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Narrated by Bryan Cranston
Bryan CranstonUnabridged — 8 hours, 53 minutes
Narrated by Bryan Cranston
Bryan CranstonUnabridged — 8 hours, 53 minutes
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Bryan Cranston's memoir…suffers from the lopsidedness that afflicts any account of late-breaking fame—Cranston was 51 when he took the role of Walter White in AMC's Breaking Bad…But Cranston is a good-enough storyteller, practiced enough in his skills of self-examination, to make those five decades pull their weight.
01/30/2017
Cranston recalls the highs and the lows of his life, from his early aimless years and his moment of Zen inspiration to be an actor to his acting success on Breaking Bad. Listeners are likely to be fascinated by his growing up in a family of actors and his early career as a police officer. Both his words and tone convey a fitting amount of humbleness and sincerity that are likely to endear listeners all the more. Cranston sprinkles more sobering moments throughout the memoir, including losses, mistakes, and epiphanies, which gives the production depth. As the narrator, it’s perfect Cranston, drawing upon his acting skills to determine the right amount of emotional energy in any given passage. Listeners can all but hear the tears starting to trickle when he talks about the loss of loved ones, and he leaves no doubt about how much joy his wife and daughter bring him. A Simon & Schuster hardcover. (Oct.)
10/10/2016
Though known today for Breaking Bad, Cranston played a number of roles before becoming an actor. Paperboy, biker, grocery store security guard—each chapter explores a different facet of Cranston’s personal history, as though Cranston were teaching another actor how to play him onstage. Deeply personal from the outset, Cranston walks readers through his early aimless years, his moment of Zen inspiration to be an actor, and the obsessive hard work on the soap opera Loving, during which he was also dealing with the fallout from an abusive relationship. Cranston discusses his later success on Malcolm in the Middle; Breaking Bad fans, of course, will fly straight to Cranston’s chapters on script changes made behind the scenes and the reasoning behind Walt’s underwear choices. But the way in which Cranston’s simple, staccato prose invites readers to empathize with every “character” he’s played elevates this autobiography to more than just a look behind the scenes—it’s a look behind a life. (Nov.)
"Boy, you think you know a guy! I worked six solid years with Bryan Cranston and figured there weren’t any secrets left between us. All those hours I spent watching him wander the desert in his underpants? That alone should make me an expert on the man.
But now, along comes A Life In Parts – and suddenly I’m reading about a whole other Bryan, one who performs weddings in airplanes and camps out at mortuaries. This Bryan bathes in the blood of chickens and stuffs mackerels in air vents. He even accosts poor Alfred Hitchcock.
Yes, it’s all in here. Better still, there’s an exceedingly honest discussion of his craft, which will be a godsend to struggling thespians everywhere. Think your job waiting tables sucks? One of the world’s greatest actors had it worse (what with being under suspicion for murder and all).
I loved this book. It’s just the right mixture of funny, sad and heartfelt. If I’d known Bryan could tell stories this well, I would have had him writing episodes of Breaking Bad."—Vince Gilligan
“This splendid, moving, heartbreaking memoir is doubly triumphant. It regales and entertains while at the same time providing inspiration and practical wisdom. A truly gifted storyteller, Cranston captures the reader's imagination and emotions from beginning to end.”—Doris Kearns Goodwin
“Bryan Cranston has created a cinematic record of how an actor shapes a career and an identity and a legacy all at the same time.” –Tom Hanks
"The highs here—and there are many—are meth-less but addictive."—Kirkus Reviews
"[A] substantial memoir from one of Hollywood’s most introspective stars...anyone interested in acting will devour Cranston’s savvy advice about honing one’s craft and building one’s career."—Booklist
"By turns gritty,funny, and sad, this fiercely intelligent book from the Breaking Bad star defies celebrity memoir tropes."—Entertainment Weekly
"Cranston fuses his personal and professional life in a way that’s nothing short of riveting....an engrossing first-person account by one of our finest actors."—Huffington Post
"[A] must-read memoir."—Philadelphia Inquirer
"A literary cup that runneth over: A candid portrait of a great actor."--Newsday
"Deeply personal...the way in which Cranston's simple, staccato prose invites readers to empathize with every 'character' he's played elevates this autobiography to more than just a look behind the scenes—it's a look behind a life."—Publishers Weekly
"Genial...funny...a book about ambition and persistence."—The Washington Post
"[Cranston] traces his on- and off-screen life with witty, absorbing candor."—Denver Post
"Superb."—Chicago Tribune
"Brilliant...[Cranston] has a knack for describing the ordinary in a way that makes it fascinating."—The Buffalo News
"Cranston delivers crisp stories about his onscreen performances in everything from daytime soaps to “Malcolm in the Middle” to his 2014 Tony-winning portrayal of President Lyndon B. Johnson in “All the Way.” But he also offers many chapters in which the “part” is his real-life experience as a farmhand, hypnotist, dating consultant or even a murder suspect."—Kansas City Star
“Cranston’s memoir is an illuminating window into the actor’s psyche, as he opens up about his time as Walter White on the show and the fine line he walked playing that character—while looking into himself.”—People
Fascinating...The candor and self-introspection of this book are reminiscent of another unflinchingly honest memoir, the late Katharine Graham’s magnificent 'Personal History.'"—Pittsburgh Post-Gazette
09/15/2016
Cranston, Breaking Bad's Walter White (or Malcolm in the Middle's father Hal), pens a literal compilation of the roles he's played throughout his life. We see not only the television actor but also the parts he's assumed in his family (son, father, husband), the odd jobs he's held (farmhand, lifeguard, dating consultant), and other elements that form the man he is today. The book's organization is fragmented with a new role coming every few pages, but it's presented chronologically and narrative threads connect the many roles. A disastrous elementary school role as Professor Flipnoodle in The Time Machine haunts him decades later as he prepares to play Lyndon B. Johnson on Broadway. His relationship with his alcoholic mother and absentee father influence his marriage and his parenting. Cranston has led an exciting life, but fans of his biggest roles will be disappointed. His focus on Malcolm in the Middle is largely on Hal's shenanigans and it's a good 250 pages into the memoir before we come to Breaking Bad. His Oscar-nominated turn as Dalton Trumbo barely fills a sentence (whereas Seinfeld dentist Tim Whatley is given a whole section). VERDICT Recommended for people who are more interested in the actor's life than a celebrity tell-all.—Terry Bosky, Madison, WI
In this gritty, honest memoir, Emmy Award-winning actor Bryan Cranston looks at both his career and his life as crafts to be honed and perfected. The narration is pitch-perfect, profound, and room filling, thanks to Cranston’s sonorous timbre and expert inflections. Audio fidelity and production values are exceptionally strong, and Cranston’s performance is on par with any of his award-winning TV roles. Listeners will likely enjoy hearing in detail all of his preparations and mind work for such series as “Breaking Bad,” “Malcolm in the Middle,” “Seinfeld,” and his Tony Award-winning turn in the LBJ piece “All The Way.” Additionally, Cranston’s sometimes painful and sometimes fun early adventures as a dock loader, farmhand, motorcyclist, and more are colorfully explored. This is a winner—a great listening experience. W.A.G. Winner of AudioFile Earphones Award © AudioFile 2016, Portland, Maine
2016-08-21
The star of Breaking Bad debuts with a collection of memories and ruminations.Cranston (b. 1956), borrowing his title and organization (sort of) from Jacques’ famous “All the world’s a stage” speech in As You Like It, offers a series of mostly short chapters that focus on the roles he’s played—in life, in film and TV, and on the stage. For a celebrity memoir, it’s unusually humble; the author makes no real mention of Golden Globe and Emmy wins, and he shows a determined effort throughout to credit and praise his co-workers. He mentions, for example, an effective gag on one of his Seinfeld appearances that came via an electrician. His narrative flows forward chronologically, broken only by abrupt shifts of focus to his various roles. His tells us about his parents—neither, especially the father, would ever qualify for a parenthood prize—and his siblings, who have been successful in their various enterprises despite, like the author, enduring a difficult childhood. (Near the end, he enters group therapy with them.) Occasionally, Cranston pauses to talk about the craft of acting, and a few of his observations sound like “takeaways” from a performance class (“Building a character is like building a house”). For the most part, the author stresses how skill and talent are fairly pointless without a lot of hard work and thought about the character and the words. He does not downplay his failures (a first marriage did not last); nor does he deny us details about his unmoored years, which included a Kerouac-ian cross-country journey with his brother. We learn as well about the perils and inconveniences of celebrity, his deep affection for his wife and daughter, and losses (parents, others). He ends with an account of his recent stage performance as Lyndon Johnson. The highs here—and there are many—are meth-less but addictive.
| BN ID: | 2940171235772 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Simon & Schuster |
| Publication date: | 10/11/2016 |
| Edition description: | Unabridged |
| Sales rank: | 1,144,953 |
A Life in Parts
She stopped coughing. Maybe she’d fallen back asleep. Then suddenly vomit flooded her mouth. She grasped at the sheets. She was choking. I instinctively reached to turn her over.
But I stopped myself.
Why should I save her? This little junkie, Jane, was threatening to blackmail me, expose my enterprise to the police, destroy everything I had worked for, and wipe out the financial life preserver I was trying to leave my family—the only legacy I could leave them.
She gurgled, searching for a gasp of air. Her eyes rolled back in her head. I felt a stab of guilt. Goddamn it, she’s just a girl. Do something.
But if I stepped in now, wasn’t I just delaying the inevitable? Don’t they all at some point end up dead? And poor dumb comatose Jesse, my partner, lying beside her. She’s the one who got him on this shit in the first place. She’d kill them both, kill us all, if I stepped in now and played God.
I told myself: just stay out of it. When he wakes he’ll discover this tragedy—this accident—on his own. Yes, it’s sad. All death is sad. But he’ll get over it in time. He’ll get past this like every other bad thing that’s happened to us. That’s what humans do. We heal. We move on. A few months from now he’ll barely remember her. He’ll find another girlfriend, and he’ll be fine. Fuck it. We all have to move on.
I’ll just pretend I wasn’t here.
But I am here. And she’s a human being.
Oh God. What have I become?
And then, somehow, as she was fading, she wasn’t herself anymore. I wasn’t looking at Jane, or Jesse’s girlfriend, or the actor Krysten Ritter. I was looking at Taylor, my daughter, my real daughter. I wasn’t Walter White anymore. I was Bryan Cranston. And I was seeing my daughter die.
From the moment she was born in 1993—a bit premature, shy of seven pounds, impossibly beautiful—I felt an instant, radical, unconditional love that redefined love. I had never allowed myself to imagine losing her. But now, I was seeing it. Clearly. Vividly. She was slipping from me. She was dying.
That was not the plan. When I do the homework for such a delicate scene, I don’t make a plan. My goal when I prepare isn’t to plot out each action and reaction, but to think: What are the possible emotional levels my character could experience? I break the scene down into moments or beats. By doing that work ahead of time, I leave a number of possibilities available to me. I stay open to the moment, susceptible to whatever comes.
The homework doesn’t guarantee anything; with luck, it gives you a shot at something real.
It was real fear that gripped me—my worst fear. A fear I hadn’t fully expected or come to terms with. And my reaction is there, forever, at the end of that scene. I gasp, and my hand moves to my mouth in horror.
When the director, Colin Bucksey, said, “Cut,” I was weeping. Deep racking sobs. I explained to the people on set what had happened, what I had seen. Michael Slovis, our cinematographer, embraced me. My castmates, too. I remember in particular Anna Gunn, who played my wife, Skyler. I hugged her. I must have held on for five minutes. Poor Anna.
Anna knew. As an actor she has a fragility at her core, and she often had a hard time shedding her character’s emotions after shooting difficult scenes.
That will happen in an actor’s life, and it happened to me that day. It was the most harrowing scene I did on Breaking Bad, and really . . . ever.
It may seem odd. It may even seem ghoulish. To stand in a room packed with people and lights and cameras and pretend I’m letting a girl choke to death. And then to see my daughter’s face in lieu of that girl. And to call that work. To call that your job.
But it’s not odd to me. Actors are storytellers. And storytelling is the essential human art. It’s how we understand who we are.
I don’t mean to make it sound high-flown. It’s not. It’s discipline and repetition and failure and perseverance and dumb luck and blind faith and devotion. It’s showing up when you don’t feel like it, when you’re exhausted and you think you can’t go on. Transcendent moments come when you’ve laid the groundwork and you’re open to the moment. They happen when you do the work. In the end, it’s about the work.
Every day on Breaking Bad I’d wake up about 5:30 and have coffee, take a shower, get dressed. Some days I was so tired, I didn’t know whether I was coming or going.
I’d drive the nine miles from my condo in Nob Hill to Q Studios, five miles south of the airport in Albuquerque—ABQ as the locals call it. I’d be in the makeup chair by 6:30. I’d shave my head anew. Knock down the nubs. It didn’t take too long for makeup. By 7:00 a.m. we’d see everyone: the other actors, the crew. Then we’d start rehearsing.
The allotment was a twelve-hour shoot. Plus a one-hour lunch. So a normal day was thirteen hours. It was very rare that the day was shorter. Occasionally, it was longer. Some days went seventeen hours. A lot of it had to do with whether we were on location.
If it was just a minimum day, we’d wrap at 8:00 p.m. Then I’d grab a sandwich and apple for the road. I didn’t want to take the time to stop. I’d call my wife, Robin, from the car. How are you? Yeah, long day. I’d see how she was doing. I’d ask about Taylor. I’d still be talking to her when I walked into the house. I’d say goodnight and then have that sandwich while looking over what we were doing the next day. I’d take a hot bath with a little glass of red wine. Then I’d hit the sack.
But even before the drive home, every night after we finished, I’d go in the hair and makeup trailer and take two hot, wet towels that my friends in the makeup department had presoaked, and I’d drape one over my head and I’d wrap the other over my face. I’d sit in the chair and let everything soak off, feeling all the toxins drain away. I’d sit until the towels went cold against my face, leeching myself of Walter White.
That day I saw Jane die—that day I saw Taylor’s face—that day I went to a place I’d never been, I opened my eyes and stared through the scrim of the white towel into the light above. I’d put everything, everything, into that scene. All the things I was and all the things I might have been: all the side roads and the missteps. All the stuttering successes and the losses I thought might sink me. I was murderous and I was capable of great love. I was a victim, moored by my circumstances, and I was the danger. I was Walter White.
But I was never more myself.
