CRITICAL – The Canadian actor publishes, at only 59 years old, Fuzzy memories. A story that confirms that the actor does not turn more round than in his films. A boxing of himself but also of Hollywood.
Jim Carrey is at the bottom of the hole. Muddy and bearded, he cures his depression by brutalizing himself in front of Netflix in his villa in Los Angeles. From time to time he sends an SMS to his friend Nicolas Cage (“Nic? When you say that we are surrounded by the spirits of the dead, is that a poetic phrase or are you serious? “). He’s been an adored star, a sure bet at the global box office, taken to the pinnacle for his grimaces and rubbery body in goofy comedies (Ace Ventura, dog and cat detective, Dumb and Dumber, The Mask). The epigone of Jerry Lewis has also earned his stripes as an actor in more serious works (The Truman Show, Man on the moon, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind).
But there he is nothing more than a wreck surrounded by his two guard dogs, two twin Rottweilers trained by the Mossad. There, that is to say in Fuzzy memories (Memoirs and Misinformation en VO), unclassifiable book in which the 59-year-old Canadian actor stages himself with a sense of derision that never spares
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