This book starts out so well — Busy has put up with a lot of shit during her years in Hollywood (I mean…James Franco alone…) and she pulls no punches calling out the hypocrisy and misogyny she has seen and fought.
“Men love a woman who laughs at the joke, especially if the joke is at her expense. “She’s so cool. She just gets it.”
Her happier stories are great reads, too — her triumphs and behind the scenes joys. But something starts to sort of slip about 2/3rds of the way through the book. She seems to have trouble balancing how much she wants to share about her personal life. And while I know it’s not my place to expect someone to divulge more personal details than they want to (although…it is a memoir…), she skips over enough about her marriage and her home life that it sort of confused me. Her husband sounds awful — I kept waiting for her to reveal that she finally left his ass — but instead she peppers stories of his indifference and sometimes even cruelty towards her with mentions of their decisions to buy a house and have a second child. I mean, it’s her life — it’s not like she can change what happened or how she chose to handle major life decisions. It just seemed tonally weird. I appreciate her bravery in bringing so much light to injustice in her work, so maybe that just made the contrast with her stories of her personal life seem starker.