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在将于本周二由克诺夫出版社出版的回忆录《点名》中，好莱坞顶级经纪人、行业大亨阿里·伊曼纽尔讲述了自己在竞争激烈的娱乐界遭遇的拳脚相向——还有一次，他被一辆卡车的车头撞倒在地。
以下为书摘节选，敬请收看9月20日本·曼凯维奇对阿里·伊曼纽尔的专访，节目将在《CBS周日早间》播出！
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1994年初夏。我早起，认真锻炼一番，然后去办公室。点名会持续数小时，要和五六十人沟通五六十个不同的问题，等我回过神来，才发现自己已经精疲力竭，饥肠辘辘。
我沿街走到凯特·曼蒂利尼餐厅。我喜欢他们家的煎蛋卷。
这家餐厅位于多赫尼大道和威尔希尔大道的交叉口。我在往东一个街区的地方停下，等红灯。车辆疾驰而过。我留意着它们的车速，比平时快得多。
真有可能有人会在这里出事。
到了餐厅，我独自坐在角落的桌旁，一边读剧本，一边狼吞虎咽地吃着煎蛋卷，没点甜点。
半小时后，我返回办公室，脑子里想着上千件事。走到刚才留意到车辆超速的那个路口时，我停下脚步等红灯。当“步行”信号灯亮起时，我踏上人行道，刚转过头，就看到了一辆黑色皮卡的前脸。
我的身体受过无数次撞击。作为摔跤手，我被头朝下、背朝下、屁股朝下摔在垫子上。小时候，我被困在和两个暴力狂——也就是我的哥哥们——同住的小公寓里，被扔到书架、桌子和门上。年轻时，我打过酒吧斗殴、街头斗殴，被人从背后偷袭、打闷拳、掌掴、暴打。但我从未感受过卡车撞上我膝盖的滋味。
车身挡泥板擦过我，像翻煎锅煎蛋一样把我掀到空中。
我飞在空中时，各种念头在脑海里飞速闪过。原来飞翔是这种感觉。落地肯定不会好受。
一股情绪洪流涌上心头。恐惧。孤独。麻烦大了。我还有那么多事要做。那些点名会怎么办？如果我昏迷不醒，或者死了，怎么主持点名？
还有一种被抛弃的感觉。像被恋人抛弃一样。
我曾如此深爱生活。我愿意为它献出生命！而它就是这么回报我的？
但紧接着，宇宙并没有抛弃我。它狠狠抱住了我。以重力的形式。我落在卡车的引擎盖上，然后滚到人行道上。我的身体重重弹了一下，发出沉闷的声响，最后躺在了马路中央。
眼皮颤巍巍地睁开。我是不是失去意识了？肯定是。过了多久？不知道。也不在乎。眼皮又颤巍巍地闭上了。
我父母讲的所有故事都传达着同一个道理：生活就是一场战斗。而且不是普通的战斗。是角斗士式的厮杀，失败者会被喂给狮子。收起你的白旗和橄榄枝吧。去你的和平鸽。世界毫不留情。握紧拳头，时刻保持警惕，否则你就会躺在街上流血而亡。
我浪费了自己唯一宝贵的生命。我任由别人打击我、阻止我。我任由自己的焦虑掌控人生，偏离了自己的目标。我一直自欺欺人，以为还有时间，大把的时间。
现在一切都清晰了：人生没有彩排。人人都这么说。这个圈子里的人迟早都会说这句老生常谈的话。但很少有人会付诸行动。
节选自阿里·伊曼纽尔《点名》。版权©2026 阿里·伊曼纽尔。经企鹅兰登书屋有限责任公司旗下阿尔弗雷德·A.克诺夫出版社许可摘录。保留所有权利。未经出版商书面许可，不得复制或翻印本摘录的任何内容。
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《点名》 阿里·伊曼纽尔 著
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- 《点名：回忆录》 阿里·伊曼污鲁 著（兰登书屋），精装本、大型印刷版平装本、电子书及有声书版本均已上市，发售日期为9月22日
Book excerpt: “Roll the Calls” by Ari Emanuel
2026-09-19T15:51:00-0400 / CBS News
Knopf
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In his memoir “Roll the Calls” (to be published Tuesday by Knopf), Hollywood superagent and mogul Ari Emanuel writes of coming to blows in the competitive entertainment universe – and, in one instance, being sidelined by the business end of a truck.
Read an excerpt below, and don’t miss Ben Mankiewicz’s interview with Ari Emanuel on “CBS Sunday Morning” September 20!
Prefer to listen?Audible has a 30-day free trial available right now.
Early summer 1994. I rise early, do a hard workout, go to the office. Roll calls for several hours, speak to fifty or sixty people about fifty or sixty problems, then look up and realize I’m spent. And famished.
I walk down the street to Kate Mantilini’s. I like their omelets.
The restaurant is on the corner of Doheny and Wilshire. One block east of there, I stop, wait for the light. Cars whipping by. I take note of how fast they’re going. Faster than usual.
Someone could really get hurt right here.
At the restaurant I sit by myself at a corner table, wolfing my omelet while reading a script. No dessert.
Half an hour later, head back to the office, thinking about a thousand things. At the same corner where I noted earlier how fast the cars were whipping by, I stop, wait for the light. When the WALK sign flashes, I step off the curb and turn my head just in time to see the front grille of a black pickup.
My body has been hit many times. As a wrestler I was slammed to the mat headfirst, back first, ass first. As a boy trapped in a small apartment with two violent psychopaths, a.k.a. my older brothers, I was thrown into bookcases, tables, doors. As a young man, I’ve been in bar fights, fistfights, street fights. I’ve been coldcocked, blindsided, bitch-slapped, smacked around. I’ve never felt anything like this truck hitting my knees.
Fender scooping me, flipping me like a big spatula, into the air.
As I fly, thoughts ricochet around my head. So this is what it’s like to fly. Landing isn’t going to be great.
A flood of feelings. Scared. Lonely. Inconvenienced. I have so much to do. The calls, how will I roll calls when I’m unconscious? Or dead?
Also feeling spurned. Like a jilted lover.
I loved you so much, Life. I’d have given my life for you! And this is how you do me?
But then the universe doesn’t spurn me. It embraces me. Violently. In the form of gravity. I land on the hood of the truck and roll onto the pavement. My body bounces once with a wet thud and comes to rest in the middle of the road.
Eyelids fluttering open. Did I lose consciousness? Must have. How long? Don’t know. Don’t care. Eyelids fluttering closed again.
All my parents’ stories had the same moral: Life’s a fight. And not just any fight. It’s some gladiator st, loser gets fed to lions. Save your white flags, your olive branches. Fk your doves. The world doesn’t care. Keep your fists clenched and your head on a swivel, unless you want to find yourself lying in the street bleeding out.
I’ve wasted my one precious life. I’ve let other people discourage me, stop me. I’ve let my own anxiety control me and lead me away from my purpose. I’ve accepted the delusion that there’s time, plenty of time.
It’s so clear now: Life is not a dress rehearsal. Everyone says this. Sooner or later, everyone in this town repeats this truism. But few act on it.
Excerpted from “Roll the Calls” by Ari Emanuel. Copyright © 2026 by Ari Emanuel. Excerpted by permission of Alfred A. Knopf, a division of Penguin Random House, LLC. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Get the book here:
“Roll the Calls” by Ari Emanuel
Buy locally from“Bookshop.org”
For more info:
- “Roll the Calls: A Memoir”by Ari Emanuel (Random House), in Hardcover, Large Print Trade Paperback, eBook and Audio formats, available Sept. 22
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