I always wondered what happened to Andrew McCarthy. You know, the actor arguably most famous as the
object of Molly Ringwald’s affection in Pretty
in Pink.
Even as a huge John Hughes fan, the movie Pretty in Pink wasn’t necessarily a big
favorite of mine, nor was St. Elmo’s
Fire, which may be McCarthy’s other most well-known role (sorry, I totally
bypassed Weekend at Bernie’s in my
viewing history). Outside of that, I
have to use Google to remind myself which films McCarthy has made during his
career, but this really isn’t meant as a shot toward the actor himself. Simply how he wasn’t one of my favorite Brat
Packers (a label I believe they all eschew), so I never really kept up. I remember him popping up as the “white guy”
in The Joy Luck Club and some Hallmark
Channel movie he filmed with Teri Polo, but overall I’m not really that
familiar with his films.
A few years back I was thrilled to see his “comeback” when
he was in the cast of the TV show Lipstick
Jungle, but that, too, didn’t last very long. Somewhere along the road I heard that he had become
a travel writer, but not being one to read travel magazines, I once again gave
it very little thought.
Then a few months ago I hunted him up on Twitter. I like
Twitter for finding celebrities that might not be quite in the brightest
spotlight anymore, people that I love still because they remind me of my youth,
people that keep me entertained. Andrew
McCarthy doesn’t tweet that much, but he does now and again, so I’ve stuck
around.
Late last year I recall he was out on some of the chat shows
hawking a book he had written. I watched
a few of the interviews and thought, “Some day I’ll pick up this book”, but it
took me a while to go hunting. A couple
of weeks back I finally, after living here more than a year, went to the local
library and got my card. Immediately I
went hunting in the biography section and found his book - The Longest Way Home: One Man's Quest for the Courage to Settle Down - along with Molly
Ringwald’s Getting the Pretty Back.
While certainly an interesting read at times,
Molly’s book was a pretty quick read and not a biography at all, so it was definitely
misfiled in the stacks. Her book is more
of a few random bits of her life interspersed with Molly’s tips on fashion and
makeup and lifestyle. Again, not
uninteresting, but I’ve read enough books that tell me what I should or should
not eat/do/think/wear that I’m really over it. I read it and it rolls right
over me and I go back to wearing my beloved Converse Looney Tunes low tops with
Daffy Duck on one side and neon flowers on the other.
Andrew’s book, however, really touched me. He is a truly engaging and wonderful writer.
His stories don’t make me want to scale
Mt. Kilimanjaro as he did, but I
found myself truly relating to a lot of what he was writing about himself. This book details his quest to find himself and
open himself up to his impending marriage with his long-time partner (and
now-wife), whom he refers to as “D” (her name is actually Dolores). He tells stories of his travels and of his
life and weaves it all together so that the reader sees and understands where
he is coming from. I felt as if I was
with him floating on the boat down the Amazon River or
sweltering in the Baltimore heat,
but more than that, I felt a connection to the writer (he bills himself first
as a writer and second as an actor) and saw myself in things he revealed about himself.
Not to go into too much detail, but McCarthy paints a picture of himself as a
lifelong loner and when reading about that, I kept thinking, “This is me. This
is so me.” Because it is.
 |
| He gives being a writer top billing, over acting. That's telling to me. |
I operate quite a bit on my own. I always have. As a little girl, there were 3 little boys
and one little girl in my neighborhood, so I learned to play by myself and be
ok with it. I think that is part of why I always want to have a TV on in the
house as background noise – because when I was a kid I would be playing with my
Barbies or doing something or other, but I would have the TV in my room on with
whatever sitcom was in syndication and the noise made me feel like I was not
alone.
I related to things in this book like the need to get away
from other people and be on my own. This
pull that has you getting up and sneaking out, just to get away. Just so many things he wrote about I could
see in me.
I wish I could truly describe how good this book was, how much I really enjoyed it, but nothing
I say will do it justice. I can only suggest that you run out and get a copy to
read for yourself. Because you may think
you know Andrew McCarthy, but you don’t. However, it seems that the man clearly
knows himself and we are better for his sharing.
