The Elephant to Hollywood. By Michael Caine. Henry Holt and Co., 2010. 320 pages.

It’s nice that Michael Caine is old and secure enough to write about his career without resorting to Alfie-esque pretension and distanced smirking. His earlier books, and there are several, were informative, more than serviceable or merely commercial cash-ins. But where 1992’s What’s It All About was about maintaining his cool and asserting his place in the British movie star pantheon, and Acting for Film was likewise about artistry rather than celebrity, with The Elephant to Hollywood Caine finally stops being self-conscious about his natural charm. Those other books are worthwhile, and few other stars could have done as good a job with them, but this collection of breezy anecdotes has been a long time coming.
The upstanding Caine of the earlier tomes obscured some great stories that the down-to-earth Caine now tells with casual flair—his working class roots, his fraught days as a young actor in the midst of the barroom brawls and uponemanships of the kitchen-sink drama era, and especially the extraordinary story of how he fell in love with Shakira Baksh, his second wife. He tracked her down after seeing her in a TV ad for Maxwell House coffee, somehow convinced her to date him, and has been married to her since 1973.
There’s a lot of joy in this book, some of it unexpected. Easing into supporting roles after decades of leading-man turns, you might expect a bruised ego, but Caine doesn’t come off that way, thrilled to be known as Alfred in Christopher Nolan’s Batman films. His list of actors he was happy to have finally worked with isn’t a namedroppy one—he appreciates talent more than fame, so actors like Bob Hoskins get their due.
In writing a conventional movie-star autobio, Michael Caine actually distinguishes himself as someone who didn’t have to write one, but did anyway. For that, this reader (and unrepentant Blame It on Rio fan) is grateful.