Benjamin Myers’ book Jesus Christ Kinski takes a particularly eccentric slice of Klaus Kinski’s acting life (a one-man performance about Jesus Christ!) and tries to make sense of the absurdity. A narcissistic, sex obsessed abuser, life constantly lived at boiling point, Kinski is the (im)perfect subject. Is it any wonder that Benjamin Myers’ Jesus Christ Kinski is such a rollercoaster ride? Strap in and jump on the mad actor’s back, but, for fuck’s sake, don’t let go. “You could be sleepwalking through the giallos

 and the westerns for another six months of quick fucks, late starts and long lunches but now you’re stuck with Jesus Christ and a run of tour dates all the way to Christmas”. Myers’ ventriloquist act works a treat as he worms his way into the maelstrom in Kinski’s head and you’re left gasping at the actor’s utter disregard for anyone else except himself, “I am a genius, you piece of shit!” Genius or not, this book gets you way too close to Kinski at his misanthropic worst and even Myers has his doubts whether this is a good thing or not, “What the hell had all these months spent with Klaus Kinski done to him?” In between brilliant slices of ventriloquism the author writes about, among other things, life during lockdown, moving house, the weather, hypochondria, and why on earth Kinski popped into his head, lodged there and left him wondering about writing a book he’s knows he shouldn’t write, “…he found himself thinking about Klaus Kinski and various topics related to him…and who wanted to read that?” Well, I wanted to read that, as I did the chunks of reflection which act as a kind of balm, a sensitive and everyday humanity that Kinski had either sloughed off or lost along the way. Jesus Christ Kinski? Totally recommended.

Jesus Christ Kinski – Benjamin Myers – published by Bloomsbury - £18.99

Steven Long