It's Good to Be the King: The Seriously Funny Life of Mel Brooks (21 page)

Besides, at this time, Mel had many distractions. The dissolution of his marriage to Florence Baum was going through the legal process and causing him great pangs of guilt, frustration, and annoyance. Meanwhile, his romance with the distinguished Anne Bancroft was building and required his constant attention to keep afloat. In addition, there were his financial responsibilities (including monthly support payments to Florence and their three children), which left him with little ready cash. (While the growing sales of his comedy albums were starting to provide royalties, they hardly yet solved all his monetary problems.) To replenish his meager bank balance, Mel undertook an increasing number of TV appearances, both guest shots to promote his 2000 Year Old Man persona as well as brief stints on panel shows and talk programs. They paid relatively little, but every bit helped.

Over the course of several months, as Strouse and Adams constructed the show’s many songs, Mel drafted several versions of the book—none of which seemed to solve the structural problems of the story line (especially in the overly complicated second act). While these creative struggles were going on, Josh Logan finally committed to directing the property (which was now called
Fodorski
).

The production team’s jubilation at bringing Joshua Logan on board (which would give the musical useful prestige and attention, and attract more backer money) quickly turned to concern. It soon became apparent that Logan did not see eye to eye with the others. As Charles Strouse pinpointed the problem, “Josh was from a different generation, he looked at America, college, the youth culture in ways that were different from ours.” In addition, Strouse said, “Many times, later on, he told me he felt he had put his finger into the show in the wrong way. He had seen in it more of the flesh and blood realities of the characters than we had, and, because of that, their physicality became more important than the satirical point of view we had initially envisioned.” As Brooks perceived the emerging situation, it was as if Logan had come into the party “and sat on our birthday cake.”

This conflict over artistic intention between Logan and the others became painfully clear when it came time to hire a leading man on whose shoulders the focus and success of the production heavily rested. Early on, the core creative team had agreed that Zero Mostel would be excellent in the pivotal part. However, Logan vetoed the idea, insisting that the oddly built, strange-looking, and inelegant Mostel would not be right as the romantic lead for this musical comedy. Another top candidate was Britisher Ron Moody (who had recently scored on the London stage as Fagin in the musical
Oliver!
). Logan and some of the others flew to England to discuss the project with Moody, but negotiations fell through. Others considered to play the immigrant professor were Danny Kaye, Peter Ustinov, and Victor Borge.

Mel Brooks had an even better idea for the key role: Jacob Pincus Perelmuth. As Jan Peerce, this New York-born Jewish singer had gained great fame at the prestigious Metropolitan Opera. There he was a leading tenor and displayed a strong stage presence. The interesting suggestion fell on deaf ears with Logan, who decreed that he, himself, had finally found the ideal Fodorski: Ray Bolger. The latter was a well-known stage and film dancer. The lanky performer with the hook nose profile was best known for playing the Scarecrow in the classic film
The Wizard of Oz.
Later, Bolger enjoyed a great Broadway success in the musical
Where’s Charley?
However, that was back in 1948. Since then, his only New York stage appearance had been in a brief 1951 revival of the same show.

Padula feared angering Logan and reluctantly went along with the choice of Bolger as leading man. (One of the producer’s concerns was that the star’s overprotective wife might try to interfere creatively on the new show as she had done on
Where’s Charley?
) In due course, Bolger, then in his late 50s, arrived in New York for rehearsals. In his mind, he was still the toast of Broadway and egotistically demanded that the production be reshaped to better suit his particular talents. This led Logan, who suffered from periodic bouts of depression and anxiety, to rationalize that the easiest course was to side with Bolger against the others—including Mel, who considered Bolger all wrong for the show.

On the other hand, the cast of the production (which soon changed its title to
All American
) featured many talented performers: Eileen Herlie (a dignified stage star who had been effective in the recent musical
Take Me Along
), Ron Husmann (the handsome young performer who had used his deep, crisp voice to good effect in the Broadway song-and-dance entries
Fiorello
and
Tenderloin
), Anita Gillette (a pert young talent who had participated in such musicals as
Gypsy
and
Carnival
), and Fritz Weaver (a versatile, experienced stage actor who was cast as the villain in
All American
).

Rehearsals for
All American
were held at the Fraternal Clubhouse Rehearsal Hall on Manhattan’s West Side. As work progressed, it became obvious that most everything Josh Logan told Ray Bolger during the day to help shape his pivotal character and his presentation was being undone at night by Bolger’s interfering wife. Increasingly, this problem created confusion and unhappiness among the cast and the others involved. As the time approached for the out-of-town tryout in Philadelphia, every-ones nerves were thoroughly frayed.

Orders came down to Mel that the book, especially the still unresolved second act, needed substantial revamping. By now, Brooks was almost tapped out of fresh ideas for this project, in which he was in over his head. Often, he would leave rehearsals promising to go home and meet the challenge of repairing the still-cumbersome second act. Just as often, he’d return the next morning with little new to share with his collaborators. When they expressed disappointment at Mel’s lack of progress, he would nervously launch into other topics of conversation, such as how he was going to marry Anne Bancroft (a concept that amazed the others). Even harder for the others to believe was that Brooks was hard at work writing a novel called
Springtime for Hitler
, in which he was dealing satirically and comically with the odious late German dictator. The idea was so bizarre that his confreres passed it off as just another wild brainchild of the ever boastful Mel, one that was clearly much too absurd to ever materialize into anything viable.

In the first weeks of 1962, the cast of
All American
headed to Philadelphia, hoping to work out the show’s many kinks during its pre-Broadway tryout at the Erlanger Theater. The musical opened there to mixed reviews, at best. This prompted Bolger to become even more arrogant and demanding. He determined that he required a special number—as he had enjoyed in
Where’s Charley
?—to bolster the show (and, of course, to emphasize his position as its star). Strouse and Adams concocted “I’m Fascinating” to appease Ray. Meanwhile, the winning ensemble number (“Physical Fitness”), which had literally stopped the show during Philadelphia playdates, was, for a time, dropped from the musical’s lineup, for reasons that never made sense to others in the cast beyond Bolger.

If there was chaos backstage and onstage at
All American
, it was mild in comparison to a late-night brouhaha that occurred at Philadelphia’s stylish Warwick Hotel, on Locust Street. That was where many of the key contributors to the show were lodged during the tryout engagement. Late one night, in Logan’s spacious suite, Josh, Charles Strouse, Lee Adams, and Mel Brooks were hard at work trying to resolve the musical’s ongoing creative problems. Suddenly, the door to the suite’s living room burst open and in rushed Rita Almaviva, one of the show’s investors. She had a wild look in her eyes, and her hair was noticeably disheveled. Her unexpected late-evening appearance was sufficient to upset the already stressed group. However, what stunned the surprised men even more was that the woman was wearing only a sheer nightgown, which was on the verge of falling off. The creative team froze in a panic at how to handle this peculiar situation. While they pondered, Miss Almaviva launched into a verbal attack. She pointed in Mel’s direction and said, “You have no talent!” She continued her salvo against the nonplussed Brooks with: “You can’t write a line! You can’t tell a joke! You can’t smell what an audience listens to—you’re a No Talent. You stink!” In turn, she lambasted the others, accusing each of them of being ill equipped to make a Broadway show come alive. The stunned assemblage was rescued by the timely arrival of one of Logan’s associates, who convinced the distraught woman to return to her room.
All American
remained in Philadelphia for six weeks, with Strouse and Adams writing several more songs as tunes were added and discarded. Brooks struggled through providing yet new versions of the book.

Creatively, the show was still in a very unsettled shape when it limped back to New York City for its March 19, 1962, debut at the Winter Garden Theater. When it bowed, Howard Taubman (of the
New York Times
) carped, “With a rangeful of choice targets in sight,
All American
has managed the amazing feat of hitting none. The principal trouble with the marksmanship of the new musical is that it can’t make up its mind what it’s shooting at.” Taubman also noted, “The story Mel Brooks has drawn ... is diffused and heavy-handed.”

Several of the other reviewers were equally dissatisfied. Richard Watts Jr. (of the
New York Post
) found that the production “bounces back and forth between the agreeable and the embarrassing,” while Walter Kerr (of the
New York Herald Tribune
) reported, “The show then is schizoid, half-sentimental and half desperate enough to send a squad up and down the aisles passing footballs over the customers’ heads.”
Newsweek
judged, “The Mel Brooks libretto bites off much that it should eschew.” The critic for
Theater Arts
magazine chided, “Where the book exhibits its worst misconceptions, however, is the area of verbal wit.” John Chapman (of the
New York Daily News
) was one of the few New York critics to find something positive to say about the show: “There are many impish moments in this jolly story—as when the ad genius is shooting pictures of Whistler’s mother holding a giant bottle of whiskey.”

All American
struggled through 80 performances before mercifully closing. Most of the talent involved with the misfire was glad to be finally finished with the ongoing agony. Quipped Brooks of the over $400,000 flop, for which he had failed to rise creatively to the occasion, “We had an unfortunate stroke of luck, it opened in New York when there was no newspaper strike.”

•     •     •

If Broadway apparently did not need Mel Brooks, others did. The rising sales of the 2000 Year Old Man albums had made Mel and Carl Reiner cult favorites. While their fame was growing in the comedy record arena, Reiner was busy nurturing his CBS-TV sitcom
The Dick Van Dyke Show
(1961–1966). However, Mel was at liberty and continued to write for the occasional TV specials that came his way and made guest appearances (with and without Reiner) on small-screen specials and talk shows (including the opening installment of
The Tonight Show Starring Johnny Carson
).

Then, out of the blue, it was announced that Brooks would be teamed with TV writer/personality Dick Cavett in a series of radio commercials for Ballantine beer. It was a timely job offer that Mel was in no position to reject. Brooks enthused/rationalized of this gig, which had him do spiels in the guise of a 2,500-year-old man (a variation of his comedy album persona), “They gave me carte blanche. I had complete script approval. Although, truthfully, we never used scripts. My interviewer, Dick Cavett, and I started with a premise and then winged it. We made all kinds of tapes, but they used only the ones that we liked.” When Mel was asked what prompted the unlikely combination of the brash Brooks and the mild-mannered Cavett, he explained, “Dick is a marvelous foil for me. He’s innocent and guileless, and he just aches to be cut to pieces. He reacts beautifully during the interviews, especially when I call him ‘company rat,’ ‘pusher,’ ‘marshmallow,’ ‘fluffy,’ ‘sellout.’”

The Ballantine commercials were a solid hit and did much to enhance Mel’s standing in both the entertainment industry and in the advertising world, as well as with the public at large. (In analyzing Brooks’s success with this venture as a spokesman, Madison Avenue copywriter Alex Kroll pointed out, “That’s why you have a Mel Brooks. Because he can give you that flash of genius. He doesn’t use punch lines so much as he uses startling non-sequiturs which get better with repeated hearings. It’s much more long-lasting than the typical comic-type of surprise-ending humor.”

•     •     •

Mel remained in a flurry of activity throughout 1962, hoping that one or more of his scattershot creative efforts would pay off royally. He tried his hand at writing a screenplay based on his failed marriage to Florence Baum, but there were no buyers for
Marriage Is a Dirty Rotten Fraud.
That fall, Brooks returned to Philadelphia to help out on another Broadway-bound musical. It was
Nowhere to Go But Up,
a Prohibition-set tale of two undercover law enforcers (Martin Balsam and Tom Bosley) coping with bothersome bootleggers (including a hoodlum played by Bruce Gordon). The show’s book and lyrics were written by James Lipton (much later the host of cable TVs
Inside the Actors Studio
), and the music was by Sol Berkowitz. The expensive musical ($480,000) was being produced by, among others, Kermit Bloomgarden (the Broadway figure who years earlier had promised to audition Mel Brooks the actor but failed to follow through). Sidney Lumet was directing the show and decided the unsatisfying libretto required fresh repairs.

Brooks journeyed to Philadelphia to doctor the book, but his efforts were to little avail. The production received poor notices and did only fair business at the Shubert Theater. Then the production moved to New York, where it bowed on November 10, 1962, at the Winter Garden Theater (the site of Mel’s prior Broadway effort). The reviewers quickly nailed the lid on the coffin of the new musical, and it closed days later, on November 17—despite the effort of 235 irate backers who picketed the theater to prevent the producers from shuttering their costly investment.