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Kinski Uncut: The Autobiography of Klaus…
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Kinski Uncut: The Autobiography of Klaus Kinski (original 1988; edition 1997)

by Klaus Kinski, Joachim Neugroschel (Translator)

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269698,589 (3.84)5
This autobiography recounts the life of the German actor Klaus Kinski. It tells of his tortured childhood in the poverty of pre-war Berlin - starving, stealing, perpetually frost-bitten - his conscription, at the age of 16, into the German army, the last of World War II, and on through his rise to international stardom as a film actor.… (more)
Member:meritocrat
Title:Kinski Uncut: The Autobiography of Klaus Kinski
Authors:Klaus Kinski
Other authors:Joachim Neugroschel (Translator)
Info:Penguin (Non-Classics) (1997), Paperback, 336 pages
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Kinski Uncut: The Autobiography of Klaus Kinski by Klaus Kinski (1988)

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Showing 4 of 4
En noviembre de 1991, el actor Klaus Kinski fue encontrado sin vida en su casa de California, cuando, al parecer, llevaba muerto más de veinticuatro horas. Pocos creyeron que Kinski falleciera realmente «por causas naturales». En efecto, alguien que dice de sí mismo «soy como una bestia con uñas. Si no fuera actor, me habría convertido en asesino o mártir» no puede morir como todo el mundo. Estas memorias nos aclaran la razón profunda, casi intolerable, de su extraño comportamiento.

Hacia ya mucho tiempo que teníamos noticia de estas memorias suyas cuando finalmente, en la primavera de 1991, pudimos leerlas. Comprobamos con estupor que se trataba de una confesión descarada y escandalosamente íntima, escrita sin temor ni pudor, de un hombre exasperado, a la búsqueda incansable de un afecto que jamás supo conseguir o conservar, y cuya ansiedad acabó resolviéndose siempre, a cada instante, en sexo a secas, sin rodeos, sin máscaras, en todas las posibles facetas, hasta sus últimas consecuencias, desde las más triviales y fortuitas hasta las más violentas y sórdidas La obsesión de Kinski por el sexo sólo es comparable a la adicción del heroinómano. Vida y sexo no son sino una y única cosa..

De no ser por la descarnada sinceridad que rezuma todo el libro, el lector podría pensar a priori —tal es el infierno que describe Kinski como propio de su vida— que hay en él simple provocación y escándalo. Pero nadie que lea esta confesión estremecedora, nada halagadora para el autor, puede ser llevado a engaño. Hoy, ya fallecido él a los 65 años, se convierte, además, en un valioso documento autobiográfico.
  ArchivoPietro | Oct 25, 2020 |
This is one of the craziest books I ever read. It really is about the search for love, but also deals with insanity, fantasy, and a strange kind of humour. ( )
  billycongo | Jul 22, 2020 |
The man's writing is just as flamboyant and exaggerated as his acting was. The penultimate egoist, this book reads like a ploy to perpetuate his image, or the image he would like everyone to regard. Half the stuff I just don't believe - he comes off as a sociopath who only randomly excuses his behavior because he has "so much love to give" - but "love" might be a mistranslation of "sex" - because I didn't see any love at all: to his wives, his children, his friends (of which he never mentions). Nonetheless, I enjoyed the nature of Kinski's prose and his tales of extreme poverty throughout his childhood, even up to his early adult years, are intriguing. Painted here is a man who was willing to sacrifice everything for his art - which is about the only redeeming quality of this book. ( )
  NateJordon | May 6, 2010 |
Truth or fiction? Probably both. And it doesn't matter. A must for any fan of Werner Herzog films. ( )
  pgolkin | Aug 31, 2007 |
Showing 4 of 4
THE motion picture industry, which has enough trouble producing films worth watching, produces almost no books worth reading. Kinski Uncut is a notable exception. In 323 uncompromisingly pornographic pages, the once volcanic, though now deceased, German actor devotes about 90 per cent of his time to talking about the hundreds of women he seduced in a life that ended in 1991, about 6 per cent of the time evening scores with directors like Werner Herzog, and about 4 per cent of the time discussing his art. Those of us who have long suspected that acting is merely what striking-looking people do when they are not fornicating will be pleased by Kinski's admirable sense of proportion...

A boisterously scatological prose stylist, Kinski has written a book that is almost impossible to quote. Suffice to say that Kinski Uncut is the sort of book that would make Henry Miller, Jean Genet and possibly even Charlie Sheen blush. This is first-class depravity... Kinski Uncut is not a book you should give to your girlfriend, your mother-in-law or Bill Bennett. Yet, despite its coarseness, it is probably one of the most compelling books ever written by an actor. In an industry where swaggering thespians are forever publishing ghost-written autobiographies that tell absolutely no tales out of school, Kinski has the nerve to call Billy Wilder a boor, Claude Lelouch a rat and Federico Fellini a cheapskate. Whatever his faults as a human being, he wasn't afraid to speak his mind. Or what passed for a mind.
added by SnootyBaronet | editWall Street Journal, Joe Queenan (Nov 19, 1996)
 
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Epigraph
We are cripples, we artists. Our art is nothing, because our tools are too dull to get at the essence and express it. Christ alone has that ability. He affects us directly without writing, without painting; at every moment he transforms his entire life into an artwork. — Vincent van Gogh
Dedication
For my son, Nanhoi, whom I love more than anything in the world.
First words
“Wanted: Jesus Christ. Occupation: worker. Address: unknown.
Quotations
Beauty and the Beast for ABC in Hollywood. I think of Cocteau’s magical film. I can’t think of anything else, not even when I read the hair-raising script, which degrades the most beautiful of all fairy tales to banal Hollywood trash.
Herzog is a miserable, hateful, malevolent, avaricious, money-hungry, nasty, sadistic, treacherous, cowardly creep. His so-called “talent” consists of nothing but tormenting helpless creatures and, if necessary, torturing them to death or simply murdering them. He doesn’t care about anyone or anything except his wretched career as a so-called filmmaker. Driven by a pathological addiction to sensationalism, he creates the most senseless difficulties and dangers, risking other people’s safety and even their lives—just so he can eventually say that he, Herzog, has beaten seemingly unbeatable odds.
He [Herzog] should be thrown alive to the crocodiles. An anaconda should strangle him slowly. A poisonous spider should sting him and paralyze his lungs. The most venomous serpent should bite him and make his brain explode!
How can anyone believe that you can 'learn' how to feel and learn how to express it? But far worse than the morons who think they can learn these things are the people who claim they can teach them. In the end, they teach bad manners. If one of their trained poodles sits down in public, he doesn't sit -- he slouches, which is supposed to mean that his behavior is 'natural.' He or she scratches his or her head and picks his or her nose, which is supposed to mean that he or she has no complexes and acts very spontaneously.
I’ve now let the word out that I’ll be interviewed only by female journalists. Not that they’re smarter or more talented, but at least I can nurture some hope of getting a good fuck. If a newspaper, a radio station, or a TV network calls up my agency, I have them find out whether the woman’s pretty and how old she is. If she claims she’s pretty, then for safety’s sake I agree to meet her at the agency. I can always split.
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This autobiography recounts the life of the German actor Klaus Kinski. It tells of his tortured childhood in the poverty of pre-war Berlin - starving, stealing, perpetually frost-bitten - his conscription, at the age of 16, into the German army, the last of World War II, and on through his rise to international stardom as a film actor.

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