Sir Roger Moore jokingly admits that he wanted to call this book ‘One Lucky Bastard’, but his publishers tutted, so it’s called Last Man Standing instead.
There’s a poignancy to that title. As Moore admits, almost everyone he regales us with tales of is dead. He’s the one lucky bastard left to put pen to paper. Which is lucky for us too.
Moore told CultBox recently: “I’ve been pretty fortunate in meeting so many wonderful people.”
Unlike his autobiography My Word is my Bond, Last Man Standing is less a memoir and more a drawer full of memories; snapshots from Moore’s own life or remembered stories of some of Hollywood’s finest recounted to him by some of Hollywood’s other finest, no doubt over a cigarette and a half-empty bottle of something or other.
Each vignette is brought vividly to the page by Moore’s natural skill as a raconteur. In his ability to be witty and genuine, and fond for (almost) everyone he talks about, each little tale feels like a raucous dinner party anecdote told to you while the cognac is still being swirled in the glass.
Bond fans might be disappointed that there aren’t really any Double-0 stories, but Last Man Standing is less about Moore and more about the world he worked in and the people he forged friendships with. It’s a delicious peek at the shiniest fixtures of Tinseltown outside of the lime-light.
So we’re told such stories as Ray Milland’s wife walking in on her husband administering a suppository to an attractive actress, just how much Rex Harrison hated Julie Andrews as they worked together on-stage in My Fair Lady, and Sir John Mills’ party trick of setting fire to his ferocious guffs. Moore’s retelling of how flabbergastingly parsimonious Tony Curtis was on and off the set of The Persuaders! is particularly entertaining.
He has lived a life James Bond would envy. Name any 20th century film star and Sir Rog will likely either have shared a cocktail with them on a balcony at Cap Ferrat or played cards with them on set. The book is filled with pictures of him looking young and lithe, and usually hip to hip with a famous Hollywood beauty. The index pages alone read like the guest list of an Oscars after-party in Heaven.
It’s all so fantastically glamorous and yet the prose keeps you from feeling like you’re being kept behind a velvet rope. Moore revels in the personalities and friendships of actors rather than their fame.
This is his invitation for us to join him on a personal tour, not only of one celebrity’s memories, but of the entertainment industry as a whole. What more of Moore could you ask?
Published on Thursday 4 September 2014 by Michael O’Mara.
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