Even without listening to the Backlisted episode dedicated to this book*, I can speculate they will discuss the truthfulness of Niven’s recollections and anecdotes.** Then, having chewed it over, they will dismiss this concern because The Moon’s a Balloon is a sheer joy to read.

David Niven has always been a presence in my life. I don’t mean him personally. It’s not like he popped in for a cuppa and a chat. It’s moreso that as a kid, I can distinctly recall seeing a copy of The Moons a Ballon on my Dad’s bookshelf. My father had long been an aficionado of Hollywood history, the shelves brimming with autobiographies, memoirs and biographies of the actors who made Hollywood the centre of the cinema universe. One of those books was The Moons a Balloon, and for whatever reason, I, at the age of eight or nine, gravitated to that book with Niven on the cover, all dashing and sophisticated, sporting a wide grin. At least, I think it was that cover. It might have been the one with him holding the balloons. I never read the book. It’s probably a good thing, given Niven’s frank account of losing his cherry at fourteen to a sex worker ***. I also doubt I would have understood the numerous ribald jokes (a chunk of which involve horses for some reason).

Niven is the ultimate raconteur. You can imagine these stories told at parties to friends over cocktails, each eliciting a belly laugh. He was a scamp as a kid, expelled from multiple schools—the story of him sending his ill mate a gift of shit is wrong and hilarious. He loathed his step-father, loved his French mother, especially adored his sister, and could fall in love at the drop of a hat, as he did with his first and second wife (I don’t doubt these stories, you feel that Niven was an “all in” sort of bloke).

When he gets to the War years, Niven’s tone takes on a frankness, a frustration at the fustiness and incompetence of the officer class (of which he was one), and a love for the rogues he met along the way. Niven saw action, and these passages are gripping.

Then we get to the Studio system and Niven’s love-hate relationship with Samuel Goldwyn. The anecdotes and name-dropping come freely. He knew everyone, and he loved most of them. What stands out in this section is the death of Niven’s first wife. It’s an extraordinarily sad and moving piece of writing, a slice of tragedy in amongst all the frivolity and move-making.

That he barely touches open the Pink Panther movies or Casino Royale tells you how busy his life was. This book is pure bliss. It’s no fluke that fifty years after publication, it remains in print.

*I’m so far behind, but I’ll get there. It’s the one podcast I would commit heinous crimes for—well, maybe not heinous, and perhaps not crimes, but I would consider it.

**Niven wrote this book unaware that one day, you could verify some of his claims online. For example, he exaggerates his story about accepting the Academy Award by saying he stumbled and almost fell coming onto the stage. YouTube shows this isn’t the case. And yet, Niven felt he had stumbled at the time because his short acceptance sheet refers to it. It’s as if he was embellishing an anecdote in real time. 

***A case of statutory rape? Or was this the “done thing” in ‘20’s England?