Moguls, Monsters and Madmen, page 35
Carson and Steinberg had made an instant connection, which they played out over subsequent shows over many years. A favourite topic of Steinberg’s was his Jewishness. “If the business is run by Jews, then why does Rob Lowe get one million dollars a picture, and I have to open for Robert Goulet at The Aladdin? And if the business is run by Jews, why does Mickey Rourke get to make endless love to Kim Basinger, and I’m up for the part as the panicky rabbi who gets slapped around by George Kennedy in Airport ’88?
“The Italians, they like to play. You know, they have a good time. They’re dancing. They have the concertina. When the Jews arrive, it’s like a ward from Cedars of Sinai Hospital, you know? They come in with the hats and the pills. Don’t barbecue the meat. You could get cancer. Don’t eat before you go into the water. Don’t eat after you go into the water. If they had a bumper sticker it would say FUN KILLS.
“A Jewish princess, to me, is the kind of girl that makes love with her eyes closed because she can’t bear to see another person’s pleasure.
“I also get a lot of hostile mail, but I can determine the difference a little quicker now than I could before. A letter that starts ‘Dear Kike—’ That’s a pretty good indication that they’re not going to like the show I did previously.”
Most anything was fodder for Steinberg’s comic talent. “It’s really hard to cry in a film, you know? Like, Rod Steiger pulls his nose hairs and that brings a little tear. And then they say, ‘What a sensitive, poetic performance.’ But I care too much about my nose to do such a thing to it.”
The rapport between Carson and Steinberg was so intuitive that Carson sometimes hit David’s punchlines at the same time as he did.
STEINBERG: You know, I have a sort of capsulized philosophy now. Success is so relative. When you’re a baby, success is not wetting your bed.
CARSON: I guess that could be considered, yes.
STEINBERG: When you’re a teenager, success is going all the way. When you’re a young man, success is making money. When you’re middle aged, success is being happy. When you’re an old man, success is going all the way. And when you’re really old. . .
BOTH TOGETHER: . . . it’s not wetting your bed.
On Steinberg’s second appearance on The Tonight Show, Carson offered him a chance to host. He was only twenty-six, the youngest person to pinch-hit for Johnny. His first guest was singer Paul Simon. After Steinberg had sweated through the all-important monologue, which referenced the satirical sermons for which he had become famous, Simon commented during the commercial break, “You know, David, I watched your monologue. When you said, ‘I had a wonderful rapport with God,’ it would have been better if you had said ‘a connection with God.’” Steinberg responded, “You know, I was just thinking, when you sing, it would be better to do ‘Bridge Over Meshuggeneh Waters.’”
Steinberg and Carson became friends offscreen as well as on. “Johnny invited me to see a screening in his office, and there were just the two of us, and in the middle of that, I thought My God, this is Johnny Carson and me.”
Steinberg embarked on his second career as a director thanks in part to Burt Reynolds. Reynolds, then one of Hollywood’s biggest stars, insisted that Steinberg direct his next movie. Steinberg said, “It’s hard to imagine that he had more clout than Barry Diller and Mike Eisner, who were running Paramount, but that’s what happened.”
Though Paternity (1981), about a bachelor looking for a woman to bear his baby, was forgettable, Steinberg emerged with new ambition. At a time when TV wasn’t taken seriously as a director’s medium, Steinberg got in early, putting him in line for the shows with the best scripts. He was directing Mad About You (1992–99), which featured New York newlyweds, Paul and Jamie, played by Paul Reiser and Helen Hunt, when Steinberg seized the opportunity to seize the limelight once again, this time as a scripted actor. His character was eulogizing at a funeral when it became clear the corpse was someone he had never known or even met:
BAD EULOGIZER [STEINBERG]: The world is poorer today, for having lost Marty Brekman.
JAMIE, correcting him from a front pew: Buchman. It’s Buchman.
BAD EULOGIZER: Buchman. I am poorer. You, his friends, are poorer. His loving family is poorer. Let me introduce them. His nephew, Bill . . .
JAMIE: Burt.
BAD EULOGIZER: Burt. His nephew, Amon . . .
JAMIE: Arnold.
BAD EULOGIZER: Arnold. And their wives, Celia . . .
JAMIE: Sylvia.
BAD EULOGIZER: Sylvia. And Rose . . .
JAMIE: Blossom.
BAD EULOGIZER: Blossom and Sylvia. And their children, Pete, Janice, Arthur, Sheila, Darcy and Douglas.
JAMIE gives a thumbs-up for this unexpected accuracy.
All this incredibly rich archival material, showcasing David at his boldest and best, worked its magic on me. By the time I flew to La Jolla for David’s show, I was excited once again. Two of his producers picked me up at the San Diego airport, and drove me to La Jolla. On the way, I reminded them, “I want a shot of David walking from the dressing room to the stage. I need that lonely, wonderful shot.”
One replied, “We asked him, but he doesn’t want to do it.”
“Why not?”
“He just doesn’t want to do it.”
“Okay.” But I was pissed off. “I also want a meeting with the cameramen who are shooting the show. I want them on headsets so I can give them direction.”
“David doesn’t want the cameramen to wear headsets. It’s too distracting. You’ll be able to get what you need without that.”
I saw too clearly where this was going. “Take me back to the airport. I’m tired of this bullshit.”
Now, they were panicked. They contacted David, who said he wanted a meeting with me.
I went to David’s hotel room, and he was with his wife, who had finished wiping down the entire room for germs. Izzy, the dog, whom I had liked, was not present. He had probably been sent to the airport to kill me, but had killed another Jew by mistake.
The first thing David said after we were seated was, “So, you want a shot of me walking from the dressing room to the stage? Sounds like a great idea. We can do that.” His tone shifted. “But, Barry, I don’t want the cameramen wearing headsets.”
“I need to direct them.”
“The theatre is so small we’re going to get all the coverage we can use.”
Fine, so win one, lose one. Except, of course, they didn’t do the dressing-room shot either, so it was a double loss for me.
My crew shot three of David’s performances, and they were good. I only wanted to use a little of this footage to bookend the documentary, but I filmed the whole show for them to use as they wanted.
I once again brought on Tiffany Beaudin, who had cut the Harvey Weinstein film so brilliantly, to edit the documentary. What I didn’t know was that David had another editor sending her notes, instructing her to remove anything he considered negative. In my films, I try to be fair and balanced, then let viewers decide what kind of person is featured, which means I show everything I get. Now, I learned the film was being sanitized behind my back. This led to yet another argument—a big one.
David said, “I’ve seen your films and many are tragic stories about someone’s rise and fall, and I don’t want that.”
“You haven’t had a fall, but there are periods in your life when things weren’t going so well, like before Burt Reynolds resurrected your career by asking for you to direct his movie.”
“I don’t want to talk about that.”
We were fighting over sequencing and everything else, and David won most of those battles, because I knew he had final cut. I wanted to keep a funny line that went back to Rowan & Martin’s Laugh-In days. The mother of Judy Carne, the “Sock it to me” girl, disliked David, so she told Judy, “Fine, he can come to dinner, but he only gets the dark meat.” David wanted that out. More significantly, I wanted to include David’s beautiful daughters, but because they came from his difficult first marriage? Out.
There was a hilarious scene in which David talked about directing Bea Arthur for the first time on The Golden Girls. Bea liked to have a gin and tonic after each show, usually with the director. She asked David, while in a mellow mood, “Why is it that people take such an instant dislike to me?” David replied, “It just saves time.”
David wanted that out, but I needed at least one win, so I dug in my heels. “It has to stay.” David finally agreed.
Vidal Sassoon talked about what he knew best about David—his beautiful hair. In fact, all of David’s friends talked about his great hair. Out. In the ’70s, rock stars got the women, not comics. Except for David Steinberg. He had this fantastic ability to attract them. Partly because of his great hair. As writer Alan Zweibel said, “Back then, comedy people were never good-looking. There’s a nose. There’s something’s crooked. There’s bad hair, but David was this really sexy guy, and he was accessible because of that.”
“Most people think Carly Simon’s ‘You’re So Vain’ was about Warren Beatty,” said Ziggy Steinberg. “It was about David.”
“One morning, I went up to David’s apartment and rang the bell, and Tuesday Weld opened the door,” said Broadway producer Bill Gerber.
Everyone agreed: no one had more women than David.
Unfortunately, David requested this entire theme be cut out of the film. It was tragic, given how funny it was. Whom was he protecting? He was a single guy on the road. Oy.
David and I had one more raging argument. It was about the film’s title. I wanted to call it Quality Balls: The David Steinberg Story. That came from Jerry Seinfeld, who’d said about David, “When I was just thinking of comedy, he was already doing it. And he was such an idol of mine. He really had, you know, quality balls.”
David was incensed. He wanted to call the film It Might Be Something Big, It Might Not—the name of his new standup comedy tour, which I’d all but set up for him by suggesting he return to standup for the film. That was another one I managed to win. However, at a private New York screening, to which I was not invited, David told his celebrity friends, “I wanted to call the film Quality Balls.” His version was printed in the New York Post, and later David repeated it on Late Night with Jimmy Fallon. Incidentally, he also mispronounced “Avrich” by using a short-a sound, as in “average,” instead of a long-a sound as in “ace.”
Quality Balls premiered in Toronto at the 2013 Hot Docs Festival, and David flew up for the sold-out show. We did a Q&A on stage, jockeying for the best lines, and keen to tell our version of the story. The reviews were quite good, but of course the critics complained that the film was too flattering: Where’s the tough stuff? In this case, on the cutting-room floor.
I still see David from time to time. The film has played tremendously well. I’ve received many compliments on it, and I’m proud of it, though I would have done some of it differently. There’s no bad blood between David and myself that I’m aware of. Our film experience was a typical case of a director trying to direct a film about himself, while treating me, the putative director, as staff. If I had known the rules going in, I might have made a different decision about whether or not to be involved. What I learned was this, I am the only person who can make projects happen for me. The Steinberg film was the first—and last—time I will work as a director-for-hire.
Chapter Twenty-Six
IT’S A WRAP!
My desperate need to entertain led to my two-track career, in advertising and making films. Even as I write these words, I’m exactly where I want to be, in the centre of sheer pandemonium. I am in post-production for a planned filmed adaptation of a staged version of Hamlet, my seventh Shakespeare film. As the kid who was blown away by Stratford’s School for Scandal when I was eight, I’m in Heaven. On the documentary front I’m developing a slew of films, including biopics of the legendary comedian, Rodney Dangerfield, and American singer-songwriter Marvin Gaye. I’m also working on a film about the Bronfman dynasty. There’s never a shortage of projects.
My dad would have been pleased about the Dangerfield project. My dad and I adored him. We saw him at his club when I was ten, on one of those trips we made to New York City, and my dad bravely took me up to introduce me. He told Dangerfield I was his biggest fan. Rodney’s reply? “Look what it is: a midget!” Cue rim shot.
Dangerfield complained that he got no respect. I sometimes have felt the same way, that there’s something about how Canadians choose not to honour their own. The critic Richard Ouzounian calls it the “tall poppy syndrome.” Grow too tall and it’s off with your head! I once shared this feeling with Robert Evans. He said, “Barry, you’re the kid who won’t leave the picture and never should.” I could have kissed him for that. Except that we were lying together on his mink-covered bed, which is where he took his meetings. Cue the rim shot again.
I have lost friends by death and by design. I can’t bring back the friends who have died. As for the others, some friendships just have an expiration date, no matter how long they endured. But for the friends who are no longer a part of my life, because of ego or temper or even lack of focus, know that I miss you, and I’m sorry that we have yet to make right what is so wrong.
For the assholes and the monsters, I harbour no anger. From ex-bosses, dishonest partners, a few psychotic clients and a couple of society wannabes, I thank all of you as well for being part of the DNA that has allowed me to live and love the life I have been given. I have been blessed.
Dad, you told me to never blend in. I am grateful for that advice and I miss you every day.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
None of this adventure was possible without the mentors, characters and assholes who carved out the path for me, got in my way, or forced me to think smarter. Thank you. And especially my thanks go out to those who inspired me.
I miss my mentors every day: my father and my great friend Dusty Cohl. I am indebted to my muses for life: Max (Melissa) and Sloan. They liberate me and make me laugh. My gratitude for making this book soar goes to Sylvia Fraser, Jack David, Erin Creasey, Jennifer Hale for her editorial genius, Crissy Calhoun, Malcolm Lester, Jonathan Webb and Michael Levine who pushed me to get it done. For their unyielding loyalty: Todd White, Michael Schwartz, Michael Korman, Jonas Prince, Heidi Kaplan, Dusty Cohl, Eddie Greenspan, Suzie Goodman, Antoni Cimolino, Robert Pattillo, Paul Godfrey, Bill Goldberg, Ken Rosenstein, Myrna and Jack Daniels, Ralph Lean, Robin Mirsky, Paul Bronfman, Ellis Jacob, Gary Slaight and too many others I will forget. To those who believed in my work and happily shared the adventure: Tori Laurence (my beloved partner), Ken Borden, John Tory, David Peterson, Piers Handling, Michele Maheux, Anita Gaffney, Ivan Fecan, Sheldon Levy, Patricia Rozema, Nat Brescia (where ever you are), Patrice Theroux, Robert Lantos, Heather Conway, Bob Richardson, Jack Gardner, Devon Macgregor, Tony Mark, Jennifer Dettman, Aubie Greenberg, George Anthony, Shinan Govani, Jyl Rosenfeld, Richard Gere, Ron Meyer, Helga Stephenson, Virginia Kelly, Scott Henderson, Richard Crouse, Rob Lamb, Mary Pat Gleeson, Alexander Neefe, Janice Price, Richard Ouzounian, Martin Knelman, David Brown, Helen Gurley Brown, Parky and Peter Fonda, Paul Nagle, Tina Santoro, David Barnes, Howard Kerbel, James Earl Jones, Robert Evans, Dominick Dunne, Jeremy Gerard, the extraordinary concierge team at the Sunset Marquis Hotel who always said yes as a setting for most of my films, and even Harvey Weinstein. And to that one person who inspired me to love art and everything cultural: Faye Avrich. Thanks, Mom.
INDEX
A note on the digital edition: The page numbers listed in this index will not correspond to locations in your ebook, but this index has been retained as a list of searchable terms.
A note on the index: page numbers followed by a “p” indicate that the subject appears in a photograph on that page.
9 1/2 Weeks 30
20th Century Fox 211, 220
77 Sunset Strip 102
400 Blows 276
Academy Awards 9, 271, 272, 274, 278, 286
Accidental Tourist,The 104
AC/DC 264
A Chorus Line 12, 38
Adams, Don 11, 322
Adele 128
Adler, Joey 105–06, 110–11
Affleck, Ben 109, 283
Affluent, The Society 189
Aird & Berlis LLP 157–58
Airport 220
Albany Club 242
Alda, Alan 287
Alfred Hitchcock Presents 211
Ali, Muhammad 89
Allen, Fred 349
Allen, Woody 3, 177, 351
Alliance 75, 77, 78, 85, 270, 294
Alliance Atlantis 78
All That Jazz 67
Alonso, María Conchita 54
American Capitalism 189
American Express 78, 116–17
American Gigolo 107, 181
American Graffiti 220
Amerika Idol 292–301
Amery, Leo 307
Amiel, Barbara “Lady Black” 123–24, 244
Amsterdam Theatre 65
An Inconvenient Woman 193
Ann-Margret 101–02
Answered Prayers 319
Anthony, George 88
Anthony, Ray 322
Antoinette Perry Award for Excellence in Theatre, see Tony Award
Antony and Cleopatra 122, 145, 148
Apollo Theater 65, see also Ford Center for the Performing Arts (New York)
Architectural Digest
Arkin, Alan 350
Armstrong, Louis 42
Arthur, Bea 362
