I'm Not Dead... Yet! (14 page)

“Is there something wrong, Robby?”

“What do you mean?” I hesitated, and then looked deep into his eyes, reflected in the make-up mirror. Had I been
‘caught?’ Being caught
would mean I wasn’t
insurable
.

“You’ve been behaving like… Barry! Are you exasperated with me?” the make-up man finally blurted out.

“Oh no, it’s not you—I’m just a little tired. I’m so sorry.”

Before every film, actors and directors have to take physicals in order for the studio to get
insurance
. Fortunately, the kind old doctors who did all the studio physicals liked me. We would talk, tell jokes, and I usually never had to take off my shirt. The toughest part of the insurance check-up was saying ‘Ahhhh.’ Not being insurable would mean I could no longer act in films. Not being able to do what I loved also meant not providing for my family, my future; everything I dreamed of doing in my life. Then what?

There was the cold reality that I didn’t know how to do anything else! If I couldn’t get past the make-up man, who was I really fooling?

I looked up, straightened my pious peyos and said, “L’chaim!” with confidence. “Don’t worry, I’m as strong as a bull.”

Bull…

And then I furtively gasped for air.

Some of my best acting
was hiding the fact that I couldn’t breathe. After all,
The Chosen,
our small, beautifully directed independent film, beat
Schindler’s List
and
Fiddler on the Roof
as ‘The Greatest Jewish Movie Ever Made.’

(At least according to this book:

—I must’ve fooled someone!)

Broadway:

In the spring of 1980, I had the good fortune
of being asked by Joseph Papp to play the role of Frederic in the New York Shakespeare Festival production of
The Pirates of Penzance
in Central Park. I had to decline because I was about to start the film
The Chosen
. But less than a year later, when the hundred-year-old operetta was a Broadway hit (about to be nominated for seven Tonys), he asked me again.

I had always originated parts and never considered replacing anyone in a Broadway show (honestly, I was a bit of a snob when it came to that)

but I was in New York with no more press to do for the special screening of
The Chosen
the following night.

As a kid I had always dreamed of seeing a movie I starred in projected onto the mammoth 3-story screen at Radio City Music Hall. By pure luck, the huge event for Israel’s 33rd birthday included the premiere of
The Chosen
at Radio City. It was a dream come true.

I brought my dear friend from high school, Carleen Hussung, to the screening. When I was off doing films, she would take copious notes and help me study for tests. She was (and is) smarter than I am. But because I had a photographic memory, I could retain entire scripts and all the notes from biology,
math and French, and therefore
aced my exams.
I was valedictorian based on test scores, but she’s the one who deserved that honor, not me.

My agent and friend
Rick Nicita had told me, “Do - not - do - ‘Pirates.’ They’ll forget you in Hollywood if you take over a role in New York. Hollywood has amnesia!”

My film career was very healthy and my agent was basically telling me the age-old story: I would blow all of the momentum I had worked so hard to achieve. At that time I had a three-year deal at Universal as a screenwriter—extremely rare for someone my age. ‘Let’s get real,’ I thought—how could I sing eight shows a week without being able to
breathe
? Especially since the role of Frederic (the ‘Slave of Duty’) was the vocal workhorse of the show. And, a tenor. I’m a baritone, now.

So mischievously, with a night free, I asked Mr. Papp if I could see the show that was the hottest ticket on Broadway. I still had no intention of doing
Pirates
, but I wanted to see what all the fuss was about.

Well, ‘the fuss’ was about two of the best hours of entertainment I had ever witnessed, mainly because of Kevin Kline’s performance as the Pirate King, Graciela Daniele’s remarkable choreography, and a wonderful cast. But as the evening progressed, the young man who played the ‘Slave of Duty’ wasn’t ‘fitting into the show.’ He had the voice of a Tenor God, but lost his character and was
competing
with the Pirate King when he should have been supporting him.

My father, who wrote jokes for some of the best comedians in the business, taught me there is an unwritten rule in comedy: there is the ‘set-up’ guy, and then the person who ‘delivers the blow.’ There are endless examples (in business and sports); basically, the set-up guy has a thankless job but should take great pleasure in getting the alpha comic a bigger laugh. If you weren’t born with this understanding, then someone had better teach it to you.

It’s an art form. Think of the hallowed halls of comedy history: George Burns and Gracie Allen, Laurel and Hardy, Abbott and Costello. One nurtures the other and lobs the set-ups into the sweet spot for the comic delivering the punch line. It’s…
noble
to be the straight man. It’s the right thing to do. It’s also a
sin
to compete with your on-stage partner in the religion of the theater.