Books: Me Cheeta

The most famous chimpanzee in Hollywood writes a clever, heart-warming love story, and shows some of the stars in a new light

IF YOU CONSIDER YOURSELF A discerning reader, perhaps frequenting a musty bookshop or two of a Saturday afternoon, the cover of Hollywood's newest celebrity autobiography may not appeal.

ME CHEETA

by Anonymous

Fourth Estate, 306pp, £16.99

Review by ELLA HICKSON
The huge white, cube-like title, the gormless and gawping chimpanzee that adorns the jacket, and the all-American sheen on the paper are strong indicators that Me Cheeta is yet another dollop of stateside nonsense. The index page does little to alter first impressions. Fifteen of the 21 chapter headings end in exclamation marks – "America Ahoy!", "Big Apple!", "Big Break!".

Flick to the prologue and things become a little more complicated. "Dearest humans," our author begins, "I am actor, artist, African, American, ape and now author." Not only has the simple-looking simian made it on to the cover, he's written the darn thing and, believe it or not, been nominated for a Guardian First Book Award.

All prejudice dissipates as it becomes clear that this novel is very entertaining, and so it should be; its author has been in show business for 75 years. Me Cheeta is the ghost-written autobiography of Cheeta the chimpanzee, who starred opposite Johnny Weissmuller in all 12 of the silent Tarzan movies that spanned the 1930s and '40s.

Its 300 pages are littered with insider information and amusing anecdotes from Hollywood's heyday. Marlene Dietrich, for example, occasionally dressed as a monkey, was prone to lesbian shenanigans and peed herself when she laughed. When Rex Harrison is described as "an absolutely irredeemable c***" you realise that one of the joys of this novel is that it doesn't mince its words. Bogie (Bogart), Niv (David Niven), Kate (Hepburn), Chaplin, Selznick, Warner and Mayer are encountered anew, this time without press office sheen.

Whoever Cheeta's ghost-writer is, he must be congratulated on his powers of archival collation. Considering that 90 per cent of this novel's characters are now dead and its protagonist, narrator and assumed author lacks the use of the English language, the creation of a convincing and chronologically authentic narrative is hugely impressive. However, the reader suffers a little at the hands of the author's encyclopaedic knowledge of 1930s film trivia; most names are abbreviated and knowledge of the stars is assumed rather than established. The most aggravating instances of authorial arrogance are found in his use of obscure film fact as a mode of comparison.

"I kept my head down behind a clump of sagebrush no bigger, say, than the illegitimate daughter Loretta Young never acknowledged" – the attempt at satirising the autobiographical style is clear, but the result is the alienation of the reader.

Behind the film trivia and Hollywood gossip, however, lies a much more complex tale that belies the comedic photos that punctuate this book. Having been rescued from the claws of death by Mr Gentry, an animal importer who brought the African jungle into American film studios, Cheeta came to see humans as the agents of his salvation. He blindly assumes captivity to be "rehab" and wilfully sustains his belief that the human race is working to create an animal utopia, even in the face of trainer Gately's "ugly-stick" and months of depression-inducing confinement.

Cheeta's position as the unwitting yet hopeful victim is, however, consistently complicated by his advertisements for the "No Reel Apes" campaign, a fund to which the proceeds of the book are going, which aims to stop animals from taking part in the film industry. Cheeta's flux from nescience to knowledge and back again makes the ethical point that the author is trying to make incredibly difficult to decipher. Is Cheeta as grateful as he seems for his Hollywood career or is he party to a huge satire that exposes his mistreatment?

In the end, the author's ambiguous moral compass is overshadowed by the larger narrative, that of the love story. For this novel, for all its exciting escapades, name-dropping and abstruse point-making is, in essence, a rather wonderful love story. Cheeta is utterly besotted with Weissmuller, believing him to be king of, not just the jungle, but the world. Weismuller, in return, offers relative indifference. Cheeta, unperturbed, remains loyal throughout Weismuller's romantic, professional and physical failures, eventually proving to be "the best damn friend he ever had".

Me Cheeta is a tale of enduring love and friendship set amid the shallow world of show business. The irony is obvious, but effective – this chimpanzee is powerfully human while the humans that confine him are animals. Me Cheeta is more than a Hollywood rag-mag; it's a parable of humanity.

The redemptive, heart-warming ending makes up for the few flaws. The result is a tightly written novel with a sassy turn of phrase that combines emotion with good, old-fashioned entertainment.