There is the way things are and then the way things appear, and it is the way things appear, even when false, that is often the truest.I'm Norm Macdonald and this is the fake memoir...or so the Germans would have you believe.
Okay, Norm Macdonald doesn't actually admit that this is a fake memoir, but Based on a True Story is both more and less than the typical celebrity tell-all: anyone looking for a behind-the-scenes look at SNL will be mostly disappointed; anyone looking for the sad facts of a stand-up's childhood that shattered his psyche and drove him to perform will be disappointed; anyone looking for a book-length shaggy dog story that provides many laugh out loud moments (and some intimate revelations) will leave satisfied. And come on, this is Norm Macdonald; who goes into this expecting sincere or serious?
Macdonald has been upfront before about his gambling addiction (he has “lost everything” a few times), so he uses this fact as a framework, depicting himself as a morphine-addicted compulsive gambler who racks up millions in debt in Vegas and is forced to write a memoir in order to pay off a loan shark. The narrative moves between Macdonald and his real-life friend Adam Eget and their adventures on the lam, and sections where Macdonald recalls his childhood in the Ottawa Valley (and even a quick fact check reveals he's actually from Quebec City, so who knows what bits might be true?), and eventually, it's revealed that Macdonald was forced to use a ghostwriter, and with intermittent sections in the voice of this ghostwriter, it becomes unclear whether Macdonald ever wrote any of this (and of course the whole time the reader understands that Macdonald wrote all of this). Meta, eh?
Before the ghostwriter was introduced, I was noting how overwritten sections felt, and I got a wry amusement out of the idea that Macdonald was pulling my leg; purposefully writing slightly cliched and florid, as any amateur writer might:
The slam of the car door wakes me, and my dreams fall away as the facts of my life tumble back into my empty head. I'm alone in the car and look out to see that I'm at the edge of the desert, the God-forsaken desert where the snakes go hungry and die eating dirt. I see that Adam Eget is out there pacing around, agitated, a cigarette stuck to his mouth like always, like they must teach everyone to do at AA. And he's cursing a sky that has no stars, so I ask him what the problem is.That's not terrible writing, but the fact that Macdonald kept the whole thing balanced on the thin edge of is-he-being-serious-or-ironic-with-this made me smile throughout (and when the self-important ghostwriter claims responsibility for the writing, the reader is encouraged to like the end result even less). Further irony, when Macdonald is describing his early success on the stand-up circuit:
I quickly developed a cult following. That sounds pretty good, but the truth is that it's the last thing you want to develop. The only time having a cult following is a good thing is when you are actually in a cult. Then you get to be a cult leader and life is milk and honey. First off, everyone thinks you are God, so you get to tell them all what to do. Your followers bow down before you and give you all their worldly goods, which can really add up, even with a smallish cult. The best part is you get to lie down with all the ladies from the cult, even the married ones. In a short matter of time, you become drunk with power and begin to lie down with the men also, not because you want to, but just because you can. Yes, being a cult leader with a cult following is fine work if you can find it. However, being a stand-up comedian with a cult following just means that most people hate your guts.Ironic because wrapped around this nugget of truth about “a cult following just means that most people hate your guts” is the fact that the ghostwriter is actually named Charles Manson (not that one!) whose unfortunate name forced him to become the invisible talent behind numerous illiterate celebrities who need his help. (And if this Charles Manson is supposed to have written the whole book because Macdonald is the most illiterate of all, then why would he concoct a metaphor about the enviable life of a cult leader? These kind of moments occur throughout.)
Along the way, there are plenty of quips – Death is a funny thing. Not funny haha, like a Woody Allen movie, but funny strange, like a Woody Allen marriage. – and the chapters on Rodney Dangerfield and Don Rickles had me hooting (Warning: when I showed the chapter about Don Rickles to my daughter, she gamely cracked a smile; she didn't get it; you had to have grown up with these guys on TV, I guess), and when Macdonald shares his top 25 Weekend Update jokes, I laughed at each of them because I remembered them; I could still hear his deadpan delivery; see the cocked eyebrow (Note: my daughter laughed out loud at this list; I guess everyone can relate to O.J.'s lucky stabbing hat. Further note: Macdonald gets hilarious revenge on the NBC exec who fired him for refusing to stop with the O.J. jokes). Also along the way, Macdonald is generous in his praise of those who gave him his start (especially Dennis Miller and Adam Sandler; he also gives all the credit for any success he had on Weekend Update to his writing team), and he includes some moments which seem sincere:
Most people would think it's the wins that keep the gambler going, but any gambler knows that this is not true. As you place your chips on the craps table, you feel anxiety and impatience. When the red dice hit the green felt with a thunk and you're declared the winner and the chips are pushed toward you, you feel relief. Relief is all. And relief is fine, but hardly what a man would give the whole rest of his life to gain. It has to be something else and the best I've come up with is this: It is a particular moment. A magic moment that occurs after the placing of a bet and before the result of that bet. It is after the red dice are thrown but before they lie still on the green felt where they fall. It is when the dice are in the air, and as long as they are there, time stops. As long as the red dice are in the air, the gambler has hope. And hope is a wonderful thing to be addicted to.In The Final Chapter (which isn't actually the final chapter of the book), Macdonald writes, “I think a lot of people feel sorry for you if you were on SNL and emerged anything less than a superstar. They assume you must be bitter. But it is impossible for me to be bitter. I've been lucky.” Even with his gambling losses, Macdonald claims to have no regrets, and although I can't say that I know him any better now than I did before picking up Based on a True Story, I was thoroughly amused by this read and don't think Macdonald owes me any more than that; even if I have seen him on TV.
