Bridge, Nobody's Fool, The Road to Perdition, and the voice role of Doc Hudson in Disney-Pixar's Cars. I recognize it in almost anything: plumbers, museum guides, limousine drivers, bank tellers—I delight in seeing it. This was at times difficult to listen to because as he points out, there is a difference between the inner child and the outer self, the movie star persona who we all expect to see or meet. I've only seen 1 Paul Newman movie Cat on a Hot Tin Roof and that's only because Elizabeth Taylor is in it.

It was still a novelty that a movie actor was racing, so not unexpectedly there were photographers everywhere. By the end of his career, Newman spoke with a lovely white-haired softness as a sort of national grandfather, teaching a boy to use a watch in “Nobody’s Fool” (1994) and describing the rules of the road in Pixar’s animated “Cars” (2006). When Joanne and I have been at Cannes, for example, walking up this flight of stairs with a 15-foot-wide red carpet and having that music from Star Wars or whatever the hell it is at decibels that fry your eardrums . Understanding the irony that his looks would breed jealousy and suspicion in an industry where beauty opens doors, Paul Newman pursued gritty, hard-edged roles ( Hud, Cool Hand Luke), but there wasn't a snowball's chance in hell that he would escape the sex symbol status that vaulted him to the top of the celebrity A-list. When I heard a posthumous memoir was created from his writing and interviews, I knew I needed to get my hands on it.The son of a “dismissive, disinterested” father and a volatile, possessive mother, Newman grew up feeling like an outcast. It is a study of character largely from, but not limited to, the perspective of that character himself. The manuscript was tossed aside, perhaps burned it was thought, and did not resurface until after Newman's death from the darker corners of a storage unit. Thisislike eavesdropping on a dinner party filled withfriends andcolleagues alllistening to andtalking about theman sitting at the head of the table, Paul Newman. Newman himself, in “The Extraordinary Life of an Ordinary Man,” a stunning memoir by an actor who could convincingly play a charismatic but self-destructive outsider because he knew the breed all too well.

As we were all finally just about ready to begin, the track marshals began clearing everybody away from the cars and racers. Frank and unapologetic, Johnson vividly captures aspects of her former life as a stage seductress shimmying to blues tracks during 18-minute sets or sewing lingerie for plus-sized dancers. But his book hardly mentions roles like these; instead, he ridicules “this goddamn movie star with blue eyes cast as a half-Apache in Hombre”. With thoughts/comments throughout from Joanne Woodward, George Roy Hill, Tom Cruise, Elia Kazan and many others.

He has a crackpot theory, probably concocted when he was sloshed, which maintains that the British never get as drunk as Americans do because they like warm beer and don’t put ice in whisky, which means that their bodies have no need to heat up the alcohol they consume to blood temperature before it can be absorbed. While his kids figured the transcripts from their father's project were floating around somewhere, it took a decade to locate them.