Theroux is, understandably, still haunted by Savile. His new memoir is, on one level, an investigation into how Theroux grew up to be The Guy Who Failed To Nail Savile, and an exploration into how he learns to live with that...Theroux’s meetings with Savile’s victims make for necessarily difficult reading. He’s compassionate, although there’s an odd moment when one woman invites him to attend a counselling session with her so he can witness the emotional fallout. He doesn’t go, and doesn’t explain why.
Theroux’s book is, in part, his own map of the treacherous ethical terrain he often crosses. Equally on-brand is the engaging, funny memoir running alongside the darkness. You wonder if he should have quarantined his Savile material into another book, but as it is, it honours Theroux’s belief in nuance and complexity, his warning against pretending abusers are from the “realm of Grand Guignol” rather than “real world” creatures... A redemptive personal arc matches the professional one, as Theroux discusses his first “marriage of convenience”, once off-limits, and his second marriage to the producer Nancy Strang, with whom he has three sons. His writing on family is comically astute, his dissection of rows between knackered working parents a new field of domestic investigation. His ultimate home truth, though, is simply that “we are complicated” — and with this illuminating yet darkly shadowed memoir, he places himself firmly within that frame.
Britain’s favourite documentarian takes is on another journey into the unknown – this time, his own life. Honest and perceptive as ever, Theroux’s experiences in TV makes for a fascinating read.