It's Good to Be the King

by James Robert Parish

  Soon after Bancroft reestablished herself in New York City, she began regular visits to a psychiatrist. She hoped to learn how to better deal with her frustration over the seemingly pointless Los Angeles years and the unhappiness of her marriage, which had left her so distrustful of men. (She quipped, “The only men in my life from now on will be my father, my agent, my press agent, and my psychiatrists.”)

  At this point, the very outspoken Anne made it quite clear to the men she dated, to her family, and to the media that she had no interest whatsoever in remarrying. “I had had one disastrous divorce which I knew from the wedding day was not going to work. So when I got divorced, I had everything from my panties to my umbrellas monogrammed ‘AB.’ That was it. I don’t even think of getting married,” Bancroft said. “I’ve got too many character quirks to eliminate before I can expect a man to marry me.” Summing up her situation, Anne assessed, “I was lonely, but I could pay that price too. I escaped into the work, but also I had a good time. I could have gone along that way.” (Despite her protestations of happiness at being a confirmed bachelorette, Bancroft kept asking herself why she couldn’t have “a mature relationship based on trust, respect, and recognition.”)

  Anne continued her determined lifestyle for several months. One day, in a session with her therapist, she told him she had put a piece of a friend’s wedding cake under her pillow. He answered sarcastically, “At last you’re taking active steps.”

  19

  Back to Broadway and Beyond

  never leave show business. It’s in everything I do. That’s because, to me, in a world where we know we’re all going to die, the show business thing—to sing and dance, laugh and shout—is the most courageous emotional banner a human being can wave. That’s why I love show business and performers so much.

  —Mel Brooks, 1983

  Mel Brooks was so excited at being in the presence of the sparkling Anne Bancroft on that momentous February day in 1961 that he was not about to let her out of his sight.

  After Anne chatted briefly with Mel at the Ziegfeld Theater, she mentioned that she was off to meet with her talent agent at the William Morris Agency. She thought that would be a polite way to end the impromptu meeting. But Mel refused to be brushed off. He replied that, coincidentally, he was heading over to the same agency to see his representative there (although his agent was not based at that impressive firm). The two agreed to share a cab, and during the ride they exchanged further pleasantries. Once at their destination, Mel escorted Anne to the agency offices. Later, when she came back out to the reception area, lo and behold, there was the persistent Mel. They left the building together and continued their conversation. The next day Brooks brought Bancroft a copy of his recent 2000 Year Old Man album. This prompted a conversation between them on TV comedy, and Bancroft mentioned that she had long been a fan of Sid Caesar’s.

  In the coming days, through great ingenuity and determination, Mel learned where Anne would be dining or attending a function that particular evening. Then he would appear there and feign surprise at the twist of fate that had brought them together once again. On each such occasion he did his utmost to entertain the star and keep her attention. Finally, he summoned the courage to ask her out on a real date. Since his funds were low, he suggested they dine at a quaint little restaurant downtown and then see a movie at an art house theater, where the price of tickets was reasonable. As Anne continued to see Mel, she realized that his finances were meager. So she frequently suggested that he come by her place so that she could cook a traditional Italian meal. It soon became a habit for Mel to spend a great deal of his free time at Anne’s West 11th Street residence. Mel was ecstatic at his sudden good fortune.

  • • •

  Producer Edward Padula had endured over 80 backers’ auditions for possible investors to raise the $290,000 needed to finance Bye Bye Birdie, which opened on Broadway in April 1960. The play was a remarkable success, playing through to October 1961. During its lengthy run, Broadway/film director Joshua Logan saw a performance of the popular show. At intermission Logan encountered Padula in the lobby and told him how much he was enjoying the evening and hoped that they could work together one day. Padula used the occasion to mention a property he had long wanted to convert into a new musical for the American theater, Vladimir Nabokov’s novel Pnin. The plot concerned a Russian-born professor who comes to teach in the United States and must adapt to the strange culture of his new homeland. Padula’s representatives had approached Nabokov for the rights, but the author had refused all offers. Then the producer found Robert Lewis Taylor’s 1950 novel, Professor Fodorski, which dealt with much the same matter. The rights to that work were acquired rather easily. Thereafter, Padula assigned the Bye Bye Birdie songwriting team of Charles Strouse and Lee Adams to the new project. In turn, the duo suggested Mel Brooks as a good bet to adapt the Taylor book for the upcoming musical. Mel jumped at the offer without fully thinking through what would be required of him. Instead he focused on the more appealing aspects of the job. Not only would his fee help to tide him over during these tough financial times, but he remained determined to earn a solid Broadway credit. That, he reasoned, would prove to everyone that his last stage venture, Shinbone Alley, was not truly representative of his talents.

  Logan became intrigued with the developing stage production and arranged for Padula and his creative team to convene at Joshua’s country home in Stamford, Connecticut. At the meeting, the group bandied about ideas for giving the satirical story line a proper structure to support the musical comedy. In the course of the day, Mel expressed his ideas, some of which seemed promising. When the get-together ended, it was agreed that Logan would seriously consider coming aboard the Broadway-bound venture. At the time, everyone believed that the elitist Joshua was the proper person to helm this production. After all, his Broadway credentials included such successful musicals as Annie Get Your Gun, South Pacific, Wish You Were Here, and Fanny. While Logan rushed off to Hollywood to make films and ponder his possible participation on the show, the others got down to creating the musical.

  Unlike New Faces of 1952 (for which Brooks had provided a humorous skit) and Shinbone Alley (for which Mel had only undertaken rewrites of Joe Darion’s book), this time Brooks was responsible for the entire libretto. Under the best of circumstances this was a challenging assignment. What made it more difficult for Brooks was that he was used to writing (or better yet, talking) in “committee” as he had done on both Your Show of Shows and Caesar’s Hour. There, each member of the writing squad spurred on the others, and, if a sketch proved too unwieldy, it could always be discarded. If weekly script deadlines seemed perilously close to being missed, there was always head writer Mel Tolkin to corral the comedy writers (including Brooks) back onto schedule. However, on this new stage venture, Mel was virtually on his own in structuring the libretto, and he had little background and too little discipline to handle such a demanding situation successfully. As he submitted drafts (which he either handwrote or dictated and had transcribed) and was told they required substantial revamping, he grew progressively less enthusiastic about the project, for which he was not the final arbiter.

  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 th
e 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 a
nd 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).