Neil Jordan has long been one of my favourite directors, and I've also enjoyed his novels over the years, so I'm glad to say that his memoir, Amnesiac, is a beautifully written collection of his life stories, both personal and professional. The behind the scenes tales on his many movies provide most of the highlights throughout the book.

I have long admired many of the films that Neil Jordan has been involved with.Therefore I was delighted to get the opportunity to read the memoir,‘Amnesiac’.
The Book includes an assorted variety of personal stories,including some family background, the philosophical contemplation of alternative options to the life choices made,along with the long term implications,and most interestingly, tales of involvement in the process of making movies,from start to screen.
The most arresting sections for me deal with the author’s experience of being without an abode in London and then participation in an early theatrical performance,which was ahead of its time in addressing a major social issue.
I especially appreciated the recollections about friendship with John Boorman,and the mind blowing legendary film ‘Excalibur’.
The sections dealing with memories of ‘The Crying Game’,’Mona Lisa’,’Interview with the Vampire’, and ‘Michael Collins’,also make for very interesting and enlightening reading,about the processes involved,and the blend of pivotal characters.
Overall an engaging insight into the author’s personal life,background,different ways of thinking,and the creative process in the art of shaping a unique and varied body of memorable films.

Anyone who has ever daydreamed about being a director should read Neil Jordan’s memoir without delay. As careers go, it makes lion taming seem unduly relaxing. Hours are long, rewards meagre. Exploitation is rife. Before The Crying Game became a sleeper hit, cast and crew had deferred most of their pay on the expectation of eventual profit-sharing. Harvey Weinstein, who distributed the film in America, repaid their dedication by hoarding all of the profits while a craven Channel Four, who had financed the film, refused to challenge his blatant crookery.

Jordan’s own life has been lived more honestly and without much apparent disturbance. Even a chapter titled ‘My Paedophile’ barely ripples the water. Rather, he feels more outrage over the recent glut of films about the abuses committed by the Catholic Church. Everyone knew Ireland was a corrupt and priest-ridden theocracy, he says, so why should any Johnny-come-lately get the credit for saying so?

The most involving things in the book are the accounts of early fame. Appearing on Irish television and expecting a quick death at the hands of veteran author Sean O’Faolain, Jordan instead finds himself praised to the moon, which terrifies him even more. After sharing a major award for his first book, at the ceremony his co-winner flies into a rage, smashes the furnishings and is politely escorted from the premises.

Since then, despite his ex-publisher’s advice, he has written fiction in between films. As his career has wound down (his last worthwhile film was 2012’s Byzantium), consequently he has become more prolific as a novelist: no longer does his Collected Fiction run to 394 pages.

I don’t think it unfair to say that Jordan’s oeuvre is uneven. As he freely admits, he works best when painting from an independent palette. His big-budget films, set in America, tend to flop; his smaller-budget films, set in Ireland, England or both, fare better. The Butcher Boy still strikes me as his best film.

Jordan started out as a short story writer - his first book, Night in Tunisia, is still in print - but his normal economy is lacking. Instead, a false economy dominates. His addiction to sentence fragments, that most over-used of contemporary literary devices, is not enticing. (‘Angela Lansbury played a fairy tale granny with all of the wit she had brought to Bedknobs and Broomsticks and Sweeney Todd. David Warner, Terence Stamp, Sarah Patterson, Micha Bergese, Tusse Silberg, Stephen Rea, Danielle Dax.’)

He also has a tendency to ramble (has any author put so many questions to himself in such a short space?) and he too often repeats the same stories in different chapters - perhaps explaining the book’s title.

Jordan is known for films such as Mona Lisa, Interview With The Vampire and Michael Collins. Doomed, yet strangely beautiful romances. I read a lot of autobiographies and it certainly takes an unusual approach - the odd, slightly dreamlike reminiscences of childhood, the non-linear time structures.

However, it is often maddeningly, with one chapter as a poem and several shifts in point size and prose style. He’s vague on his marriage, even vaguer on his second. He’s very open in this dealing with other creators, such as the laser-like focus of Kubrick, the abandoned version of King Lear with Brando. What comes across strongly of all, is the sense that what he has achieved isn’t enough. Plus, that space opera with teddy bears speaking in verse might well have been something.

If the book resembles anything, it is Anjelica Houston’s autobiography: eloquent, artful, but unfinished. It’s published by Head Of Zeus on 20th June and I thank them for a preview copy.