Sometimes reading a biography is like having another life of your own. Clair Bloom's is not such a book.
Sometimes an actor's autobiography is an extension of his on-screen persona- he wants to be noticed, admired, loved. Consequently they appear to be the life of the party and if they ever make a mistake it is understandable, names are dropped, but the guard never. I'm thinking David Niven's " The Moon's a Balloon" and countless others. They're dishonest public relations affairs.
Bloom's brief foray into self-exposure isn't. The actress who was always an actress- a natural who was always noticed-has a story to tell but doesn't tell it. Her marriage to one of the greatest actors of all time, Rod Steiger, is glossed over, as are so many potentially interesting and revealing - episodes of her life. In the end, the autobiography dwindles away into a series of reflections on various subjects, like a dying swan looking for somewhere to hide. 2/5