February 16, 2004 12:00 PM

By Joe Eszterhas


Easily and sleazily the most outrageous, obnoxious and just plain filthy movie-biz memoir of all time, Eszterhas’s 736-page (!) confession of his sex-crazed, drug-addled days as a screenwriter (Basic Instinct) leaves no Sharon Stone unturned. Say what you will about the Hungarian refugee-turned-La-La-Land lothario—he’s bitter, he’s delusional, he hasn’t had one of his scripts made into a flick since 1998—but don’t accuse him of pulling punches. This guy burns bridges the way Barry Bonds hits homers. Sly Stallone, Elizabeth Berkley and Michael Ovitz: Get ready for your closeups.

The egomaniacal bard behind such subtle masterworks as Showgirls (which he says has a “deeply religious message”) spills the bawdy beans on half of Hollywood. His favorite punching bags are producer Robert Evans, who appears as a coke-loving gigolo, and starlet Stone, fleshed out as a pot-smoking home wrecker. Shameless and fearless, Eszterhas is the perfect guy to tattle on Tinseltown. He’s a surprisingly engaging writer, and he isn’t too proud to dish about himself, giving us a lascivious play-by-play of cheating on his first wife with the wife of his best friend, who just happened to be having an affair with—Sharon Stone. Hoo boy! Get ready to feel guilty in the morning.

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