Richard E. Grant Fights Grief With ‘A Pocketful of Happiness’

A POCKETFUL OF HAPPINESS, by Richard E. Grant

Richard E. Grant is a superb actor and, it appears, a fairly great (goofy, gifted, loving) man. His new memoir, written in diary kind, is about his terrific 38-year marriage-of-opposites to Joan Washington (he the everlasting adolescent, star-struck optimist and gifted actor, she a sharp-tongued, no-nonsense and equally gifted dialect coach) and her painful loss of life from most cancers. (It is she who, whereas dying, instructs him to hunt a “pocketful of happiness” day by day after she is gone.)

Grant writes: “Am wondering, at the age of 63, and 11 months, if I am ever going to be a proper grown-up.” It’s not a query I requested myself whereas studying this guide. He is so open, so crammed with emotions and giddy with delight when beloved, seen and/or praised. (He not solely writes about each thrilling element of being Oscar-nominated for his extraordinary efficiency in “Can You Ever Forgive Me?,” he then quotes numerous journalists and publicists in regards to the allure and disarming candor of his enthusiasm. And then there are just a few extra quotes from associates who inform him how gifted and great he’s, as he in the end doesn’t win the Academy Award.) But he’s too thrilled with all this to carry any of it towards him, even because the Hollywood sections take away from the depth of the guide.

If Richard E. Grant have been writing a assessment of this transferring memoir, there can be many, many fond and admiring adjectives used to explain nearly everybody who seems within the pages: witty, forthright, feisty, silky-soft, button-bright, hilarious, loving, beneficiant, heartbreaking, warmhearted, inclusive, sensible, sparky, wonderful, charming, gilded, entertaining.