Andy Kaufman Revealed!

by Bob Zmuda

  “Andy, it’s me, Jay,” he said, surprised that he was being treated like a civilian.

  “Do I know you?” Andy said in his Caspiar-inflected accent. “I am pleased to meet you.”

  Andy was not above punching anyone’s buttons, even fellow stage veterans. But despite those occasional goofs, his well-known characters had been co-opted by familiarity. Andy needed an escape, and Tony Clifton represented the perfect vehicle with which to make his getaway.

  7

  Clifton Unchained

  Every time he hit the stage he knew he was going to be loved, hated, and feared at the same time. And he was completely willing to be feared and completely willing to allow people to go away confused, which I think was very dangerous.

  JIM CARREY

  We calculated the return of Tony Clifton. The essence of the plan was not only to create a new and improved Clifton, but also to give Andy back the anonymity he so loved. Our first task was to create the look. Andy’s previous model of Tony consisted of little more than a fake mustache and sunglasses. The next version of Tony had to be something quite different. The specifications of our new Tony required that he look nothing like Andy, a chore that would require some very serious preparations.

  I sat down with my sketch pad and designed a whole new Tony Clifton, from head to toe. Everything would be altered: height, weight, hair, costuming, and full prosthetic headpieces that would remake his nose, chin, jowls, and even his ears. It was a fairly complex undertaking, considerably more involved than simply slapping on some greasepaint, and once Andy approved the concept we then had to somehow execute it in latex. Andy’s paranoia concerning the discovery of our “creation” kept us away from any potentially gossiping Hollywood makeup experts who possessed the advanced skills to pull off the transformation. That left me.

  While at Carnegie-Mellon I had taken some stage makeup courses, but the creation of Clifton was something else. I acquired every book I could on the subject and studied carefully. Once I felt confident, I obtained some modeling clay and the sculpting tools and went to work. Andy impatiently called every day, wondering when Tony would be complete.

  “Soon,” I said, “soon. Keep your pants on, Kaufman, I’m an artist, I need time.”

  He’d laugh and hang up, but sometimes he’d call back a few hours later and have me describe the latest additions to our gestating baby. It took a few days of trial and error, but when Tony’s clay visage was finally complete I called Andy to come over. When he entered my place he slowly approached the clay head, his eyes wide in wonderment. “I love him,” he said, “he’s perfect.”

  And with that, Tony Clifton was born again. Next I made a mold of Andy’s face and then resculptured Tony’s features onto his so the prosthetic pieces would fit his face seamlessly. I made a new mold of the altered Tony face and then began the laborious process of layering the latex into it by brushing it on in liquid form, letting it dry, then applying a new layer. After several layers I had an appliance that was sturdy yet not so thick as to call attention to itself. When it was complete I placed the pieces on the original head and phoned Andy.

  “Hey Kaufman, you ready to become Clifton?”

  “I’m on my way.”

  When Andy arrived I sat him down and over the course of the afternoon carefully placed the Tony Clifton face parts over his. Then I got the patented bad hairpiece in place and attached the padding for Tony’s big gut. It took a few hours of makeup to blend the prosthetics with his face and I didn’t let him see it until it was finished. As soon as I had made the final adjustment I stepped back to appraise my handiwork. If I do say so myself, it was quite remarkable.

  “Well?” he asked.

  “Go look,” I said, pointing to the bathroom.

  I followed him and watched his face as he gazed into the mirror, now wholly unrecognizable as Andy Kaufman. There was a brief flicker of surprise and satisfaction, then Andy completely vanished. His body shifted and he assumed a different posture in a Split second.

  “Hey, not bad for a Polack,” he snapped in his trademark nasal Bronx twang. “What you say your name was again?”

  “Bob.” I was now talking to the reborn Tony Clifton.

  “Bob? Bob? I like Bugsy. What say we go meet some dames, huh, Bugsy?”

  We hopped in Andy’s other car, a pink Cadillac ragtop he’d rented just for Tony, and headed down to Hollywood Boulevard, where Andy, er, Tony outfitted himself with a whole new wardrobe. Tony Clifton’s new duds consisted of a ridiculously bright peach brocade tuxedo, a blue ruffled shirt, and a butterfly bow tie, just like the kind Jerry Lewis wears on his telethon. The transformation was complete, so we headed to the steak joint where Cindy and I used to have lunch. As I described it earlier, Musso & Frank is a classic steak house in the middle of Hollywood where celebs are often seen wolfing down hearty filets and sirloins. We blew in, and Tony immediately started working the room, hopping from booth to booth like some glad-handing star whom no one recognized but everyone was sure was “somebody.” Tony chatted with people at their tables and bought drinks all around.

  From the moment he walked in he was the life of the party, the antithesis of Andy, who normally would have disappeared into the rich, polished woodwork rather than risk having to speak with anyone. The restaurant management deferred to us, given Tony’s overwhelming demeanor, and we were quickly given the best seat in the place and assigned two waiters. Then Andy as Tony did something that horrified me: he ordered a glass — not a shot — of bourbon and a steak the size of a dictionary. He also asked one of our waiters to get him a pack of cigarettes.

  Andy Kaufman was a confirmed vegetarian and teetotaler who would usually leave the room if anyone even hinted at lighting a cigarette. But as Tony Clifton, he sucked down the bourbon like soda pop and consumed the immense steak quicker than a condemned man. Then he lit up his Camel and smoked it like a guy who’d been doing three packs a day for years. His total commitment to his rediscovered character was very impressive, but as his friend I couldn’t help hut he alarmed.

  “Andy?” I said, leaning over the table and whispering. “You better slow down, you’re not used to drinking.”

  “You fuckin’ asshole!” he screamed. “Don’t ever call me Andy! That fuckin’ creep couldn’t get laid if his life depended on it! I’m Tony, Tony Clifton, and don’t you ever forget it or I’ll push your face right in your soup!”

  Andy never swore, so this was further evidence of his surrender to the persona of Tony Clifton. I briefly reflected on the notion that maybe it was really just the cape and tights that gave Superman his powers. The latex appliances, wardrobe, and bad hairpiece had changed Andy Kaufman so utterly I wondered for a moment if they also didn’t possess magic powers.

  Years later a noted clinical psychologist had an opportunity to meet Andy and Tony and was convinced that Andy exhibited very strong indices of multiple personality disorder. I’m not so sure, but I can say I was beginning to feel a little like Victor Frankenstein as I watched my friend fall into that black hole named Tony Clifton.

  Tony represented Andy’s need to reinvent himself. And like a child who had just drawn a cool car or a giraffe he was proud of, Andy wanted to show off his new creation to everyone he could think of. One of those groups of people was his Taxi family. I use the word “family” only in the loosest sense, as Andy never truly felt at ease with the cast. Most of them socialized in one way or another, but Andy rarely made an appearance at any Taxi function unless it was directly related to performing his character. One of the few times Andy did attend a function, disaster occurred. Andy reluctantly went to a cast party at a restaurant, and soon a very drunken Jeff Conaway jumped on Andy’s case about his infrequent attendance on the set.

  “You think you’re better than the rest of us, Kaufman?” said the toasted Conaway.

  “No, Jeff,” said Andy softly, trying to extricate himself. “I don’t.”

  “Yeah? Well, I think you do,” said Jeff, whereupon he punched And
y, knocking him into the chopped-liver canapés, From then on Andy had a practical excuse for not showing at cast Functions. To his credit, a contrite and sober Conaway phoned Andy the next day and apologized profusely. Andy forgave him but from then on was understandably wary.

  But now Andy wanted to bring his new, improved toy out of the closet, and where better to do that than at the place which, at least to Andy, needed the most fun: his workplace, the set of Taxi. The show’s producers, Jim Brooks and Ed Weinberger, had been good sports and gone along with the separate contract for Tony Clifton, but now the time came for them to make good on the deal.

  The plan was for Clifton to star in an episode scheduled for production in October ‘78 called “A Full House for Christmas.” Tony Clifton was slated to play Nicky DePalma, brother of Danny DeVito’s Louie and a degenerate Vegas gambler, who was to take the employees of the Sunshine Cab Company for a ride at the poker table before getting his comeuppance at the hands of Judd Hirsch’s Alex Reiger. The unwitting producers felt they would play along with Andy and get a credible performance from his alter ego, Tony Clifton.

  Andy’s plan turned out to be more anarchist than artistic. He wanted to show all involved that what he did was far beyond the commercial trash he felt they were peddling as a sitcom. That the show was quickly developing a reputation as a terrific production mattered not a bit to Andy. Sitcoms by their nature were garbage to him and though he took their money he wanted to hammer home the point of the futility of their treasured belief that what they were creating was great art. He planned to accomplish that by raining confusion and mayhem upon the set of Taxi. Andy was no less an ardent hard-liner than a crazed Palestinian with Semtex taped to his chest and a detonator and the Koran clutched in his sweaty hands. He prepared to attack the infidels of Taxi as the suicidal terrorist Tony Clifton.

  The cast was told that Andy was to arrive as Tony Clifton and that they should all refer to him as Tony, not Andy. That irritated Judd Hirsch and Jeff Conaway from the get-go as self-indulgent nonsense, but they finally agreed to play along with everyone else. The paradox was that Andy would wholeheartedly have agreed with Judd and Jeff: it was indeed absurd narcissism. But Andy — like the kid with the chemistry set — really just wanted to see what would happen. Usually Andy’s lab rats were the audience, but in this case it was the cast and crew of Taxi.

  For the Tuesday rehearsal I went to Andy’s home to “Cliftonize” him. He had finally moved out of his apartment and now lived in Laurel Canyon in a modest, slightly secluded house with a swimming pool, steam room, and, adjacent to his bedroom, a wrestling room with mats completely covering the floor.

  Once transformed into Clifton he single-handed the helm of his Caddy as we sped down Crescent Heights to the Taxi set at Paramount. As part of the plan, I too was disguised in a wig and sunglasses. Andy didn’t want Clifton and his “handler” to have any association with himself. At the studio gate we were stopped by the guard, who refused to let us in.

  “I’m Tony Clifton, the guest star on Taxi, you fucking idiot!” he railed.

  The guard was shocked when he called the set and found ‘Tony’s claim to be true. As the poor man began to give us directions to the visitor parking lot, Tony exploded, “I’m no fucking visitor, asshole! I got my own parking spot.”

  And he did. A moment later we squealed into a slot, as ordered, with his name stenciled in right next to the parking place marked Andy Kaufman. Walking over to soundstage 25, with the large Taxi logo, we met Ed Weinberger, who escorted us to Tony’s trailer, an expansive Winnebago. Andy had his own dressing room, as did the rest of the cast, but it was small, and in his infinite wisdom and humor Ed knew it would not be an acceptable facility for the likes of Mr. Clifton.

  Inside, we found the Winnebago to be fit for a Clifton. An extensively stocked wet bar, plates and plates of deli food, and the most salient feature of all: two hookers. Supplied by “an entity associated with the production,” they were delightful young ladies, both quite attractive despite their de rigueur hooker makeup and tawdry clothing. Tony’s eyes lit up and he immediately began barking orders to them regarding how things were going to be, sexually, that is, and Ed took his cue and beat a hasty retreat.

  The second Ed disappeared, Tony ushered his “new friends” into the back bedroom of the motor home. In no time the Winnebago began to rock back and forth. I went outside where a small crowd of P.A.’s and various crew members had assembled out of curiosity. Drawn by rumors, the assemblage was rewarded as the huge vehicle now bobbed up and down, and given the noises from within, the reasons why were obvious.

  “Is that Andy in there?” a fresh-faced kid asked.

  “No,” I snapped, cloaked in my disguise, “that’s Tony Clifton, ass-wipe, and don’t you forget it!” As I walked away I thought, Oh my god, it’s catching… I’m getting Cliftonitis. Andy had gotten both girls to strip to their panties, and the rocking was actually caused by their energetic wrestling. The winner of the contest would, of course, get to have sex with Tony and would also receive an extra C-note for her efforts.

  After I returned to the motor home, I sat down in its main room with a bottle of juice and waited for something to happen … something, that is, other than the moans of pleasure coming from the bedroom. The knocks on the outside door were drowned out by the animal screams of sexual gratification, and when I finally heard them I leaped to answer the door. I was gazing down at a very different Ed Weinberger. He looked stricken.

  “I need Andy, uh, Tony on the set right away.”

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  Ed stepped up into the unit. “Some of the cast are upset. A couple of them walked by and were appalled at what was going on in here.”

  I would have given a million bucks for a tape recorder at that moment, because that last sentence would have been a highlight of Andy’s career, possibly his life. Ed, his sparkle gone, scurried away after reiterating his request that I rouse Tony ASAP. I tapped lightly on the door, but Tony, like a dog in the act, would have none of my interruptions, and I certainly understood his position (or positions). Here he was, at high noon on another perfect day in L.A., nailin’ two gorgeous bimbos, all on the nickel of Paramount Pictures’ television division, and there wasn’t a goddamn thing anyone could do to stop him. Man, this was the golden age of Hollywood.

  Meanwhile, everyone on the set cooled their heels as Tony Clifton finished his “staff meeting.” When Tony finally walked onto the set, his flossy arm pieces caused nearly as much shock as did his total lack of resemblance to Andy. It turns out I was wrong about the girls, whom I thought were simply prostitutes. In reality, they were prostitutes but also aspiring actresses. Silly me. They were only hooking until they got their big breaks as actresses, so of course Tony had sweetened the deal with them by offering them speaking parts in the episode. So enthusiastic were they at the opportunity to be in such an important production, they momentarily lost their heads and reverted to their hooker roles, offering to service Tony Danza for free while they were at it. Tony Clifton never passed on that offer to Danza, saying, “You dames are all mine, and don’t you forget it!”

  Ed Weinberger, gentleman that he is, introduced Tony, as well as “Buffy” and “Candy,” to the cast. Tony had the girls pass out little mechanical toys, windup dogs that went woof, woof when activated. The cast had been forced to wait an hour while Clifton got his rocks off, and you could feel the anger boiling up in Judd Hirsch and Jeff Conaway as the Clifton circus strengthened its hold over the set of Taxi.

  Judd and Andy had a rivalry stemming from the initial contracts regarding the show, when each was told separately that he was to be the primary star of the show. Andy didn’t give a rat’s ass who got the billing, but it gnawed at Judd Hirsch. Danny De-Vito, on the other hand, was one of the coolest members of the cast and loved every minute of Kaufman’s antics.

  The script read-through didn’t go well, with Tony either fumbling his lines or stopping to ad-lib dialogue. When
he began inventing lines for his two protégées, who were by then seated on each of his knees, the situation came to a head. As the girls uttered such Clifton improvisations as “Tony, you’re the greatest,” and the equally trenchant “Tony puts other men to shame,” the mood of the room cut to black. But Tony had not found his way to the powder keg with his lit match — that is, until he began to change Judd Hirsch’s dialogue. It was just the button Tony had been looking for.

  Judd Hirsch leaped up and yelled, “Okay, that’s it, this is bull-shit!” Stepping away from the table, Judd leveled his considerable gaze at Ed and Jim Brooks. “Either he leaves or I do!” and with that he walked away. Tony Danza ran off to get his super-8 camera, convinced a melee was about to occur. Wisely, Ed suggested the rehearsal be canceled. The cast stood up, looking slightly shell-shocked. As Jeff Conaway stormed off in a rage, he hurled his woofing dog into the wall.

  I accompanied Tony and the girls back to the Winnebago. Soon, Ed arrived at the door of the motor home and asked to speak with Tony alone.

  “Girls,” Tony motioned, “take a hike for a minute. But Zmuda stays.”

  The fact that he called me Zmuda indicated that Andy was back. Tony would have called me Bugsy. As the girls closed the door, Andy dropped the Clifton persona.

  “Are they freaking out?” he asked Ed.

  “Judd is calling his manager,” he answered.

  Andy guffawed. “Oh, this is great! I’m surprised they put up with Clifton as long as they did.”

  “Andy,” said Ed gravely, “I gotta pull the plug on this. I’ve got to fire Tony.”

  Andy held up his hand in accord. “Don’t worry, I agree, but just do me one last favor. Announce you’ve fired me, but I’ll come back tomorrow, and I want you to have security throw me out, bodily.”

  Ed was confused, trying to follow his star’s perverse request. “Why?”