by Bob Zmuda
Next, Clifton picked up a copy of my book, Andy Kaufman Revealed!, and began to tear out pages, yelling, “Zmuda’s book, which is now on sale in bookstores across the country, is all lies, LIES, I tell you.” Next, he unzipped his pants, pulled out his pecker (prosthetic, of course, cost me a pretty penny too, $150—goodness, you didn’t think I would expose my family jewels—heavens!), and began to urinate on the manuscript. Another Universal press person nearly fainted. People began to scatter as the “urine”-spewing Clifton began to run up and down the aisle wielding his dick like a squirt gun. This was a nightmare!
By now, in some back room, Jim had composed himself and knew he wasn’t going to leave it with Clifton’s running him out of his own press conference. So he grabbed a huge pitcher of ice water, rushed out and up to Clifton, and doused him with it, yelling, “You’re all wet.” Clifton was stunned and immobilized by the freezing slosh. The press loved that, and Jim got a huge laugh and even applause out of it, which is all he really wanted. And then Jim went his way and Tony went his, leaving the battered and broken tape recorders, soaked in Clifton’s piss (apple juice, Mott’s brand), strewn across the floor.
Boy, did Clifton get me in trouble on that one. Jodee Blanco attended an “emergency” damage-control meeting with Universal in putting together a press release. She recalls her experiences that morning:
What a day, good grief! I knew things would go from bad to worse the moment I entered Bob’s hotel suite to escort him to the junket. I stepped into the ladies’ room to check my lipstick, and screamed. There, sitting on the bathroom counter, was this large, flesh-toned penis complete with hairs and wrinkles, and attached at the base was a long tube. “Zmuuuuda! What the HELL is this, oh my God!” He giggled and said, “That’s for Tony; really lifelike, don’t you think?” He started to tell me what he planned on doing with it, and I stopped him, not wanting to know. In that moment, I felt my twenty-year successful career careening into a wall. I begged him not to use the dildo. “Aw, come on, Jodee, it’s for Andy,” he said. “The studio and Jim are getting cold feet with all this Kaufmanesque stuff, and I need to do this for my friend,” he begged. “If the situation were reversed, Andy would do it for me. Please, Jodee, don’t tell Universal.” I reluctantly acquiesced. Part of me thought Jim was in on the prank, so I figured, when it’s all said and done, everything will be fine, because it had Jim’s blessing. Wrong. I’ll never forget that emergency meeting afterwards. Bob and Jim both had exited the building, leaving me holding the bag. The head of publicity and several other suits grabbed my arm and hustled me into one of their suites at the hotel. We all sat down and whipped out our notebooks and laptops. “OK, so how do we spin this?” their publicity director asked. “Jodee, how do we position the penis?” It was the single most surreal moment of my career. I’ve since gotten out of publicity. Can you blame me?
Clifton and Zmuda were summarily barred from the Universal lot, and Tony is still blacklisted to this day from all Four Seasons Hotels. Universal bought new tape recorders to replace the ones that had been destroyed and had to pay to re-wallpaper the ballroom wall. But at the end of the day, the press hit from it was phenomenal for the film. Andy would have been proud, even if Universal wasn’t.
As far as Jim was concerned, I’m sure he thought Clifton did it for the publicity. He didn’t. Clifton wanted to rain on Jim’s parade just like Jim had rained on Tony’s. Still, it was hard for me to hold a grudge against Jim. I love the guy, and anybody who ever really knows him loves him too. But for Lynne and me, for eighty days, while working on the film, it was like having Andy back. Literally.
Jim, if nothing else, is a pro. It’s no wonder he was the highest-paid performer in Hollywood. He’s worth it. He simply works harder than anyone else. He left no stone unturned in his research on Kaufman. He devoured everything and would constantly download Lynne and me about Andy. Of course, we never told him about Andy being bisexual. We feared it might scare Jim away from the project or tilt the film in a certain direction. We didn’t want “the bisexuality” to overpower everything he already knew about an already enigmatic character such as Kaufman. Besides, we didn’t know how DeVito would take it, let alone Milos and the studio. So Lynne and I just kept our mouths shut about the subject. Andy’s dad Stanley was still alive, and one of Andy’s dying wishes was that we not breathe a word about it while his parents were alive. His mom was still alive when Andy “died.” As Tony Clifton waxed poetically, “Stanley was able to pass peacefully away never knowing his son was a cocksucker and pooper scooper!”
After the Four Seasons incident, Universal thought I had totally lost my mind. All their original talk about supporting a guerrilla-type campaign was just that: talk. Getting close to the release date, with everyone nervous, they were running scared. I was told that I was not allowed even to attend the premiere of my own film unless I promised I would not pull another Clifton stunt. In fact, the night of the premiere, they hired a guard to follow me wherever I went. I was even taken into a back room of the theater and cavity-searched, making sure I wasn’t hiding a Tony Clifton wig, mustache, or sunglasses up my keester. Only then was I allowed into the venue.
***
Lynne
I got tarnished with the Clifton brush even though I had had nothing to do with the press-junket incident. At the New York premiere, Courtney Love pulled me into the women’s room at the theater and gave me a rambling lecture about how Clifton was ruining Man on the Moon’s chances for being a hit and that she did not want to see her good friend Milos suffer. I could only tell her that Clifton was his own man and there was nothing I, or anyone else, could say or do that could influence him. It was Clifton, after all. They had just made a movie about Andy and Clifton, didn’t they get it? This was all par for the course, but then, Hollywood could never, not ever, take something to the edge of sanity the way Andy and Bob would. There is too much money involved. They can say that they “get it,” but when push comes to shove, they will always cave. Not Andy. He never once “winked” at the audience to give them the relief of knowing it was all a joke. That is what his art was all about, and that is what Man on the Moon should have been about. How innocent of Bob and me to think that it could have been otherwise. Hollywood will always “wink.” Somehow I think we believed that they wouldn’t because they were making a film about the great purist, Andy Kaufman.
***
If there was ever a film that cried out for a non-traditional advertising campaign, it was Man on the Moon. After all, Andy Kaufman’s entire career was based on manipulating the media. I know because that is just what Andy and I did for ten years. Be it faking his neck injury, hoodwinking the public as to Tony Clifton’s true identity, or faking his death, it was all the same—the goal was to pull the wool over the eyes of the American public, and by so doing garner large amounts of free press.
Since Jim Carrey and his people made it clear to Universal from the get-go that Jim was not going to be able to do much press for the film because of his demanding schedule, they needed to pursue other angles of publicity. From the very first publicity meeting, everybody knew this, but at some point the publicity department lost its way. One could hardly blame them after Marc Shmuger took a leap of faith and decided to build a campaign around Tony Clifton, only to have his head handed to him by Jim himself. The height of folly came when I managed to secure the cover of Esquire magazine with Jim as Andy and Tony Clifton on it. I even got Jim to sign off on it, which was no small accomplishment. I was flabbergasted when the idea was rejected by Jersey Films and Universal’s publicity department. I hit the roof. Here they had no campaign themselves and—thanks to the assistance of Bill Zehme—I get the cover of a major publication and they reject it? OK, I could see them rejecting Clifton’s antics, but here was a traditional campaign, securing a major publication with the star signed, sealed, and delivered, and they still said no.
At that point I realized we were out on open seas with no one at the helm. Without a solid publi
city campaign, a film, no matter how good it is, doesn’t have a chance of attracting an audience. Man on the Moon was dead in the water before it even got released. And then to add insult to injury, Jersey Films decided to open the film at Christmastime. Originally we were scheduled for Thanksgiving, when we would have been the only film out there. But somebody got greedy and thought we could become the big Christmas movie, which pitted us against other major studios. I called up everybody pleading with them not to release us for Christmas. We weren’t that type of film. Kaufman himself was never a mainstream act. He was cultish. Fans had to discover him. He couldn’t be forced down their throats. I managed to get George Shapiro and Milos on my side, but both men had no fight left in them.
If there’s a lesson to be learned, it’s this: No matter what, stick to your guns. Keep fighting for what you believe in—even if you become a pest. I surely was. Years later, Stacey Sher, who broke from DeVito and ventured out on her own, producing such hits as Django Unchained, told me, “Looking back, I now realize we were wrong not backing you on your publicity concepts for the film. It’s as if we were acting just like Stanley Kaufman, not supporting Andy.”
I could only laugh. I wish I had a nickel for every time Clifton has been hired for a gig and the buyers think they want those antics. But nine times out of ten, once Tony starts pushing the envelope, they get nervous about it and chicken out. Especially nowadays, with this liberal political-correctness standard that aims to make sure that nobody is offended. If you can’t offend people in a free society, then the question you have to ask yourself is, “Just how free is it?” I’m proud of the fact that today Tony Clifton advertises his show by saying, “At least five N-words per show or your money back.” Michael Kaufman is offended by Clifton’s behavior. In fact, he refers to him nowadays as “the vile Tony Clifton.” Vile Tony Clifton? Isn’t that redundant? Michael tried being Clifton once—it didn’t work. It’s not his fault, he’s just too nice of a guy. Let’s call his Tony “the milquetoast Tony Clifton.”
To play Tony Clifton, one has to adhere to strict guidelines laid down by Andy himself:
1.You must consume large amounts of alcohol (preferably Jack Daniel’s).
2.You must eat meat. (Andy and I are both vegetarians.)
3.Hookers, hookers, and more hookers.
4.Language—as filthy as you can muster.
5.The most important: Clifton must never ever censor himself. Whatever thoughts pop into his alcohol-fueled head must immediately come right out of his mouth, just as if he had Tourette’s.
People who attend Clifton’s shows are at first shocked. Nobody would dare say the things Clifton says. But as the night wears on, the audience sees that Clifton is an equal-opportunity offender. And, like Archie Bunker, his pathos eventually wins them over. I cannot think of any performance where he hasn’t received a standing ovation. As one critic said, “Don’t miss Clifton. It’s the closest you’ll ever get to seeing an Andy Kaufman performance.”
Well, that will all change when the original returns. Andy, I wonder if you have a gut nowadays or are you still going to need the fake stomach to wear when you play Tony?
***
In the end, Man on the Moon was a bust, grossing $47 million worldwide with a production budget of over $80 million. Having dabbled in screenwriting myself, I understand the challenges inherent in telling Andy’s story for the screen, especially as he was one of the most elusive performers of our time. To infuse his philosophy of “I think of the world as an illusion and we shouldn’t take ourselves so seriously” in every scene, while including the many highlights of his illustrious career, all the while maintaining a believable story line that moves the audience to both laughter and tears, while preserving the nobility of Kaufman, is a tall order, and Scott and Larry remarkably pulled it off. Considering that, statistically, the average movie audience is male teenagers and their dates, what were DeVito, Ron Meyer, and Stacey Snider thinking in the first place? You can’t do a successful commercial film about Kaufman.
When Lynne first met Scott and Larry, who were writing the script, she told them that it was an impossible task. There was nothing “cinematic” about Andy’s life that would fit into the standard Hollywood format. But it was Universal’s money so what the hell, give it a try. It might be crazy enough to work. And honest to God, I think they pulled it off. Even though the film was not a box-office hit when it was released, that does not overshadow its effectiveness today. People love this movie. I know that because I’ve been hearing that every week from fans since its release in 1999. Because of broadcasts, DVD sales, Netflix, etc., the film now has a loyal following, continues to grow its audience, and is no doubt instrumental in building Kaufman mania to new heights. Since the film’s release, I’ve seen a new audience of young people flocking to see Clifton in concert and fascinated by Andy. So Danny DeVito, you’re forgiven in my book. I’m willing to bury the hatchet if you are.
Danny not only made Man on the Moon as a “labor of love,” but also from a psychological imperative in him that ran deep, deep in his psyche—which was “absolution.” He loved Andy. You can tell it in his portrayal of Andy’s manager, George Shapiro. You could tell it every moment he was on the set producing “his” film of Andy’s life. He and Jim brought Andy back. Realistically, all the political backstabbing behind the scenes still couldn’t take away from the fact that DeVito pulled it off. Amazingly, he gathered almost the entire cast of Taxi back together and basically rubbed their and his own face in the fact that they had been working with a genius all those years ago and had belittled that fact. Some of them got it; some didn’t. Carol Kane, who is a sweetheart, loved Andy so much she was the only one to show up at his funeral. Jeff Conaway, who couldn’t stand Andy when he was alive, probably came around the most, realizing he had totally blown it. He said apologetically, “First time around, I was emotionally involved. You were an unwitting player. I couldn’t divorce myself from the situation. If I had, I could have enjoyed myself. Making Man on the Moon is a trip—stranger than any acid trip I ever took.”
Marilu Henner, a fellow Chicagoan whom I’ve had the pleasure of knowing for over forty-five years, pretty much stayed out of the fray. Her take on Andy hits the nail right on the head: “He was an absolute original, a thoroughly fascinating, unfathomable, complex, uncompromised, talented artist who marched through his short, strange life to a very different drummer.” Tony Danza wasn’t available for the filming, or so we were told. Maybe he knew of DeVito’s journey into darkness and wanted no part of it.
Judd Hirsch did show up and probably wished he hadn’t. He was the most silent during the filming and probably in real life liked Andy the least. Jim Carrey knew this and had Clifton needle him whenever he could. Judd’s take on the whole ordeal was, “I don’t know why we’re here. We’re not doing anything here that’s worthwhile. We’re dealing with a maniac! He [Andy] used to be an annoying guy, but now, when it’s all said and done, he needs to leave the earth. There’s no room for people like that, certainly not in show business—not the show business I came from.” In all fairness to Judd, I wasn’t sure if he was acting when he said this or if it’s how he really felt. Or maybe he was smart enough to figure out how Danny wanted him to be portrayed. Lynne’s take is that he was acting; although he didn’t like Andy much during the Taxi days, in this case he was in character. Remember, Hirsch is a top actor, real Broadway heavy-drama stuff. Throw him into a psychodrama and the surrealism of all of them playing themselves and you’re in the deep end of the pool, especially Jim seeking his revenge on the Taxi cast in the role of Tony Clifton, who they fired in real life. And now they find themselves in a major motion picture about the guy’s life. Conaway was right: “Stranger than any acid trip I ever took.”
And yet this was the reality we all found ourselves in for eighty days of principal photography. Andy said it best one day on the set when he was taunting Jerry Lawler: “I’m invincible. I’m visiting from the other world, so you can’t
kill me!” Hopefully Jim Carrey will allow the documentary we made to be released one day. It’s his finest work, and although some may think that was PR hype when they said he channeled Andy, I defy anyone to view the doc and walk away without saying that. Jim was Kaufman for real. Afterward, Jim stated that he had never in his life approached a role like that before and doubted he ever would again.
***
When I was young, one of the first showbiz jobs I had was working for a brilliant raving maniac named Norman Wexler, the famous screenwriter who penned such classics as Saturday Night Fever and Serpico, among others. In my first book, Andy Kaufman Revealed! (Little, Brown), I refer to him as Mr. X. (For you fans out there who always come up to me and ask who he was, now you know.) Norman would always say, “Put the right heads on the right bodies and the world blows up,” meaning basically put the right pieces together and the truth emerges.
I have to thank Jeff Conaway, Andy’s Taxi cohort, for putting my head on my right body. For years, Jeff struggled to understand the rationale behind Andy’s behavior. After all, Jeff beat the hell out of Kaufman once in a drunken rage and then called Andy the next day to seriously apologize. Andy graciously accepted his apology and after that, they became friends. On the set of Man on the Moon, Jeff sought me out one day and said he had something very important to tell me. “Bob, it took me years to figure this out. But I now believe that Andy had no intention of Tony Clifton being on Taxi. [Andy had in his contract that Tony Clifton would appear in four episodes of Taxi. When Tony showed up for rehearsal, he was drunk and brought along two prostitutes. Eventually he was removed by security.] He caused that ruckus on the set because he wanted to be fired. He enjoyed it.”
So Jeff got me thinking again. Of course Andy faked his death. What greater narcissistic martyrdom than sacrificing himself for all of tabloid journalism to see. He would lift his story line from the Greatest Book Ever Written, the Bible. Move over, Jesus, Andy’s resurrection is going to be as startling as yours and on Pay-Per-View!
