All I Need Is Love

All I Need Is Love, by Klaus Kinski. The most outrageous, manic, rude, and wildly entertaining autobiography I have ever read.  This thing is so nuts, it’s not even published anymore. You can only get used copies, at a very, very high price, from online booksellers. I got a copy from the library years ago and smartly xeroxed a copy for myself, as the library here has since taken the book out of circulation.

Published in 1986, it is a candid and outrageously lurid account of the German actor's life, from his childhood in Nazi Germany to his rise to fame in world cinema, culminating in his five epic collaborations with director Werner Herzog. 

Half frothing, bitter rant and half brutally honest confession, there's not a single dull page.  Kinski begins by recounting his Dickensian childhood in war-torn Germany, suffering from extreme poverty and a cold, abusive mother and a weak, pathetic father.

But it's Kinski's portrayal of his relationships with women that has earned this book's reputation for obscenity and its banishment.  All I Need Is Love would probably cause #MeToo girls to faint. He writes about his many affairs and marriages in graphic, insulting detail. Kinski would fornicate with whatever woman was handy, regardless of appearance, hygiene, age, weight, race, etc.  While there are occasional recollections of affection, Kinski's chief concern with women was biological, he had an insatiable need for the female's holes.   

Kinski also frankly discusses his drug use. He admits to using a variety of drugs, including cocaine, heroin, and LSD. He also writes about his experiences with mental illness, including depression and schizophrenia.

Also memorable is Kinski's unflattering assessment of the film industry, and, of course, his most famous director, Werner Herzog. There are numerous epic rants deriding the stupidity and artlessness of Herzog. Herzog dismisses much of Kinski's criticism of him as pure fabrication meant only to create a sensational best-seller.  Herzog's protests have led to much critical scrutiny of All I Need Is Love. Most critics side with Herzog, and accuse Kinski of exaggerating or fabricating many of the events of his life detailed in the book.

I choose to take Kinski at his word, but does it really matter whether or not All I Need Is Love is an honest account of Kinski's life? I am reminded of Antonin Artaud’s answer when some dull literary critic dared to ask him if his biography of Heliogabalus was *true.* Artaud answered “what does it matter? I have created something beautiful.” And that’s what we can say about Klaus KInski’s All I Need Is Love.