Few people who worked with Romero went on the record to talk about him. (The author was the beneficiary of an extensive interview with actress Ruta Lee, who was a friend of Romero’s since the 1950s.) Romero’s name is rarely mentioned in celebrity exposes. As a result, much of the available information about his life comprises historical data on his filmography or studio-approved publicity articles in popular movie magazines of the 1930s and 40s.  

The information in Cesar Romero about the actor’s early years was surprisingly detailed. He was born in New York City into a wealthy family. His father was a successful business executive born in Spain, and his maternal grandfather was the noted Cuban revolutionary José Martí (after whom the Havana airport is named). As a child, Romero led an upper-class prep school life, but when his father’s business collapsed after the Depression, Romero wound up supporting the family on and off for many years. He got his start in show business as a professional dancer, appearing with various female partners to entertain guests at society functions (sort of a 1920s version of Dancing with the Stars). From there, Romero “graduated” to the stage, appearing in several Broadway plays, where his looks and dancing ability were a plus. Despite his success, the work didn’t pay well, and he often lived hand to mouth. Romero’s big break came after he decided to try the movies. He went to Hollywood in 1934 with no guarantees but landed a noticeable supporting role in The Thin Man. A studio contract with Fox followed, and Romero found steady work thereafter.

The section of Cesar Romero about the actor’s Hollywood career was alternately fascinating and frustrating. As a contract player, Romero appeared in many nearly forgotten films, often cast as a thug, an unsuccessful romantic rival, or an exotic foreigner. The author feels compelled to mention many of these roles, even though he could have easily summarized them. He provides intriguing tidbits about Romero and the film industry in general. (Romero often went to Hollywood parties as Joan Crawford’s “date” to provide her with cover so she could later surreptitiously go to hotel rooms with married actors.) I understand the dearth of available information about some of Romero’s roles. However, he also appeared in two highly popular movies with Shirley Temple, about which there is plenty of information. Unfortunately, the author’s description of those movies is little more than a brief plot synopsis, emphasizing Romero’s characters. Similarly, the author discusses Romero’s appearance with Marlene Dietrich, with whom he appeared in The Devil Is a Woman. Romero had some rare harsh words for that film’s director, Josef von Sternberg, whom he referred to in a Los Angeles Times 1935 interview as “a mean little man, a little Napoleon.” Romero was far more complimentary of Marlene Dietrich, with whom he became friends. Frank opinions such as these, rather than typical Hollywood pablum, are rare in the book, presumably because Romero rarely made such comments public.

As Bernstein’s biography approaches the present day, information about Romero is more easily available. The author notes that a significant Supreme Court antitrust decision in the 1940s required the major studios to divest themselves of theater chain ownership. Fox and the other studios could no longer rely on their own theaters to screen the large number of B-movies they had been cranking out. As a result, B-film production plummeted, and actors like Romero found themselves largely out of work. Fortunately, as the author notes, Romero quickly turned to television. He starred in one short-lived series (Passport to Danger, playing a character ironically named Steve McQuinn) and made many guest appearances on variety and game shows.

Fans of the Batman TV show will enjoy anecdotes about its production and Romero’s role. (He was responsible for the over-the-top, loony portrayal of the Joker.) Again, however, I was disappointed by the relative paucity of discussion about noted film roles, such as Romero’s co-starring appearance opposite the Rat Pack in Ocean’s 11 or his appearances in a series of Disney movies starring Kurt Russell. The author then goes overboard in discussing Romero’s two-season starring role in the nighttime soap, Falcon Crest. Like most similar shows, such as Dallas and Dynasty, Falcon Crest featured a large cast and multiple complex storylines. The author devotes the better part of a chapter to a detailed plot synopsis of the two seasons of Falcon Crest in which Romero appeared. Unless you’re a major fan of the series, you’ll quickly grow bored or confused by the voluminous plot details.

The author touches on two areas of Romero’s life that I was unfamiliar with. Like most American men of that era, Romero served in the military in World War II. However, unlike other Hollywood celebrities who found stateside PR assignments, Romero was in the Coast Guard and often in the thick of battle. He took part as a boatswain’s mate in the invasions of Saipan and Taiwan before the higher-ups decided he would be more valuable making publicity appearances at war plants. I had renewed respect for Romero after learning these details.

The author also devotes substantial space in Cesar Romero to a discussion of Romero’s sexuality. The close-mouthed Romero never married or became engaged, and he never admitted to being gay (1930s publicity articles fell back on hackneyed descriptions like “confirmed bachelor”). He also has never been outed in any of the celebrity exposes that frequently mention other gay actors like Rock Hudson and Tab Hunter. (Romero’s name never appears in Scottie Bowers’s controversial memoir, Full Service, which names many closeted Hollywood figures of the 1950s.) But the author, who is gay and idolized Romero while growing up, makes what was, for me, a convincing case that Romero was gay. He notes an extended overseas publicity tour Romero made in 1946 with fellow actor Tyrone Power (himself a frequent target of curiosity about his sexuality). However, other than speculation about whether Romero’s sexuality led to his role on Batman (a haven for gay and bisexual actors like Liberace and Roddy McDowall), the author never indicates any consequences resulting from Romero’s possible lifestyle.

Even with the superfluous material about Falcon Crest and the periodic mentions of Romero’s sexuality, the biography portion of Cesar Romero is only 140 pages long. The author augments this with an even longer filmography that exhaustively and exhaustingly details every film or TV episode in which Romero appeared. I doubt many readers will be interested in learning who Romero’s fellow guest panelists were in every game show appearance. Worse, the author includes plot synopses for every one of Romero’s nearly 50 Falcon Crest episodes. However, readers will enjoy the 30 pages of photographs in the book, some of them quite rare.

Overall, I enjoyed Cesar Romero: The Joker Is Wild for its revelations about the actor and hidden nuggets about other aspects of Hollywood. However, I found the extensive extraneous padding quite annoying, especially the repetitive Falcon Crest material. I also disliked the author’s decision to use the present tense throughout the book, even when describing events that occurred a century ago. I’m giving this book a three-star rating and a mild recommendation for Romero fans or vintage movie buffs. However, the joke’s on anyone who expects a definitive biography of the actor.

NOTE: The publisher graciously provided me with a copy of this book through NetGalley. However, the decision to review the book and the contents of this review are entirely my own.