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.
Paperback
,
336 pages
Published
July 1st 1997
by Bloomsbury Publishing PLC
(first published 1996)
This book ... is amazing. It's pure uncut megalomania. According to this book, not only is Klaus Kinsky the smartest guy in the room, he also has sex with almost every single woman that gets mentioned. This is not an exaggeration. His thinking about himself is so bombastic, egomaniacal, and inflated to such drastic proportions, that the book becomes a sort of mythic comedy. The Klaus Kinsky of reality writing the Klaus Kinsky of the imagination takes on the proportions of Blakean mythology in wh
This book ... is amazing. It's pure uncut megalomania. According to this book, not only is Klaus Kinsky the smartest guy in the room, he also has sex with almost every single woman that gets mentioned. This is not an exaggeration. His thinking about himself is so bombastic, egomaniacal, and inflated to such drastic proportions, that the book becomes a sort of mythic comedy. The Klaus Kinsky of reality writing the Klaus Kinsky of the imagination takes on the proportions of Blakean mythology in which Klaus Kinsky is a cosmic force of energy and disruption. In this work, he becomes not merely a man, nor an actor, but a Christ-like being. It's ridiculous. Read this book. It's worth it. It will change your life.
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“These girls can’t be picky; they fuck with men of all races from all four corners or the world and they probably catch every conceivable kind of V.D. But I not only screw them without a rubber, I also eat our their pussies. I know its crazy. But I want to love them, I want them to feel that I love them and that I need love. That I am dying for love.”
i read this book after watching herzog’s
my best fiend
. herzog claims that the book was largely fabricated to generate sales. aside from all that--
“These girls can’t be picky; they fuck with men of all races from all four corners or the world and they probably catch every conceivable kind of V.D. But I not only screw them without a rubber, I also eat our their pussies. I know its crazy. But I want to love them, I want them to feel that I love them and that I need love. That I am dying for love.”
i read this book after watching herzog’s
my best fiend
. herzog claims that the book was largely fabricated to generate sales. aside from all that--what interested me most is his skills as a pornographer. 318 pages of “muff-diving feasts” & he never once repeats a description. even when he is discussing something totally legit--scripts, the countryside, his hatred of X--the prose is peppered with “i’d rather fuck the usherette, whose panties smell so intoxicating that my nuts ache” or “I talk to no one and eat nothing. At night I can’t sleep a wink, I just stare at the ceiling. Every so often I go to the toilet and examine my hard-on. Then I lie down and stare at the ceiling again.”
the passages regarding his second wife minhoi & their child ninhoi are incredibly tender even if he treated minhoi like shit in real life. his dealings with women are just about the only place where he shows any kind of remorse for his actions.
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This is a treat. Kinski in his own words. Kinski Uncut is a portrait of mania, ego, and rage; all of these factors combined to produce one of the cinema's greatest actors. Sure he appeared in a lot of crappy films, but he was always the reason to sit through them. And the gems he did appear in are timeless: Doctor Zhivago, For a Few Dollars More, Aguirre: The Wrath of God, Nosferatu, Fitzcarraldo, Venus in Furs, and
UPDATE 11/17/13: Amazing Kinski footage added in comment section below review....
This is a treat. Kinski in his own words. Kinski Uncut is a portrait of mania, ego, and rage; all of these factors combined to produce one of the cinema's greatest actors. Sure he appeared in a lot of crappy films, but he was always the reason to sit through them. And the gems he did appear in are timeless: Doctor Zhivago, For a Few Dollars More, Aguirre: The Wrath of God, Nosferatu, Fitzcarraldo, Venus in Furs, and many others. This book reminded me of what I thought Henry Miller would read like before I actually read him (and I love Henry Miller). For all the anger, ego, and rage flaring from Kinski's pulsing, veined forehead, there is also remarkable tenderness just under the surface. A complicated, talented, fascinating man. For those interested in Kinski, I highly recommend Werner Herzog's documentary on him, My Best Fiend (
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4hG8d...
) - a perfect companion to this book. 5 raging, glassy-eyed stars...
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Recommends it for:
people who can't get enough crazy kinski clips on Youtube
You can basically open this book and quote something awesome.
"I hold on to a street light and think that this is the end. I pull out the kitchen knife and stick it down my throat like a sword swallower. And then it happens. The boil breaks! And I puke half a liter of pus into the gutter. Now I'm rid of everything and my pains are gone."
"When Barlog refuses to cast me as the lead in Ah, Wilderness! I smash the windowpanes of the Schlossparktheater. My one-year contract is not renewed. But I wou
You can basically open this book and quote something awesome.
"I hold on to a street light and think that this is the end. I pull out the kitchen knife and stick it down my throat like a sword swallower. And then it happens. The boil breaks! And I puke half a liter of pus into the gutter. Now I'm rid of everything and my pains are gone."
"When Barlog refuses to cast me as the lead in Ah, Wilderness! I smash the windowpanes of the Schlossparktheater. My one-year contract is not renewed. But I would have lost my mind anyway and starved to death among these barnstormers."
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Nobody mentions his daughter, Nastassja Kinski. (I always wanted to give her one from the heart.) Can you imagine spending the first 10 years of your life with Klaus, then starting a relationship with Roman Polanski when you were 16. Strangely, their relationship ended before she turned 20.
Diary of a gibbering batshit insane sex-crazed madman. Just... absolutely ridiculous. I suppose if you're not already a fan of the late, great Klaus Kinski, you won't enjoy this half as much as I did.
Times have changed since a major publishing house issued Klaus Kinski’s
Kinski Uncut
, and maybe not changed for the better. Initially released in 1988 under the title
All I Need Is Love
, the German actor’s seething, potty-mouthed autobiography is apt to estrange any readers offended by graphic depictions of wanton boning and a blanket context of objectification that reduces female human beings to the sum of their orifices and secondary sexual characteristics and dumps the males of the species in
Times have changed since a major publishing house issued Klaus Kinski’s
Kinski Uncut
, and maybe not changed for the better. Initially released in 1988 under the title
All I Need Is Love
, the German actor’s seething, potty-mouthed autobiography is apt to estrange any readers offended by graphic depictions of wanton boning and a blanket context of objectification that reduces female human beings to the sum of their orifices and secondary sexual characteristics and dumps the males of the species into the moron and bastard bins. The prose and the narrator’s intent are akin to the obscene vigor of
Hustler
magazine’s “Hot Letters” section from the same day and age. (If anyone is qualified to make that comparison, I am.) Kinski’s words are on the page to remove all assumption of comfort from life’s presumed consolations.
Kinski Uncut
further piles steaming heaps of vile acrimony upon former coworkers and collaborators, many of them revered legends of literature, stage and screen. I have heard rumors, which I’d be pleased to verify, that the original
All I Need Is Love
is an even more unexpurgated screed against all things civilized and correct than the later
Kinski Uncut
version. Neither book would be likely to reach the public in 2014. Is it bad that I miss the wrong old days?
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Dang. It can be said that this book is the messy result of Klaus Kinski’s throbbing egomania. Insane, relentless, and disgusting. Kinski recounts his numerous sexual exploits. Somehow he slept with all women that he encountered. Of course, Kinski also recounts his squalor-filled youth (bedbug infested), his acting experiences (he only accepted big cash), his hatred for directors (Herzog bears the brunt, duh), and his marriages (though he rarely went i
Portrait of the actor as a crazed sex maniac?
Dang. It can be said that this book is the messy result of Klaus Kinski’s throbbing egomania. Insane, relentless, and disgusting. Kinski recounts his numerous sexual exploits. Somehow he slept with all women that he encountered. Of course, Kinski also recounts his squalor-filled youth (bedbug infested), his acting experiences (he only accepted big cash), his hatred for directors (Herzog bears the brunt, duh), and his marriages (though he rarely went into detail). To his credit, Kinski seemed to feel some regret about how he treated his last wife, the mother of his son. His relationship with her was rocky. Kinski had an intense devotion to his son, which was a little more creepy than endearing. There may be kernels of truth in this book, but I think it’s largely fiction masquerading as a memoir.
The descriptions are hilarious and cringe-inducing. The translator chose mainly American colloquial language for the book, which made it all weirder. Nonetheless, I was quite entertained. I’d give the book an extra star if I didn’t end up shell-shocked 3/4 into it.
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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).
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.
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The German actor Klaus Kinski, best known in his roles in Werner Herzog's films, is one of the most outrageous characters in film. His autobiography is mostly filled with the explicit details of his many sexual exploits, exposition on his feelings of isolation and misery, and insults directed toward some well-known film makers.
It's a shocking story--and not for the squeamish--but it's a great companion piece for anyone who was enthralled by Kinski's performances in movies like
Fitzcarraldo
,
Agu
The German actor Klaus Kinski, best known in his roles in Werner Herzog's films, is one of the most outrageous characters in film. His autobiography is mostly filled with the explicit details of his many sexual exploits, exposition on his feelings of isolation and misery, and insults directed toward some well-known film makers.
It's a shocking story--and not for the squeamish--but it's a great companion piece for anyone who was enthralled by Kinski's performances in movies like
Fitzcarraldo
,
Aguirre, Wrath of God
, or
Cobra Verde
. It's a great piece if you're just interested in hedonism, also.
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An autobiography so dirty, so depraved that it would reduce a book club comprised of Henry Miller, Phillip Roth and the Marquis De Sade to a series of blushing embarrassed silences. Just when you start to tire of his endless (possibly, hopefully delusional) recounting of his sexual conquests, he'll toss off a description of coupling with such breathtaking scatalogical or bestial originality, or sometimes both, you just have to chuckle and tip your hat. And I haven't even gotten to the crazy yet.
An autobiography so dirty, so depraved that it would reduce a book club comprised of Henry Miller, Phillip Roth and the Marquis De Sade to a series of blushing embarrassed silences. Just when you start to tire of his endless (possibly, hopefully delusional) recounting of his sexual conquests, he'll toss off a description of coupling with such breathtaking scatalogical or bestial originality, or sometimes both, you just have to chuckle and tip your hat. And I haven't even gotten to the crazy yet. I need to wash my brain after reading this.
Suffice to say, I loved it.
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Still reading. Every page is full of cunts, twats, fucks, pussies, and general ragings against all the imbeciles populating Kinski's life. (And I'm reading it in translation! Can you imagine the translator trying to decide which slang for female reproductive organ to use in each instance? Good lord.) If he doesn't start talking about Herzog soon, I'm giving up.
[Update: Didn't finish. Gross. For Kinski completists only, maybe.]
When I purchased this book, I thought of it as a guilty pleasure. Now I just feel guilty that I'm wasting my time on this trash instead of reading actual literature.
Recommended to Mariel by:
Nosferatu's who get it on more than Cap'n Kirk
I'm not going to top
Lucy Ross's review
. Goodreaders from 2007 and 2008 are so annoying. They get in there and write all the good reviews, have all the good ideas, etc. before all of us late bloomers get the chance. It isn't fair. Does anyone else have that problem? I have that problem.
He DID try to eat a live cow. I hope that was true. Please let that be true!
There's a scene in Tom Dicillo's film Box of Moonlight that describes how I feel about Klaus Kinski and his book. Sam Rockwell plays thi
I'm not going to top
Lucy Ross's review
. Goodreaders from 2007 and 2008 are so annoying. They get in there and write all the good reviews, have all the good ideas, etc. before all of us late bloomers get the chance. It isn't fair. Does anyone else have that problem? I have that problem.
He DID try to eat a live cow. I hope that was true. Please let that be true!
There's a scene in Tom Dicillo's film Box of Moonlight that describes how I feel about Klaus Kinski and his book. Sam Rockwell plays this whim-led guy, the Kid (he also lives off the grid). The Kid tells Al Fountain (my favorite actor in the world, John Turturro) why he is always wearing this Davey Crockett outfit. The Kid had been an extra in a play about Davey Crockett. One day when no one else is around he tries on Davey's costume. "It fit me so right I just took it."
This shit fits me right. I don't know how. I don't know why. I'm gonna take it! I dug the hell out of the way he delivers all of his information (if you can call it that). Some of it painful as hell. I rolled my eyes after a while of constant sex. Yet there was just.... something about him. (Good job at describing this, Mar.)
The ending is like a John Lennon/Yoko Ono/Sean Lennon love triangle. I don't know if I buy that that love is "redemptive". I think (in my years after the fact, has nothing at all to do with me way. I'm all judge-y from afar. I don't have kids, either!) it is more calming for a man desperate for something he never really found in all the ways he tried to find it. I don't think Kinski made a case for loving one person so intensely (or that being a baby makes you purer than any other loveable person) that it transformed. I don't know. I just kept thinking about Yoko Ono. I really got that vibe from those parts of the book.
Suffering through that had as devastating an impact on me as if I hadn't only always suffered as Woyzeck but continue to do so over and over. Malaria of the soul, recurring again and again. My total being is one large breeding ground for the shocks of the world past, present, and future. All living and dying, all vibrations pass through me. The entire universe pours into me, rages in me, rampages through me and over me. Annihilates me. It comes and goes wherever it likes. It rules me, commands me, envelops me, threatens me, and waits for me everywhere and all the time. It sucks me up, sucks me dry, grows through me. It's in my spinal marrow. In my brain mass. In my blood, in my bones. My muscles. Guts. Genitals. Sperm. Flesh. Eyes. Hearing. Taste. Smell. Balance. Laughter. Tears. In my days and my nights. In my thoughts. In my feelings. In my courage and my fear. In my despair and my hope. In my weakness and strength. Everywhere and all the time.
Kinski wrote that his son's love would save him from that wound in his soul. The wound he used to pick over whenever it began to heal. Maybe I'm still in the old place of his movies. I feel drawn to (for lack of a better word in my knowledge) act it out. You can't learn how to feel all of those things but it is how I can feel that difference in me, and in others. Kinski is one of my favorites to do that with.
I liked that his "memoir" was acting himself. It doesn't make sense to know any of it is true. It was good to feel something.
I was bothered by the Yoko Ono part of the book. That he was doing something wrong with how he lived and loved. A lot was said and written about Kinski being intense, being crazy. How else can you do it but as yourself? He had a drive to move towards something. I was really bothered by it and upset. It was a really lonely and sad end of him being alone without his son.
I think that's why I love this book so much. That it was about that, even if MOST of the book is sex scenes (that was like when you listen to someone brag about themselves and you wait for them to stop telling you how to feel about them so you can decide if you feel anything about them at all. I should've just said when people try to impress you. That feeling like they KNOW what will impress you, without bothering to know YOU at all). It's about yearning and trying for love and not knowing that that is what is anyone else's heart at all. And he was an actor who was making a living out of being someone else. His memoir is being him through being someone else? I get the feeling of what that meant to him (even if he hated it in the end).
Why can't I go into the jungle and have a burden of dreams? To become another person, their heart and soul, show those dark spaces and shadows in their minds?
This goes on "fiction" as well as "memoirs" because it is so over the top, overwritten, and obviously fictionalized (the latter has been corroborated by friends and collaborators). That said, it is fascinating writing, a melding of Kinski's own storied personality and his image of himself, it is an austere and gripping work of self-mythologizing with some passionate reflections on acting and some chords of tenderness later in the book as he addresses fatherhood and the difficulty of relationship
This goes on "fiction" as well as "memoirs" because it is so over the top, overwritten, and obviously fictionalized (the latter has been corroborated by friends and collaborators). That said, it is fascinating writing, a melding of Kinski's own storied personality and his image of himself, it is an austere and gripping work of self-mythologizing with some passionate reflections on acting and some chords of tenderness later in the book as he addresses fatherhood and the difficulty of relationships. Although much of this is fiction, its psychological territory is authentic and heartbreaking.
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Without a doubt one of the most outrageous "autobiographies" I've come across, this is really just a detailed inventory of the multitudes of women Kinski claims to have bedded. The descriptions of incest, copulating on a church altar with a virgin, and sex with a giantess whose back he would scale and hair he would hang on to so as not to fall, indicate that this is autobiography as performance art. Personally, I take great joy in knowing that Kinski was equal parts crazy and brilliant. Best pur
Without a doubt one of the most outrageous "autobiographies" I've come across, this is really just a detailed inventory of the multitudes of women Kinski claims to have bedded. The descriptions of incest, copulating on a church altar with a virgin, and sex with a giantess whose back he would scale and hair he would hang on to so as not to fall, indicate that this is autobiography as performance art. Personally, I take great joy in knowing that Kinski was equal parts crazy and brilliant. Best purchase ever!
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Really disappointing. I keep reading on, hoping it will turn into something I want to know about this tortured, gifted actor. There is just so much in his career he could have written about extensively (Paths of Glory, Nosferatu (in detail), Fitzcarraldo (in detail). I wanted to know what made him tick. Instead, I am reading this big bowl of crazy (i.e. having sex with anyone and everything) which borders on pathology (or crosses the border.)Every damn page he is having sex with something or som
Really disappointing. I keep reading on, hoping it will turn into something I want to know about this tortured, gifted actor. There is just so much in his career he could have written about extensively (Paths of Glory, Nosferatu (in detail), Fitzcarraldo (in detail). I wanted to know what made him tick. Instead, I am reading this big bowl of crazy (i.e. having sex with anyone and everything) which borders on pathology (or crosses the border.)Every damn page he is having sex with something or someone is coming onto him and, of course, he has to do them.His brushes with the law, desertion from the German Army at sixteen and being a POW in Britain,mental hospital commitment, would have made interesting, informative reading. It would have given us real insight into the character of this man. Instead, I think he doesn't want us to have insight into his character; he alienates the reader using his bizarre sexual antics, real or imagined. It keeps us from knowing him which is what I think the intention of this book was. He probably got an enormous advance, wrote a nutty book then had a good laugh. I'm afraid we'll never know him, which is sad. He seems to have had a real love for children and animals, but he mentions those things only in passing.Don't buy this book, if you are reading it right now, give up on it. It isn't going to get better. There is no light at the end of the tunnel.There is nothing he wants to tell us.
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By far the most ridiculous autobiography I've ever read. So exaggerated and unbelievable that I was physically exhausted after I plowed through it. The guy was fucking insane in the best sense of the word. Too bad this thing is going for $40+ on Amazon, because I'd love to own it. I'm going to pull quotes from it if and when I'm ever invited to toast a friend's wedding.
Startling. His claims are completely absurd and graphic. There is a photo of him laughing, holding the massive handwritten manuscript of this book and a puppy licking his face.
After about 20 pages I thought "this might be the best book ever written". By the time it got to 50 pages I was bored shitless. There's only so long that I could read a man basically making up that he had sex with loads of people and trying to claim that he's amazing all the time. I kind of got the main idea and put it down. Didn't make it to the end. I mean, the guy claims to have fucked his own sister. Once you've done that early on, everything else is a bit less sensational- so "I done a sex
After about 20 pages I thought "this might be the best book ever written". By the time it got to 50 pages I was bored shitless. There's only so long that I could read a man basically making up that he had sex with loads of people and trying to claim that he's amazing all the time. I kind of got the main idea and put it down. Didn't make it to the end. I mean, the guy claims to have fucked his own sister. Once you've done that early on, everything else is a bit less sensational- so "I done a sex on an actress and she liked it" is just a bit tedious after the 800th time. I may go back to it at a later date. I may not.
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An insane, megalomanaical, pornographic memoir written by a deranged, unhinged, ungrateful lunatic, most of whose claims one must assume are utter bullshit.
So, highly recommended.
It's hard not to read this with one's jaw not on the floor. That any one man could be have an ego so large is difficult to comprehened. Though ostensibly the memoir of a famous actor, this is more the memoir of a man who fucks every single woman he ever meets, and who also, tangentially, and to his endless horror, must
An insane, megalomanaical, pornographic memoir written by a deranged, unhinged, ungrateful lunatic, most of whose claims one must assume are utter bullshit.
So, highly recommended.
It's hard not to read this with one's jaw not on the floor. That any one man could be have an ego so large is difficult to comprehened. Though ostensibly the memoir of a famous actor, this is more the memoir of a man who fucks every single woman he ever meets, and who also, tangentially, and to his endless horror, must "act" in movies (he claims over 250) to make the millions of dollars he throws away on cars and houses and bullshit while continuing in his lifelong effort to bone everything that moves. He picks his roles based on highest paycheck.
His screeds against the worthless, garbage director Werner Herzog are priceless.
And on top of all that, he's not a bad writer, and by the end, one has to feel for the guy, in some strange way. To have been plagued by the demons Kinski was plagued by must have made life a hellish prison.
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Fikk denne anbefalt av en litt rufsete kollega, som mente det var på høy tid at den ble oversatt til norsk. Ved endt lesning er jeg litt i tvil. Spennende skjebne, bevares, men noe stort litterært verk er det ikke. Demonstrerer hvordan selv det å lese om et utsvevende seksualliv kan bli monotont og direkte kjedelig i lengden.
Generally biographies are not my thing, but this one came highly recommended mainly due to the fact that I'm a huge Herzog fan; particularly the ones where Kinski is the starring character. Werner always claimed that most of the things Kinski mentioned here were total fabrications; simply because he was trying to live up to his madman stereotype, (and also of course, because he wanted to sell his book). Wild narcissistic fits of rage. Cursing the day Werner Herzog was ever born. Lies about livin
Generally biographies are not my thing, but this one came highly recommended mainly due to the fact that I'm a huge Herzog fan; particularly the ones where Kinski is the starring character. Werner always claimed that most of the things Kinski mentioned here were total fabrications; simply because he was trying to live up to his madman stereotype, (and also of course, because he wanted to sell his book). Wild narcissistic fits of rage. Cursing the day Werner Herzog was ever born. Lies about living in destitute as a child, when in fact he was raised by a wealthy pharmacist. And probably the most shocking and disturbing... he claims that he and his sister, as children, had a sexual relationship! It was every bit as a crazy as I was expecting.
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