In the ranks of show-biz memoirs, an unexpected gem.
Dec 31, 2012, Vol. 18, No. 16 • By JOHN PODHORETZ
He becomes a box-office draw and he parties hard. He finds the love of his life, a makeup artist named Sheryl Berkoff, cheats on her, loses her. Then: “I make the call. It’s May 10, 1990.” He goes into rehab. He does not become a Lost Boy of Malibu as did his childhood friend Charlie Sheen and so many others. Lowe, who has been sober for 22 years now, marries Sheryl; they have two sons and are together two decades later. As it is without much drama, the last few chapters are the least interesting parts of Stories I Only Tell My Friends. Still, Rob Lowe’s extraordinarily surprising book is not only a showbiz autobiography of real distinction, but a powerful cautionary tale about the dangers of the unfettered life—for the world-famous and utterly obscure alike.
John Podhoretz, editor of Commentary, is The Weekly Standard’s movie critic.
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