“Very funny, vivid imagination and great storytelling. Thoroughly enjoyed it, even though it's (I suppose) aimed at a male audience.”see full review » see other reviews »
Didn’t Like It
“Book group book. Quite fun and gossipy but it went on too long”see full review » see other reviews »
“Book group book. Quite fun and gossipy but it went on too long”Frances M wrote this review Tuesday, June 22, 2010. ( reply | permalink ) Was this review helpful? Yes | No
“Very funny, vivid imagination and great storytelling. Thoroughly enjoyed it, even though it's (I suppose) aimed at a male audience. ”Kelli W wrote this review Sunday, May 2, 2010. ( reply | permalink ) Was this review helpful? Yes | No
“First chapter--hilarious. The rest, crap.”Barb E wrote this review Tuesday, April 20, 2010. ( reply | permalink ) Was this review helpful? Yes | No
“While I'm still reading this, I really enjoy this absolutely brilliant parody on its genre!!!!! I even found a technical flaw: around page 100, the author refers to a 1930s trip along the Ventura Freeway to Thousand Oaks: In 1959, when I moved to L.A., the Ventura Freeway only went as far as Laurel Canyon in North Hollywood. Ah well, this is an absolute minor flaw in what thus far has been a wonderful read.
My wife cleaned...she put the book away.....we cannot find it....so this will be a partially read book until found, hopefully....”
“I couldn’t believe it when I read a news report not long ago that Cheeta, the chimp in the ‘30s Tarzan movies, was still alive. As Tarzan would say, “Umgawa,” which translate as “let it be so.” And now he’s (Or is Cheeta a she? It’s never clear.) decided to at long last (the real Tarzan, Johnny Weissmuller, died in 1984 and Jane, Maureen O’Sullivan, died in 1998) to tell the story of his rise from African jungles to the most admired and loved Hollywood animal of all time. Let’s face it: Cheeta was/is even bigger than Rin Tin Tin and Trigger.
In his first foray into authorship, Cheeta has penned a memoir, Me Cheeta: My Life in
Hollywood. Unfortunately, Cheeta needed an editor. In the worse way.
The memoir starts off with a note to the reader from Cheeta, lounging in his chaise lounge in sunny Palm Springs. I should have known from the letter that the sweet and funny chimp I remembered from Saturday afternoons at the movies wasn’t real. Instead, I’m reading about a lecherous, disgusting old animal who likes to smoke, drink, and masturbate. Not necessarily in that order.
The book begins with Cheeta filming his last movie, 1967’s Doctor Doolittle. He’s stuck in a tree thanks to Rex Harrison and his wife. The story then moves to the wild of Africa and Cheeta’s chimphood. This goes on for about half the book. I expected to read about his life “in” Hollywood, not how he got there.
Once Cheeta was discovered and became Tarzan’s best buddy, there is no doubt that Johnny and Cheeta loved each other. There are some cute stories about their escapades.
The biggest problem with Me Cheeta: My Life in Hollywood is that it’s boring. Many times the sentences don’t make sense. I read as far as I could, mostly because I was interested in learning what had happened to Boy (Johnny Sheffield). But alas, Boy was a spoiled, ungrateful child. The two despised each other.
Today, Cheeta lives with his handler, Don, and paints pictures that to me all look the same. But as Tarzan would say, “Umgawa.”
Review originally appeared on www.armchairinterviews.com