves at my local Barnes & Noble. I had heard of Bruce Campbell, especially in relation to the Evil Dead movies. I read the back and decided to buy it because it seemed like it would be funny. I was not disappointed. This book was HILARIOUS!!!!! After reading this book, Bruce became one of my new favorite actors. I am an aspiring actress and I was inspired by Bruce and his story of making it in the business. Bruce Campbell is a great actor and he has a good personality. I hope he writes another book one day because he is also a talented writer.
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Posted November 26, 2003
Bruce Campbell has been on of my favorite actors since I was first introduced to Evil Dead. Now what could be better than an Autobiography by the one and only 'King' himself. This book is full of fun and is definitely the most interesting piece of literature I've read in the past year. If you like Campbell or Evil Dead this book is meant for u!
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Posted November 13, 2002
Bruce Campbell his life, his times, his world, Ok Ok, its Bruce Campbell, Ash, Brisco County Jr., The King of thieves, not exactly the hero of mankind, but definitely a great actor, and better than 2/3s of the A-list hacks out there. This book gives us a peek into his life, with Bruce's bit of humor. I highly recommend this read to anyone, Bruce fan or not. Shows Hollywood from the working mans perspective.
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Posted September 23, 2002
I had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Campbell today at a book signing, and he was every bit as wry and gracious as I thought he'd be. The book is just as funny and entertaining as everything else he does.
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Posted July 20, 2011
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Posted July 9, 2009
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Posted February 22, 2010
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Anonymous
Posted June 28, 2009
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Posted November 17, 2009
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Posted June 7, 2010
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Overview
Okay, so at least you're interested enough to pick up this book and look inside. I think you and I are going to get along just fine.
Life is full of choices. Right now, yours is whether or not to buy the autobiography of a mid-grade, kind of hammy actor.
Am I supposed to know this guy? you think to yourself.
No, and that's exactly the point. Bookstores are chock full of ...