Shavua Tov

Barbra Paskin's Letter from Hollywood.

March 3, 2024

HOLLYWOOD, California---It’s that time of year again when Hollywood puts on its most glittering array and celebrates the finest from the world of cinema. We’ve already had the Golden Globes, the BAFTAS, the Producers Guild Awards and the Screen Actors Guild awards where British director/producer Christopher Nolan’s epic Oppenheimer swept all those floors with multiple wins. And in just over a week’s time, stars from around the world will descend on Tinseltown to turn out en masse for the 96th Academy Awards.

Stretches of Hollywood Boulevard are already being closed off in the start of what’s become an annual traffic nightmare as public viewing stands are erected around the Dolby Theatre where the awards will take place. With Oppenheimer having cleaned up on so many fronts (305 wins & 368 nominations so far!) and boasting 13 Oscar nominations to its name (just one less than the all-time record set by 1997’s Titanic), it’s no wonder the surefire buzz around Hollywood is that it will repeat its recent triumphant sweeps and see Oscars going to Cillian Murphy for Best Actor, Robert Downey Jr for Best Supporting Actor and Christopher Nolan for Best Director (and Best Screenplay), while the movie itself will almost undoubtedly walk away with the Academy Award for Best Film.

More excitement will come to town just a few days later with the arrival of the long-awaited and much-anticipated documentary Remembering Gene Wilder, about the legendary actor who died in 2016 at the age of 83. It’s been highly-acclaimed since making brief appearances at some major film festivals: it was the Opening Night selection of the Boston and San Francisco Jewish Film Festivals, as well as the Los Angeles Jewish Film Festival where it won Best Picture, and was the Closing Film at last month’s New York Jewish Film Festival. But it’s never had a public release until now.

(c) Photo by Barbra Paskin

Co-produced by Julie Nimoy, daughter of Gene’s longtime friend, Leonard Nimoy, the film features interviews with family and friends, including Mel Brooks who directed the actor in his cult classics The Producers (Gene’s first film for which he won an Oscar nomination as Best Supporting Actor), Young Frankenstein (which Gene co-wrote with Mel, winning them a Best Adapted Screenplay Oscar nomination) and Blazing Saddles. Before Mel Brooks, Gene’s career had consisted of dramatic roles on and off Broadway. After their first work together in The Producers, he switched focus entirely to comedy, often in neurotic, over-the-top roles, and their collaboration catapulted Gene onto the A-list of actors. As for his iconic enactment of the mysterious chocolatier in Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, it immortalised him through one of the most memorable performances in screen history.

Married in 1984 to comedienne Gilda Radner who tragically died less than five years later, the two actors were among filmdom’s most popular Jewish couples, although Gene never practiced religion. Born Jerome Silberman to a father who had emigrated from Russia, he did go to Hebrew school in his youth and the family went to shul (where his grandfather was president) on the High Holy Days but that was about the extent of it. As an adult, he called himself a "Jewish-Buddhist atheist", and in 2005, he remarked, “I feel very Jewish and I feel very grateful to be Jewish. But I’m not at all religious, although I am certainly Jewish — which, to me, means that my parents hugged and kissed me a lot as I was growing up.” Unlike Woody Allen, he only once played a Jewish role onscreen – as a Hassidic Polish rabbi speaking Yiddish in The Cisco Kid opposite rising star Harrison Ford.

I first interviewed Gene in 1976, soon after arriving here as the BBC’s first Hollywood correspondent. Not the easiest assignment for a rookie. I took my crew on location where Gene was filming Silver Streak (for which he later won a Golden Globe award) with Jill Clayburgh and Richard Pryor making his film debut in the first of four films they made together. The two had bonded immediately through their mutual humour, but separating them long enough to do individual interviews in front of the camera turned out to be an arduous endeavour. Not helped when the one on the sideline would suddenly jump in front of the camera to interrupt the other with some new comedy schtick.

A few years ago, I was working on a documentary about the incomparable Marty Feldman for Radio 2, and after interviewing Gene about his late friend and fellow comedian with whom he’d most famously shared the screen in Young Frankenstein, I persuaded him to narrate the programme for us. On the day of recording, I arranged to pick him up from his hotel halfway between Hollywood and San Diego (200 miles apart) and drive us to the recording studio about half an hour away from him in the next town.

It was one of those blisteringly hot Los Angeles mornings and making the most of it I put the top down on my convertible and drove an hour south to the coastal hotel where Gene was staying during a brief trip from his Connecticut home. I reached the hotel and Gene came out to join me. At first he seemed pleased to see me but his face dropped when he saw my car; he was clearly none too happy. He grumbled a bit about wanting the roof up, then turned abruptly and went back to his room, re-emerging ten minutes later with his nose covered in opaque white sunscreen lotion and a wide-brimmed hat to cover his sparse ginger locks and half his face.

“I hope you know the way to the studio,” he muttered as he gingerly climbed into the car. “‘We’d better not end up in San Diego.”

“No chance,” I reassured him firmly. “San Diego’s over an hour away and we’re only going to the next town. But it’s a bit complicated and we have to take a couple of different freeways to get there. No problem though. Don’t worry. I downloaded directions from the internet. We’ll be fine.”

The directions I’d memorised started us out from the back entrance of the hotel. But minutes later when we reached a closed iron gate, it became evident that Mapquest had failed to take into account that the back entrance had been blocked off for repairs. It was the first sign that the day might not proceed as smoothly as planned.

We backtracked our way via the front entrance and I tried to recalibrate our directions but we drove for ages until finally locating the first freeway. Then Gene began grumbling again. I’d been looking forward to an amusing journey littered with comic reflections from the comedy genius by my side. Instead I was being greeted by a curt silence. I prattled on about nothing, trying to cheer him up. In the process I completely missed the sign to the next freeway we had to take and ended up going in the wrong direction onto another freeway. I only realised my mistake when I saw a sign that said “Welcome to San Diego”.  It wasn’t my finest hour. I hastily took the next exit and began to double back, hoping Gene wouldn’t  have noticed.

But minutes later – “Didn’t we already come this way?” he thundered. “I recognise that tall building we just passed!”

“I’m sorry,” I murmured sheepishly. “We went onto the wrong freeway and it took us in the opposite direction. We’re okay now. Really.”

His silence was ominous.

“Look at this way,” I chirped airily, hoping to placate him. “It could be worse.”

“HOW could it be worse?” he demanded.

“You could have had a BBC suit sitting in the driving seat,” I replied brightly, knowing of his distinct aversion to those smartly-dressed establishment types.

He said nothing but casting a glance sideways, I was heartened to see his mouth curling upward as he tried to hold back the semblance of a grin.

We reached the recording studio without further mishap – the half hour drive had taken us almost two hours.

We began recording but Gene wasn’t ready to let me off lightly. He peppered the script with disagreements over some of the wording but after I stressed the need to retain the words as written, he knuckled under and delivered a smooth, quite brilliant recording.

“Let’s get back without getting lost again,” he pleaded grimly as we were about to leave.

“Can you just sign this for me first,” I asked, and thrust into his hands a brand-new copy of his recently published memoir, Kiss Me Like a Stranger. (He didn’t know it then, but the book would mark the start of a second and highly-successful career as a prolific author. And clips from his audio reading of the book now provide the narration for the new documentary.) 

He signed the book grudgingly, implying I didn’t deserve it, and I drove us back to his hotel. We didn’t get lost this time and he perked up en route and was a lot more amenable. He even regaled me with a couple of hilarious stories about Marty and Mel Brooks. After dropping him, I drove around the sleepy town searching for a florist. Hopeless. It was Sunday. The best I could do was a local supermarket where I snatched up two massive bouquets of roses, joined them together as one and dashed back to the hotel. By then, Gene had left for dinner with friends so I gave the giant bouquet to the front desk to deliver to his room.

The next morning I found an email from him in my inbox. He thanked me for the flowers, saying it hadn’t been necessary, but he was very appreciative nevertheless. And then graciously conceded that he’d forgiven my less-than-perfect sense of direction. “We’ll do it again some time,” he wrote, then added with a touch of sardonic humour, hinting at his need for a recovery period first, “…...but not for a while!”

In London later, the producer was elated with Gene’s recording and when the programme was broadcast, it came in for much attention and praise from critics and audiences alike.

But I’ll always remember to my acute embarrassment that wild adventure and the day I got lost with Gene Wilder on the freeways of Los Angeles.

Till next time, Shavua tov.

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