by Apatow, Judd
Judd: Well, I don’t think I’ve met a man who is not a man-child. If I meet a man who acts very proper I think he’s covering up how goofy he really is. I’m forty-one years old, and when we lived together we were all immature, goofy guys. Now I have a lot of the same friends and I’m forty-one and we haven’t made a lot of progress and I really don’t think when me and Adam are sixty it’s going to be much different.
Charlie: What is it that you think connects with the audience out there?
Adam: I get pitched ideas about movies. “Hey, such-and-such studio has a movie for you.” They tell me the idea and three sentences in, I can either be like, Whoa, that feels like something, or, I don’t know about that. It’s a gut feeling. It comes from when I was young and what I knew excited me and my friends or what I’d want to see. I’m getting older, though. I don’t know exactly what these young kids are talking about. I used to be kind of cocky walking down the street from my movies. When the young kids would see me I’d be like, Yeah, that’s right, here I am. Now I’m like, You still like me? Am I in the gang still?
Charlie: But when you look at these things, what is the instinct you have? Does this fit for me? or It doesn’t fit for me? Can you define it or do you just know it?
Adam: Most importantly, it’s Am I going to be proud of it and think it’s funny? The fact that I went in with Apatow blind and said, “Whatever you write, I’m in,” it’s because I trust him and I like his taste.
Charlie: How would you characterize his taste?
Judd: My pitch was not a funny pitch: “Adam, you’re dying and you’re a terrible person.”
Adam: Stop there, just write it. You’re going to get me out of this thing. Now his taste is very sexist and I identify with that.
Charlie: So if he was a misogynist that’s okay with you?
Adam: Exactly. I love to hate.
Judd: Here’s what I think it is. I’m trying to show warts and all, men and women. In most comedies, women are romanticized and they’re pretty and they’re not funny and the men try to attain them. And in my movies, starting with Catherine Keener in The 40-Year-Old Virgin, and Katherine and Leslie in Knocked Up, I was trying to show real conflict between men and women. And some of the scenes—which I think are kind of rough, where people really curse each other out and have big fights—are more like fights in real life. It’s not like fights in the movies. For some people it’s so different that it throws them, but I just look at my own sense of what’s happening. In The 40-Year-Old Virgin, Steve Carell doesn’t want to have sex because he thinks he’s going to be bad at it, so he avoids it. Catherine Keener starts screaming at him because she thinks there’s something wrong with her. In Knocked Up, the issue was that Seth cared more about his bong and his pot than his pregnant girlfriend, so she breaks up with and screams at him. And she should scream at him for that. I’m trying to show immaturity—and there is sexism in the immaturity. But it is a journey towards these guys realizing, I’ve got to get my act together. This isn’t the way to behave.
Charlie: Are you making fun of their attitudes and what they talk about and how they view—
Judd: Yeah. I just think terrible behavior is funny. I’m not saying it’s correct. I’m saying, Here’s a starting point and most comedies—even if it’s a Jerry Lewis movie—start with an incredibly immature person who needs to learn a lesson. I’m not like that in life. I’m a very timid person when it comes to women. I was not out and about too much. I was a shy guy. But I find that nerdy guys talking about women in a way that is over-the-top sexist makes me laugh because they do it out of insecurity. They make up for that by going, “Hey, check that girl out,” because if the girl tried to kiss them they would cry because they would be so scared.
Charlie: What do you like and dislike about your character, George? What are his redeeming qualities?
Adam: You know, I couldn’t find any. It’s easier for me not to like him because I’m married with two kids and I certainly don’t want my two kids to think that guy’s me. I was nervous about that the whole movie.
Charlie: You were?
Adam: Absolutely. I have little daughters and I know they’re going to watch my movies when they’re older. Some of them I’m like, Maybe that one presents me in a nice light for my kids, and one like this, I’m like, I hope they don’t think I’m that guy and they become jerks because Daddy was a jerk so I’m going to be a jerk. I don’t know.
Charlie: You’re thinking about that?
Adam: Oh my God. I let it go when Apatow would say what he wants in a scene, and I’d say, “Okay, let’s go.” But I would drive home that night and—I have this nice house. I have kids. I would look in their bedrooms and see them sleeping and I was just like, What the hell am I doing? This is going to kill me one day. Can I pull out of this?
Charlie: It might not be worth the millions.
Adam: Exactly.
Charlie: About him, tell me what you think. I mean, Adam has been the most successful comedic actor—
Judd: What is it about him? What is his appeal?
Charlie: What does he have?
Judd: When I lived with Adam, I wanted to be a comedian very badly and Adam had one of those things that you just can’t define, which is charisma. People were drawn to him. I would enter a room before he was famous and you would just feel the room move towards Adam and I would be sitting in a corner going, Why don’t I have the magic fairy dust? He’s a great person and people can just tell. The camera’s been up in his face for twenty years and they get a sense of where his heart is in addition to all his comedic chops. He was fearless because he signed onto this movie before I wrote it, just off of a short pitch and there was no time during the shoot where he said, “You know, let’s not do that—that’s cutting too close to the bone” or “That makes me look bad.” I really thought at some point we were going to go to war—I mean, in my head.
Charlie: Over what?
Judd: Anything. You know, a lot of actors try to direct through their performance. They’ll say, “I don’t want to do that because you might use it.” Adam produces his own movies. He knows exactly what he wants. And Adam kept saying, “I completely trust you. It’s your vision. I’m not going to water it down. Just point me in the right direction.” And even though we were satirizing comedy and satirizing the comedy career, he just said, “I’m going to go for it, one hundred percent.”
Charlie: Tell me about the Cassavetes thing. Cassavetes was one of your idols.
Judd: Yes.
Charlie: Because Cassavetes was an extraordinarily incisive director, who would confront anything—
Judd: Yes. I mean, I’m certainly not as accomplished or brave as Cassavetes, but I do think that what he preaches when you read interviews with him is important. He says all his movies are about love, and obstacles to love. And that’s something that Garry Shandling always said of The Larry Sanders Show. And that’s how I try to approach the work. Some of the scenes do not have to be enjoyable. They just need to make you think or feel something.
Charlie: You know where the pleasure center is, though.
Judd: I do, and it takes work to avoid it.
Adam: It feels good there, though.
Judd: It does.
Charlie: Is it your comfort zone?
Adam: It’s definitely what I came out to Hollywood to do. I mean, I was like: I’m going to make people feel at ease.
Charlie: Is there anything that would cause you to say, “I’ll roll the dice on this”?
Adam: I don’t have that right now.
Charlie: You don’t have that creative urge?
Adam: I’m forty-two. I’ve been doing this since I was seventeen. I’ve always had an insane drive. I’m shooting a movie right now and everyone in the movie is saying, All right, what are you doing next? And in my head I’m going, I just want to relax. I just want to sit down.
Charlie: Do you love the doing of the thing?
Adam: I am nuts. I am dying to get in there. I
want to destroy. And when we get on the set, I’m just, like, in that trailer going, Why the hell am I here? I can’t stand it. Why did I make all this money to end up in this stupid trailer again? I can’t believe it.
Judd: It is a lot of pressure when you’re on that set. Every day is an experiment. Every scene might not work and so you’re concentrating—Is it working? Should I get an extra line for editing? What would I change if I had to, if I hated this in three months, why would I hate it? And you’re concentrating and you’re exhausted but it’s supposed to be light, funny work so you’re also trying to stay loose and funny. It’s pretty intense.
Adam: That’s why, when you see a happy actor, you’re mad at him because you’re like, “You don’t care enough, you jerk.”
Charlie: It’s like they say about CEOs—those guys who have low golf scores are not doing a good job at the office, you know. Might you two work together again?
Adam: Of course, absolutely.
Judd: Definitely.
Adam: You know what was great? The subject matter of being sick—we both saw each other go through it with people we love and it was just very deep to us, this movie. Also we both work hard and respect each other’s work and, like, at the end of the day when I’d say good night to Apatow, I would tear up. I’d say, “All right, I love you, buddy.”
Judd: Are you serious?
Adam: Absolutely. Because it was, I couldn’t believe that we’ve known each other so long, that we’re both getting to do what we wanted. We would talk late at night. He wasn’t so sure on what he was going to do. I was like, “I’m going to be a movie star. That’s a guarantee and no one’s going to stop me.” Judd wasn’t sure what he was doing, but he was writing away all the time. I’d walk by his bedroom, see him typing away. I would go, “What are you doing in there, Apatow?” “Oh, I’m just writing some skit.” And I was like, “For what?” He’d be like, “I don’t know.” What the hell’s the matter with this guy? It’s just neat that we’ve known each other this long and then got to make a movie together. Of course I want to do it again.
ALBERT BROOKS
(2012)
There are certain people I always figured I would never get the chance to work with in my career. Albert Brooks was one of those people. Comedy-wise, he was simply out of my league. He was on Mount Olympus. At a certain point, I resigned myself to never knowing him like I wanted to.
When I was writing for The Larry Sanders Show, I had the opportunity to have dinner a few times with him and Garry Shandling, and I sat there, terrified and practically mute, for the entire meal. Should I have said something? Should I have tried to be funny? When I got home, I would run to my computer and write down everything he’d said.
Then, when I was writing This Is 40, I decided to write a part for Albert, thinking I would maybe ask him, if it ever got to that point, if he’d be interested in playing it. I never thought he would actually accept it, and when he did, I was completely paralyzed by fear. Oh, God. What if the movie is terrible? What if I pull him down into the muck with me? But the truth is, he was as brilliant and creative as one could ever hope Albert Brooks would be. The night before we would shoot a scene, he’d send me this stream of emails, filled with jokes that topped my jokes, and ideas that topped my ideas, all offered in a generous and collaborative way. I was just in awe. In your dreams as a young guy, you imagine your heroes to be one thing, and then you get a chance to work with one of them and he’s actually even better. Down deep, all comedy nerds hope that, at the end of our lives, we will have made one movie as good and true as Albert Brooks’s best movies.
Judd Apatow: Didn’t you write jokes for Michael Dukakis?
Albert Brooks: Yeah. I was asked to go on the airplane and go to different events. And I actually spoke at a few. I was so disenchanted with him. I thought, I pray he doesn’t win. I mean, there were arguments on the plane, and the guys hated him. “Can I ask him a question?” “Nobody can talk to him now!” So I’m thinking, What if there’s a war?
Judd: Was that the first campaign you got involved in?
Albert: Yeah. I wrote a big joke for him at the Al Smith Dinner, in New York, which is a big political event. George Bush’s slogan was “It’s time to give the country back to the little guy,” and all I was trying to do was to get Dukakis to try to be self-deprecating. I said, “They love that.” So Dukakis is, like, four foot three, and he said, “George Bush says it’s time to give the country back to the little guy. Well, here I am!” And it got written about: Dukakis makes fun of himself. But I think he took it too far, with the tank.
Judd: And the helmet.
Albert: I wasn’t there for that. I would have disapproved of that.
Judd: I always think when someone’s elected president they take them into a room and say, “Here’s what really goes on on this planet.”
Albert: Well, that was in my book. That’s the two-week period where you go from thinking you can change the world to being scared out of your mind. You get the list of the nine people who run everything. I’m sure that’s the way it is.
Judd: You’ve always been a bit of a futurist.
Albert: My friend Harry Nilsson used to say the definition of an artist was someone who rode way ahead of the herd and was sort of the lookout. Now you don’t have to be that, to be an artist. You can be right smack-dab in the middle of the herd. If you are, you’ll be the richest.
Judd: And so Real Life and even the Saturday Night Live sketches were—
Albert: Well, the first thing I ever did was The Famous School for Comedians, for PBS. I had written this fictitious article in Esquire, with a test, and they got like three thousand real responses, because mockumentary things weren’t really there yet. “Oh, it’s a joke? Why would it be a joke? There’s pictures of the school!” So Bob Shanks, a lovely man, was a producer at The Great American Dream Machine, and he said, “Why don’t you make this into a commercial?” That was the first time I ever picked up a camera and found out that, well, if I aim it here, and this person says that, and I think it’s funny, hey, you think it’s funny, too.
Judd: Then Lorne Michaels wanted you as permanent host for SNL, which was just starting.
Albert: Instead of hosting, which I didn’t want to do, I was able to sort of dictate what I wanted to do, because they wanted my name. And so I made six films [for SNL] in five months. That was really a film school.
Judd: Before that, did you have any sense you would go into filmmaking?
Albert: No. But my comedy bits were like scenes. I would bring props and chairs and tape recorders. I was fleshing out fifteen characters, with different voices, and it would have been better if I had hired fourteen people.
Judd: Was it almost a combination of a modern style of stand-up comedy and the previous style? This idea of doing characters and creating situations, but in a new way?
Albert: Well, my roots were in acting. That’s all I wanted to be. Even though my father was a radio comedian, it wasn’t cool to say, at a young age, “I want to be a comedian.”
Judd: Did your dad do stand-up?
Albert: My dad played a character on the radio called “Parkyakarkus.” A Greek-dialect comedian. He did Friars’ roasts and wrote material and made people laugh that way.
Judd: What was the character like?
Albert: The character was a Greek immigrant who couldn’t speak very well, so there was a lot of dialect humor. He owned a restaurant. And the show was called Meet Me at Parky’s. My dad died right after performing at the Friars’ roast for Lucille Ball and Desi Arnaz. I have that tape somewhere. There’s still a lot of good jokes in there. I mean, that was 1958.
Judd: How old were you when that happened?
Albert: Eleven and a half.
Judd: So that’s just an earth-shattering…
Albert: Well, he was so sick before that that I—
Judd: Heart problems?
Albert: Yeah. And he couldn’t walk. He had a spinal operation. Then he could walk s
lowly, like Frankenstein. And so he gained weight. Nothing about him was healthy. Every time we were alone and he called me, I thought he was dying. So when it happened, it wasn’t like, hey, he was the second baseman and he woke up and died.
Judd: How did having a sick dad imprint you?
Albert: I think when you’re very, very, very young and you get a sense of the end before the beginning, it imprints you. In all possible ways.
Judd: What did your mom do?
Albert: My dad and mom met each other in a movie called New Faces of 1937. My mom went under the name Thelma Leeds, and she did a few movies, and she was really a great singer, and when she married my dad and started to have a family, she sang at parties. She didn’t continue, and my dad, he was working, saved his money, so we—
Judd: You were okay.
Albert: We were okay. And then my mom remarried, a lovely man in the shoe business.
Judd: You always hear this legend of Carl Reiner going on The Tonight Show saying, “The funniest person I know is my son’s friend.” Why did he think you were so funny?
Albert: This bit that I did, he said it was the hardest he’s ever laughed in his whole life. I don’t think it was the greatest bit. It was me pretending to be a terrible escape artist who gasped for air and begged for help.
Judd: Who were you developing it for?
Albert: Well, we all go to the area of strength in school, so we can be liked by girls. And if you’re not going to be a quarterback and you’re not going to be a biology honors student…so I was funny. At Beverly Hills High, there was a parent-student talent show. A big event once a year. Now, Beverly High, a lot of the parents were famous. So you had Tony Curtis, you had Carl Reiner….
Judd: You had competition.
Albert: That’s right. Rod Serling. So I was the host of the evening—and I was this kid. I wrote jokes and made comments. I still remember a joke that I told. One of the kids, for their talent portion, did those batons—you twirl them around and around—and I still remember, because it was an ad lib. I was like, “Wasn’t she wonderful? Do you know, in practice, a 707 accidentally landed on the football field.” People roared.
