If you want to interview a drunk or see a drunk fall in the camellia bushes, come ahead,” that film’s publicist supposedly told the press. Sharing much in common (including unique theatrical genius and a deep and abiding love of rugby), these men worked hard (citing numerous shudder-inducing stories of the horrors of location filming) and played even harder, suggesting that the downside of a life in the theater may be seriously overtaxing for some who tread the boards, and fueling the theory that the pain of coming out of a role may be far too great to endure without some form of anesthetic.

Anyone familiar with the drinking life knows how crucial company can be -- an uncritical audience for and source of stories and companionship that demands no more than that you stand your round. It's a celebratory catalogue of their miscreant deeds, a greatest-hits package, as it were, of their most breathtakingly outrageous behavior, told with humor and affection. And the gory details just don't stop: Anthony Hopkins used to be a bottle-of-tequila-a-day black out drunk, Elizabeth Taylor delighted in whispering "fuck you and you and you" to fans as she waved from her car, Richard Burton drank so much his spinal column was coated in crystallized booze, and much more. There is also plenty of talk about wasted talent, but each, for the most part, gave interviews in which they admitted they loved every minute of their wild years and wouldn't have changed a thing. Most of us, certainly myself, lead constricted lives, anxious to please, concerned about our reputations.Richard Burton was plagued by a bad back in his later years; when undergoing surgery for the problem, it was found his spine was encased in crystallised alcohol. Anyone horrified by the reckless abandon of “Hellraisers” should know what its ultimate effect turns out to be. The best parts of the book were the segments on Richard Harris, a mean-spirited, violent, and cruel drunk who managed to transform himself into an occasional tippler of Guinness, and more importantly, Albus Dumbledore. Sellers’ habit of referring to any films he considers a failure, however right he may be, as “shit,” “crappy,” “lame” and “piss-poor” etc feels similarly mucky, like stumbling on an online comments section. And the fact that none could entirely stop drinking, even when it became a life-or-death medical necessity, makes it that much sadder.

He'll Play This Bout First: Peter O'Toole starred as Hamlet in an Old Vic production directed by Laurence Olivier in 1963. A savage sock in the jaw to polite, reverential biographical graphic novels, these hilariously bleak shock tales make the modern-day antics of Lindsay Lohan look like Dr. But if that was the case and doctors told me I had to stop, I’d like to think that I would be brave enough to drink myself into the grave. A story of four of the greatest thespian boozers who ever walked - or staggered - off a film set into a pub; of drunken binges of near biblical proportions, parties and orgies, broken marriages, drugs, riots and wanton sexual conquests.

Richard Burton, Richard Harris, Peter O'Toole and Oliver Reed were one-offs: amazing actors, razor-witted raconteurs and above all, down to earth, honest to goodness human beings who took life by the scruff of the neck and gave it a darned good shake.