I Blame Dennis Hopper (35 page)

TCM does incredible work to fill that void. Robert's contributions as a film historian have been essential to the channel's success. His familiarity makes you feel as if you know him. Ben Mankiewicz, TCM's second host, with his own knowledge and wry sensibility, is equally adept at introducing films and interviewing legends. TCM remains a beacon, uplifting us when we are down, making us laugh, and reminding us of the commonality of movies.

The first time I was on TCM was to highlight the work of my grandfather. My role soon expanded into introducing films at the TCM Classic Film Festival. That relationship grew further, and I am proud to say that I am now part of the TCM family. In my work with TCM, I still have that same gee-whiz excitement I had as a kid doing movie reviews in high school. I get to talk about movies, write about movies, interview folks about movies. But there's more to it than that. I introduced a show on the
Friday Night Spotlight
segment called
Second Looks,
which focuses on overlooked films such as Elaine May's
A New Leaf
and Billy Wilder's
Ace in the Hole
. I like shining a light on overlooked films and undiscovered classics. The movies are an art form that I hold in high regard. Movie history is important to me, and because I also work in movies, I want to see them stay around for a while.

My work with TCM also gives me the opportunity to talk to actors I know professionally and personally whose work has inspired me. This combination of being both an insider and an outsider offers a unique perspective. It's like being in front of the camera and behind it at the same time, which is something I could have only dreamed about back in my black-and-white bedroom.

Not long after I started working for TCM, I was cast in a movie called
Max Rose
. All I knew about it was that it was going to star Jerry Lewis. When Daniel Noah, the writer-director, called me about it, I just said yes, I didn't even read the script. Of course, I had heard so many great stories about Jerry from Marty, and I knew about all the contributions he had made to
The King of Comedy
. I had seen all of Jerry's films, from the Dean Martin and Lewis comedies to the Lewis solo films. I saw many of those films for the first time on TCM back in the '90s. There was a musicality in Jerry's work that I loved—I'm thinking of
The Ladies Man
and
Cinderfella
. He also has a unique ability to combine total control and total lack of control, as he did in
The Bellboy
. And Jerry exemplifies the physical comedy of Chaplin in
The Nutty Professor
, but there is something else in Jerry's performance in that film, something I couldn't quite place.

Before filming started for
Max Rose,
Daniel Noah and Hadrian Belove hosted an evening for Jerry at everyone's favorite revival movie theater in L.A., Cinefamily, where I have spent many wonderful hours getting lost in the dark. There had been a lively Q&A session, and I threw out a question or two. Afterward, in the back garden of Cinefamily, I met Jerry. We posed for pictures, and I told him how excited I was to be in
Max Rose
. We began talking about
The King of Comedy.
He said some very nice things about Marty and Bob. Jerry treated me as if I were a peer more than an admiring fan, sharing insights about his films. He took my hand as we continued to speak. I felt as if I were meeting someone I had been searching for all my life. Someone who was so at ease with himself that he was giving me permission to do the same. We were in a roomful of people, but suddenly it felt like it was just the two of us. Jerry was holding my hand, and he said, “You must do everything with truth and love.”

“My work,” he said, “is an outpouring of love.” I understood immediately what he meant. And that was it. That was that secret ingredient—
pathos
, my favorite word—underneath the broad comedy. It was an outpouring of love that I had felt.

I related that story when I introduced Jerry at the 2014 TCM Classic Film Festival. Being a part of TCM's tribute to him was one of the highlights of my career. Interviewing Jerry at the El Capitan Theatre before
The Nutty Professor
played to a packed house and being a part of his handprint-footprint ceremony in front of the world-famous Grauman's Chinese Theatre were thrilling events for me. It seemed unthinkable that Jerry Lewis's handprints and footprints were not
already
cast in cement in Hollywood for all to see. To know that I helped be a part of making it happen is quite a humbling experience for a movie-lover like me.

Through our conversations about films, Jerry and I became friends. I guess it was natural that he became a mentor to me. Who wouldn't take advice from Jerry Lewis? He's a genius. And I mean that sincerely. I was going to be shooting some introductions for an upcoming TCM
Second Looks
program, and Jerry helped me out with a story about Jack Benny and another one about Billy Wilder that I used in my intros. More and more he became involved with my relationship at TCM. I appreciated his guidance, because I was finally feeling like I was ready to come into my own. Jerry said to me, “By the time I'm done with you, you'll be confident!” He was right about that, and so many other things—for instance, that I should never wear the color green on camera! Remember, he said, “I dressed some of the great ladies of Hollywood.” I did not argue with Mr. Lewis. Green was forever banished from my wardrobe.

One day out of the blue, Jerry asked me if I had a flashlight. I told him I didn't. He said, “Why don't you have a flashlight? You need to have a flashlight.” So he gave me one.

It was a strangely significant present. When I was a child I used to have a recurring dream about leading a group of people through a dark forest. In the dream it was night. I was frightened, and lost, so I would cry out for help. Suddenly in the sky a large flashlight would appear. I would have to reach up and grab this gigantic flashlight, somehow holding it, guiding the people through the darkness of the forest to safety. Finally we would reach a meadow, and look up, and see the night sky full of stars.

I love my Jerry Lewis flashlight, and he's right, I did need it. Every time I use it I think of him. It's a symbol of what I do as an artist. To try to shine a light in the darkness. It's a role I am suited for. I'm like an usher in a vast movie theater using my Jerry Lewis flashlight, guiding people to their seats, talking about movies, showing them something they may not have seen. Shining a light on the importance of movies as an art form, from both sides of the camera lens. “My work,” as Jerry taught me, “is an outpouring of love.” Advice from the movie gods.

Inspiring words from my grandpa: “Always order a club sandwich.” Best advice he ever gave me!

Enjoying the perks of being an “inner city youth” in the musical
Two Gentleman of Verona.
Yes, those are jazz hands.

My roommate and acting school buddy Steven Rogers and me posing like movie stars circa 1925. I got this raccoon coat as an homage to Rudy Vallée. Steven went on to become a successful screenwriter of many romantic comedies.

Are you talking to me? My other acting school chum Elias Koteas (on the right) doing his best De Niro. Years later he would ask me, “How did you end up with my life?”

Answering the phones for publicist Peggy Seigal: Marty calling me post-Oscars after losing Best Director for
The Last Temptation of Christ.

First trip to Hollywood. Priorities. Clean Joe Mankiewicz's star on Walk of Fame. Then try to call Billy Wilder. Years later his grandnephew, TCM's Ben Mankiewicz, would thank me for being the family maid.