Whether you are a fan of the sport of Tennis or not, most bibliophiles know and would tell you that Andre Agassi's memoir 'Open' is one of the finest, most trite yet egoistically well-written look-back-at-my-famous-life there ever was. Will Smith's penchant for detail--from the beltings at home by his raging alcoholic father to that life-altering moment with Arnold Schwarzenegger, this man has the memory of a whale--is similar in language. The loud, self-derogation tonality of the biography is nothing but a curtain raiser to the self-obsessed, extremely talented and one of the finest salesman of Hollywood, ladies and gentleman: Will Smith for you!&nbsp;

<img alt="vjlnljbvjhbnk" data-entity-type="file" data-entity-uuid="10f8fc88-da4f-479e-9892-e394bcc8489f" src="//cdn.wionews.com/sites/default/files/inline-images/pjimage%20-%202021-11-27T195542.495.jpg" /> 
'Will' impresses for two reasons: the actor presents the self-help rhetoric at periodic intervals to satiate his readers' need for a good cry, and, despite his best efforts to keep ego massages in check, his preachy anecdotes about the glorious life he gets to live as one of the biggest Black stars of all time. Will Smith sure as shell knows it's not easy being Will Smith, but success is self-admittedly his heroine and he isn't in it for rehabilitation, so he masks his insecurities and plays the game. Every single day, or so he says.

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The chapters dedicated to his tender years and the subsequent bravado at home--he quit school to be a rapper, one of the firsts to win a Grammy in fact--are carefully planted emotional snippets from the life of a Black success story who catapulted to superstardom at a time when inclusion was a topic people did not talk even at support group meetings.&nbsp;

 
'Men in Black', 'Enemy of the State', Oscar nominated 'Ali' and 'The Pursuit of Happyness', again 'Men in Black II', 'Independence Day' and even 'Hancock', Will Smith will proudly have you know he has made outrageous amounts of money that he could retire tomorrow if he wants to.&nbsp;

Also read:&nbsp;<a href="https://www.wionews.com/entertainment/lifestyle/news-wion-exclusive-carryminati-my-alter-ego-made-me-from-being-invisible-to-widely-recognised-430716" hreflang="en">WION exclusive! CarryMinati: My alter ego made me from being invisible to widely recognised</a>

 
Entertainment must really be running thick in his blood veins for he gets candid about love and sex, slightly held back in portions where he talks about his polygamous marriage to Jada Pinkett-Smith, and his unapologetic tendency for success. "Skeptics call it self-delusion (referring to 'Summertime'); I call it ‘another Grammy’ and ‘my first #1 record.’ ” Will Smith is boastful and wants his life to serve as case study to those on the brink of giving up, or not. The intention is noble, the tone could have been mildly modest.&nbsp;

<img alt="vbjkllb.lm." data-entity-type="file" data-entity-uuid="5c2944e5-74e0-47c5-bbc8-667483393229" src="//cdn.wionews.com/sites/default/files/inline-images/pjimage%20-%202021-11-27T195620.495.jpg" /> 
Yes, a recurring theme in Smith's memoir--which he has written with able help from 'The Subtle Art of Not Giving a F*ck' author, Mark Manson--is the constant tussle between the invincible Hollywood star and the 'coward' buried under layers of 'overcompensation and fake bravado'. But the most honest Will Smith ever gets in this self-deprecating, megalomaniacal memoir is the part where he gets around to talking about the driving force in his life--the absolute desire to win. We learn that even when he is just playing Monopoly with his children, he is in it to win. The 'King Richard' star--one of the Oscar hopefuls this year--has zero, and we really mean 'zero', qualms about his characteristic trait of wanting to be somebody, reach somewhere in life. So, this piece of information should come as no surprise that when one of his movies smashed all Box-Office records, he wanted to surpass the actor who was making all the noise at the time: Jim Carrey. If Carrey was making $20 million a movie, Smith started bidding at 21. As a reader and lover of cinema, one cannot help but respect Will Smith's unquenchable thirst for success, and he being so brutally open about it.&nbsp;

Also read:&nbsp;<a href="https://www.wionews.com/entertainment/hollywood/news-tiger-king-2-review-joe-exotics-life-is-now-a-reality-show-with-more-drama-than-the-kardashians-430587" hreflang="en">'Tiger King 2' review: Joe Exotic's life is now a reality show with more drama than the Kardashians</a>

 
In one of the first pages, Smith describes his persona as "the alien-annihilating MC, the bigger-than-life movie star, is largely a construction — a carefully crafted and honed character — designed to protect myself. To hide myself from the world. To hide the coward"--which, frankly, is a bit over the top of an introduction even by Smith's standards, but it does drive home a strong point: you love Will Smith for all the charm he sprinkles all over you whenever he is on camera, and not the sob stories that seem to have defined his formative years.

 
Both 'Will' and Will Smith are put ups that you love to love, sexual drama or shameful tax fiascos or not.&nbsp;

'Will' is now available on Audible India.&nbsp;

Whether you are a fan of the sport of Tennis or not, most bibliophiles know and would tell you that Andre Agassi's memoir 'Open' is one of the finest, most trite yet egoistically well-written look-back-at-my-famous-life there ever was.

Whether you are a fan of the sport of Tennis or not, most bibliophiles know and would tell you that Andre Agassi's memoir 'Open' is one of the finest, most trite yet egoistically well-written look-back-at-my-famous-life there ever was. Will Smith's penchant for detail--from the beltings at home by his raging alcoholic father to that life-altering moment with Arnold Schwarzenegger, this man has the memory of a whale--is similar in language. The loud, self-derogation tonality of the biography is nothing but a curtain raiser to the self-obsessed, extremely talented and one of the finest salesman of Hollywood, ladies and gentleman: Will Smith for you! 'Will' impresses for two reasons: the actor presents the self-help rhetoric at periodic intervals to satiate his readers' need for a good cry, and, despite his best efforts to keep ego massages in check, his preachy anecdotes about the glorious life he gets to live as one of the biggest Black stars of all time. Will Smith sure as shell knows it's not easy being Will Smith, but success is self-admittedly his heroine and he isn't in it for rehabilitation, so he masks his insecurities and plays the game. Every single day, or so he says. Also read: 'Chhorii' review: Nushrratt Bharuccha takes one for the team The chapters dedicated to his tender years and the subsequent bravado at home--he quit school to be a rapper, one of the firsts to win a Grammy in fact--are carefully planted emotional snippets from the life of a Black success story who catapulted to superstardom at a time when inclusion was a topic people did not talk even at support group meetings. 'Men in Black', 'Enemy of the State', Oscar nominated 'Ali' and 'The Pursuit of Happyness', again 'Men in Black II', 'Independence Day' and even 'Hancock', Will Smith will proudly have you know he has made outrageous amounts of money that he could retire tomorrow if he wants to. Also read: WION exclusive! CarryMinati: My alter ego made me from being invisible to widely recognised Entertainment must really be running thick in his blood veins for he gets candid about love and sex, slightly held back in portions where he talks about his polygamous marriage to Jada Pinkett-Smith, and his unapologetic tendency for success. "Skeptics call it self-delusion (referring to 'Summertime'); I call it ‘another Grammy’ and ‘my first #1 record.’ ” Will Smith is boastful and wants his life to serve as case study to those on the brink of giving up, or not. The intention is noble, the tone could have been mildly modest. Yes, a recurring theme in Smith's memoir--which he has written with able help from 'The Subtle Art of Not Giving a F*ck' author, Mark Manson--is the constant tussle between the invincible Hollywood star and the 'coward' buried under layers of 'overcompensation and fake bravado'. But the most honest Will Smith ever gets in this self-deprecating, megalomaniacal memoir is the part where he gets around to talking about the driving force in his life--the absolute desire to win. We learn that even when he is just playing Monopoly with his children, he is in it to win. The 'King Richard' star--one of the Oscar hopefuls this year--has zero, and we really mean 'zero', qualms about his characteristic trait of wanting to be somebody, reach somewhere in life. So, this piece of information should come as no surprise that when one of his movies smashed all Box-Office records, he wanted to surpass the actor who was making all the noise at the time: Jim Carrey. If Carrey was making $20 million a movie, Smith started bidding at 21. As a reader and lover of cinema, one cannot help but respect Will Smith's unquenchable thirst for success, and he being so brutally open about it. Also read: 'Tiger King 2' review: Joe Exotic's life is now a reality show with more drama than the Kardashians In one of the first pages, Smith describes his persona as "the alien-annihilating MC, the bigger-than-life movie star, is largely a construction — a carefully crafted and honed character — designed to protect myself. To hide myself from the world. To hide the coward"--which, frankly, is a bit over the top of an introduction even by Smith's standards, but it does drive home a strong point: you love Will Smith for all the charm he sprinkles all over you whenever he is on camera, and not the sob stories that seem to have defined his formative years. Both 'Will' and Will Smith are put ups that you love to love, sexual drama or shameful tax fiascos or not. 'Will' is now available on Audible India.

'Will' book review: Will Smith, the superstar, confronts Will Smith, the coward

How much sex is too much sex? Well, Will Smith would be the right person to answer that question.&nbsp;

 
In his explosive new memoir, 'Will', Hollywood superstar Will Smith revealed that after break-up with then girlfriend Melanie (who had cheated on him), he turned into a 'ghetto hyena' and had sex with everything that moved.&nbsp;

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“I desperately need relief but as there is no pill for heartbreak, I resorted to the homeopathic remedies of shopping and rampant sexual intercourse,” Will reportedly revealed.&nbsp;

 
“Up until this point in my life, I had only had sex with one woman other than Melanie, but over the next few months, I went full ghetto hyena.”

 
But, his inner self knew better and that rejected Smith's high libido at the time as he had developed a “psychosomatic reaction” to ejaculations.

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“I had sex with so many women, and it was so constitutionally disagreeable to the core of my being, that I developed a psychosomatic reaction to having an orgasm. It would literally make me gag and sometimes even vomit,” he wrote.

 
However, that did not discourage him from having more sex in order to nurse his broken heart.&nbsp; 
“In every case, though, I hoped to God this beautiful stranger would be ‘the one’ who would love me, who would make this pain go away. But invariably, there I was, retching and wretched. And the look in the eyes of the women even further deepened my agony," he explained.&nbsp;

 
Smith later married Sheree Zampino in 1992, which led to divorce in 1995. He then married now-wife Jada Pinkett Smith, with whom he has an open relationship.

 
“We drank every day, we had sex multiple times every day for four straight months. I started to wonder if this was a competition. Either way, as far as I was concerned, there were only two possibilities: I was going to satisfy this woman sexually or I was going to die trying," he wrote.&nbsp;

Also read:&nbsp;<a href="https://www.wionews.com/entertainment/bollywood/news-bhediya-first-look-varun-dhawan-turns-into-a-werewolf-for-this-horror-thriller-431789" hreflang="en">'Bhediya' first look: Varun Dhawan turns into a werewolf for horror-thriller</a>

How much sex is too much sex? Well, Will Smith would be the right person to answer that question. In his explosive new memoir, 'Will', Hollywood superstar Will Smith revealed that after break-up with then girlfriend Melanie (who had cheated on him), he turned into a 'ghetto hyena' and had sex with everything that moved.

How much sex is too much sex? Well, Will Smith would be the right person to answer that question. In his explosive new memoir, 'Will', Hollywood superstar Will Smith revealed that after break-up with then girlfriend Melanie (who had cheated on him), he turned into a 'ghetto hyena' and had sex with everything that moved. Also read: Korean war movie set to become China's highest-grossing film “I desperately need relief but as there is no pill for heartbreak, I resorted to the homeopathic remedies of shopping and rampant sexual intercourse,” Will reportedly revealed. “Up until this point in my life, I had only had sex with one woman other than Melanie, but over the next few months, I went full ghetto hyena.” But, his inner self knew better and that rejected Smith's high libido at the time as he had developed a “psychosomatic reaction” to ejaculations. Also read: BLACKPINK star Lisa tests positive for coronavirus “I had sex with so many women, and it was so constitutionally disagreeable to the core of my being, that I developed a psychosomatic reaction to having an orgasm. It would literally make me gag and sometimes even vomit,” he wrote. However, that did not discourage him from having more sex in order to nurse his broken heart. “In every case, though, I hoped to God this beautiful stranger would be ‘the one’ who would love me, who would make this pain go away. But invariably, there I was, retching and wretched. And the look in the eyes of the women even further deepened my agony," he explained. Smith later married Sheree Zampino in 1992, which led to divorce in 1995. He then married now-wife Jada Pinkett Smith, with whom he has an open relationship. “We drank every day, we had sex multiple times every day for four straight months. I started to wonder if this was a competition. Either way, as far as I was concerned, there were only two possibilities: I was going to satisfy this woman sexually or I was going to die trying," he wrote. Also read: 'Bhediya' first look: Varun Dhawan turns into a werewolf for horror-thriller

Get this: Will Smith had a lot of meaningless sex and puked after orgasm

Fourth of July weekend, 1996. America has gasped en masse watching aliens detonate the White House in the movie “Independence Day” and, at 3 a.m. in Los Angeles, the telephone of its young star, Will Smith, jangles him awake.

 
It’s his domineering father, calling from Philadelphia to crow about the boffo box office receipts. “Remember I told you! There’s no such thing as luck,” this man he calls Daddio reminds him several times. 
Smith is baffled. Then Daddio, piling on affectionate profanity, concedes he was wrong about being the creator of your own destiny, about success being the result of preparation meeting opportunity and all that. His son, a rapper-turned-sitcom actor and now overnight matinee idol, is just the luckiest man he has ever met.

 
Titled simply “Will,” with all of that word’s felicitous double entendres of iron and resolve, Smith’s autobiography is indeed a fairy tale of dazzling good fortune — albeit one told by a narrator who admits by the second chapter that he is unreliable, a lifelong embellisher for whom “the border between fantasy and reality has always been thin and transparent.”

 
The book is also intermittently a call to self-actualization: Written with Mark Manson, a mega-selling personal-growth author himself prone to profanity, it’s sprinkled with homilies like “Living is the journey from not knowing to knowing. From not understanding to understanding. From confusion to clarity.” A Fresh Prince of all media, Smith has so many “angels” to thank along this “journey,” he directs readers to his Instagram account rather than kill more trees with lengthy acknowledgments.

 
It’s more like a wild ride than a journey, however, one whose most valuable insights are to be gleaned not on Instagram but in a pre-web world of suburban basements, cassette decks, network TV shows, fax machines, party lines and playing outside.

 
During Smith’s childhood in the Wynnefield neighborhood of West Philadelphia, Daddio was a hard-drinking self-employed refrigeration engineer of militaristic discipline but erratic temper. He once struck Smith’s mother, known as Mom-Mom — an office and then school administrator of her own considerable mettle — so hard she spit blood. Witnessing this at age 9, Will determined heartbreakingly that he was a “coward” for not intervening — a self-characterization that echoes throughout this story and, he theorizes later, drove him to compensate by powering through fear. (For his 50th birthday, he bungee-jumped backward out of a helicopter above the Grand Canyon.)

 
Smith developed a work ethic bagging ice and laying bricks for the family business, but he felt safest when Daddio, a frustrated photography buff, was making home movies. The camera had no sound and so the little boy learned to ham it up, forever bursting into frame. “I invented photobombing,” he writes.

 
Years later, when his old man is confined to a wheelchair with heart disease, Smith confesses he contemplated pushing him down a staircase, like Richard Widmark’s character in the film noir “Kiss of Death”: “My 911 call would be Academy Award level.” It’s a rare flash of darkness from a guy whose psychological adaptations were affability and popularity, the desire to make sure everyone around him was having a good time.

 
In the rap world where he made his name, those traits weren’t always appreciated, and Smith’s reputation for being “soft” and “bubble gum” still rankles. He encountered his share of violence outside as well as inside the home, solidly middle-class though it was. In one early meeting with an annoyed television executive, he and his entourage were so sure a brawl was about to break out that his manager lifted a 5-pound snow globe in anticipatory self-defense.

 
He tells of learning to appeal to white sensibilities at the Catholic school he attended, until his parents withdrew him after a racist incident at the football awards banquet; and of getting into what Mom-Mom calls “hippity-hopping” at Overbrook High, which was predominantly Black. Smith’s collaboration with Jeffrey Allen Townes, aka DJ Jazzy Jeff, a nerdy kid from another neighborhood who survived non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma, was so successful, with a hit song before graduation, that Smith decided against college. “We were seeking our sound,” he writes of their intense early partnership, “but we found ourselves.”

 
Scenes from tours with Public Enemy and 2 Live Crew are amazing 3-D postcards from the rosy dawn of the genre, including friction with local law enforcement in the South, onstage fellatio and the nightly “hanging” of a stuntman in a Ku Klux Klan hood. Smith squandered his earnings and neglected to pay taxes, only to get a lucky second break from Quincy Jones, his Obi Wan Kenobi, to star with Townes on a custom-built sitcom, “The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air.”

 
Though Smith claims he didn’t read a book cover to cover until he was “well into” his 20s, he has the literary aplomb (thanks partly to Mom-Mom) and the trust in his manager’s discernment to turn down $10 million for an early project called “8 Heads in a Duffel Bag,” choosing instead Paul Poitier in John Guare’s “Six Degrees of Separation” for $300,000. Eventually he gorges on magical realism and mythology, falling in love with Paulo Coelho’s “The Alchemist” and Joseph Campbell’s “The Hero With a Thousand Faces.”

 
Smith’s own hero’s quest, at first, is for more money (“sucking all the cash out of the weekend”), more fame, more global records, a house as palatial as the one he saw growing up on “Dallas” — no matter that his second wife, the formidable Jada Pinkett, doesn’t want to arrive at breakfast on a stallion the way Sue Ellen Ewing did.

 
As the book progresses, and Smith’s celebrity becomes more stratospheric and snow globe-like, the air grows thinner; he starts to gasp for breath and turns inward. “Am I an addict?” he wonders during a period of introspection that includes meditation, a trip to Trinidad, the therapeutic identification of a persona called Uncle Fluffy and over a dozen ayahuasca ceremonies. He’s not hooked on drugs, or drink, or “sex like some ghetto hyena.” Smith is a workaholic, and a win-aholic, those most virtuous and therefore invisible of vices. 
Writing a book that will probably blow up the charts, and publicizing it, may not be good for his recovery. But one day at a time.

Fourth of July weekend, 1996. America has gasped en masse watching aliens detonate the White House in the movie “Independence Day” and, at 3 a.m. in Los Angeles, the telephone of its young star, Will Smith, jangles him awake.

Fourth of July weekend, 1996. America has gasped en masse watching aliens detonate the White House in the movie “Independence Day” and, at 3 a.m. in Los Angeles, the telephone of its young star, Will Smith, jangles him awake. It’s his domineering father, calling from Philadelphia to crow about the boffo box office receipts. “Remember I told you! There’s no such thing as luck,” this man he calls Daddio reminds him several times. Smith is baffled. Then Daddio, piling on affectionate profanity, concedes he was wrong about being the creator of your own destiny, about success being the result of preparation meeting opportunity and all that. His son, a rapper-turned-sitcom actor and now overnight matinee idol, is just the luckiest man he has ever met. Titled simply “Will,” with all of that word’s felicitous double entendres of iron and resolve, Smith’s autobiography is indeed a fairy tale of dazzling good fortune — albeit one told by a narrator who admits by the second chapter that he is unreliable, a lifelong embellisher for whom “the border between fantasy and reality has always been thin and transparent.” The book is also intermittently a call to self-actualization: Written with Mark Manson, a mega-selling personal-growth author himself prone to profanity, it’s sprinkled with homilies like “Living is the journey from not knowing to knowing. From not understanding to understanding. From confusion to clarity.” A Fresh Prince of all media, Smith has so many “angels” to thank along this “journey,” he directs readers to his Instagram account rather than kill more trees with lengthy acknowledgments. It’s more like a wild ride than a journey, however, one whose most valuable insights are to be gleaned not on Instagram but in a pre-web world of suburban basements, cassette decks, network TV shows, fax machines, party lines and playing outside. During Smith’s childhood in the Wynnefield neighborhood of West Philadelphia, Daddio was a hard-drinking self-employed refrigeration engineer of militaristic discipline but erratic temper. He once struck Smith’s mother, known as Mom-Mom — an office and then school administrator of her own considerable mettle — so hard she spit blood. Witnessing this at age 9, Will determined heartbreakingly that he was a “coward” for not intervening — a self-characterization that echoes throughout this story and, he theorizes later, drove him to compensate by powering through fear. (For his 50th birthday, he bungee-jumped backward out of a helicopter above the Grand Canyon.) Smith developed a work ethic bagging ice and laying bricks for the family business, but he felt safest when Daddio, a frustrated photography buff, was making home movies. The camera had no sound and so the little boy learned to ham it up, forever bursting into frame. “I invented photobombing,” he writes. Years later, when his old man is confined to a wheelchair with heart disease, Smith confesses he contemplated pushing him down a staircase, like Richard Widmark’s character in the film noir “Kiss of Death”: “My 911 call would be Academy Award level.” It’s a rare flash of darkness from a guy whose psychological adaptations were affability and popularity, the desire to make sure everyone around him was having a good time. In the rap world where he made his name, those traits weren’t always appreciated, and Smith’s reputation for being “soft” and “bubble gum” still rankles. He encountered his share of violence outside as well as inside the home, solidly middle-class though it was. In one early meeting with an annoyed television executive, he and his entourage were so sure a brawl was about to break out that his manager lifted a 5-pound snow globe in anticipatory self-defense. He tells of learning to appeal to white sensibilities at the Catholic school he attended, until his parents withdrew him after a racist incident at the football awards banquet; and of getting into what Mom-Mom calls “hippity-hopping” at Overbrook High, which was predominantly Black. Smith’s collaboration with Jeffrey Allen Townes, aka DJ Jazzy Jeff, a nerdy kid from another neighborhood who survived non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma, was so successful, with a hit song before graduation, that Smith decided against college. “We were seeking our sound,” he writes of their intense early partnership, “but we found ourselves.” Scenes from tours with Public Enemy and 2 Live Crew are amazing 3-D postcards from the rosy dawn of the genre, including friction with local law enforcement in the South, onstage fellatio and the nightly “hanging” of a stuntman in a Ku Klux Klan hood. Smith squandered his earnings and neglected to pay taxes, only to get a lucky second break from Quincy Jones, his Obi Wan Kenobi, to star with Townes on a custom-built sitcom, “The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air.” Though Smith claims he didn’t read a book cover to cover until he was “well into” his 20s, he has the literary aplomb (thanks partly to Mom-Mom) and the trust in his manager’s discernment to turn down $10 million for an early project called “8 Heads in a Duffel Bag,” choosing instead Paul Poitier in John Guare’s “Six Degrees of Separation” for $300,000. Eventually he gorges on magical realism and mythology, falling in love with Paulo Coelho’s “The Alchemist” and Joseph Campbell’s “The Hero With a Thousand Faces.” Smith’s own hero’s quest, at first, is for more money (“sucking all the cash out of the weekend”), more fame, more global records, a house as palatial as the one he saw growing up on “Dallas” — no matter that his second wife, the formidable Jada Pinkett, doesn’t want to arrive at breakfast on a stallion the way Sue Ellen Ewing did. As the book progresses, and Smith’s celebrity becomes more stratospheric and snow globe-like, the air grows thinner; he starts to gasp for breath and turns inward. “Am I an addict?” he wonders during a period of introspection that includes meditation, a trip to Trinidad, the therapeutic identification of a persona called Uncle Fluffy and over a dozen ayahuasca ceremonies. He’s not hooked on drugs, or drink, or “sex like some ghetto hyena.” Smith is a workaholic, and a win-aholic, those most virtuous and therefore invisible of vices. Writing a book that will probably blow up the charts, and publicizing it, may not be good for his recovery. But one day at a time.

The Fresh Prince of Belles-Lettres? Will Smith has a memoir