My Mother Was Nuts (35 page)

Seven months later, we dealt with another loss when my father passed away. Garry, Ronny, and I had been taking good care of him
since his stroke. He didn’t want for anything and had all the help he needed. He went to his country club every day and drank with his cronies. My sister went over to his place and paid his bills. When he saw me, he shook his fist. “You never come over!”

That summer he was diagnosed with cancer. Garry broke the news to him. “Pop, you have to go into the hospital and have surgery.” He died the next day. “I wish we would’ve told him ten years earlier,” I joked. “We could’ve saved a fortune.” He was cremated and remembered at his country club where his friends, including Bob Hope, toasted him with a shot of vodka and a middle-finger salute.

“Here’s to you, Tony,” they said. “Fuck you!”

I called Lorne and asked if I could use his office again. Then I flew to New York and sprinkled my father’s ashes out his window. “Be with Mommy again,” I said. I’m sure that thrilled her. Unlike my mother, though, he didn’t get a song.

But all was not heavy-hearted. After fifteen years of struggling in secret, David Lander revealed publicly that he had multiple sclerosis. I had known since the early ’80s. He said he felt strange during the last year of
Laverne & Shirley
. Sometimes he fell down. Then he was diagnosed with MS. But he kept quiet about his condition for a long time so he’d still get work. He said he’d rather be thought of as an alcoholic; there was less stigma to that in Hollywood. I had used him in
League
. He was a huge baseball fan. A while later I spoke to Tom Sherrick, Fox’s president of marketing, who was very involved in MS fundraising, who asked if David had MS. I said I didn’t know. But I told David that he should speak to Tom about coming out if and when he was ever ready. In June 1999, he came out, and his wife, Kathy, told me that it changed his life. He wrote a book,
Fall Down Laughing
, started speaking to groups, and has continued to do fine.

About a year later, David called with news he knew I’d want to hear. He had spoken with Cindy Williams and learned that she had split with her husband, Bill Hudson, after 10 years of marriage and two children.

“You should call her,” he said.

“Where is she?” I asked.

“She’s doing a play in Kansas City.”

I was eager to reconnect. I had seen Cindy once or twice over the years at TV Land specials, but these occasions were more professional than personal, always fleeting and in crowds. We never sat down and talked about the unfortunate way we had parted on
Laverne & Shirley
, or how much I had missed her over the years. I still considered her a friend. We had shared too much for me to consider her anything but a special person in my life.

So I called her as soon as I hung up with David, and the two of us had a good conversation. I told her that I’d heard the news, asked if she needed anything, and if she wanted to stay at my place. Everyone else did. I also told her to call Bill’s first wife, Goldie Hawn. “Just call Goldie,” I said. “It’s the best advice I can give you.”

After Cindy finished her play, we got together at my house and had the conversation I wished I’d been able to have fifteen years earlier. I told her of my frustration with the way the show had ended and that I’d called numerous times to get her back, but Bill never let me talk to her. The same thing happened in the years after we finished. I hadn’t been able to get through to her. Naturally, she had her side of the story and remained unapologetic for leaving the show and forcing me to drive it solo through the last season. She was steadfast in her belief that we didn’t want her. Of course, I reiterated how wrong she was, but in the end what could I do? We agreed to disagree. I didn’t have to be right. Those things happen in life. You move on. Our friendship was more important.

Penny directing Drew Barrymore in 2001’s
Riding in Cars with Boys
“Riding in Cars with Boys” © 2001 Columbia Pictures Industries, Inc. All Rights Reserved. Courtesy of Columbia Pictures
.

J
IM BROOKS HAD
gotten ahold of the rights to
Riding in Cars with Boys
from Sara Colleton, who had optioned Beverly Donofrio’s memoir about getting pregnant at fifteen and overcoming numerous challenges on her way to getting a degree and becoming a writer. After reading the script, I didn’t love it. But, as Jim probably knew would happen when he pushed the project in front of me, I identified with the character from my own experiences of having a kid and getting married. Even if a girl hasn’t gone through that she’s probably thought,
What if
.

My wheels began turning. I had people in New York read actresses for the part of Beverly and I read them like crazy at my house. I brought in Kate Hudson, Marisa Tomei (I didn’t need her to play ball in this one), and Reese Witherspoon, who was pregnant and asked me not to videotape her. I said fine. So she read and did a good job. Hillary Swank and Angelina Jolie both came in. Anne Hathaway did, too. But she was too young. I sent her over to my brother, who used her in
The Princess Diaries
and said thank you to me.

I had readings for the other parts, too. I wasn’t even through the list of actresses and actors being sent to me and I could have cut a
whole movie together just from my readings. But then Jim came to me and suggested Drew Barrymore for the lead. He saw her in the role. I thought she was a terrific girl and very nice, but I had Marisa and Kate in mind.

It didn’t matter. Amy Pascal, the studio president, informed me that Jim had already promised the part to Drew. I was furious. If that was the case, why not tell me? That’s all I ever asked from anyone. Tell me the truth. I wouldn’t have wasted so many people’s time, including mine.

So I hired Brittany Murphy as her best friend, added Sara Gilbert, and got ready to go. Then suddenly we had to put everything on hold and wait for
Charlie’s Angels
to wrap. Once we did start, nothing was smooth. Drew didn’t think my Academy Award–winning cinematographer, Chris Menges, was lighting her properly. Chris explained why she was wrong. But Jim made me fire Chris, one of the nicest people in the business, and I had to bring Miroslav out of retirement.

I brought in Jimmy Woods to play Beverly’s father, but he was on a movie with Denzel that went long, requiring me to shoot pieces of scenes as I waited for him. Lorraine Bracco, who played his wife, would say a line that should have had Jimmy there to respond to, but what could I do? The script also drove me crazy; there were no transitions. I’d call Steve Zahn in all the time to make them up as we went along. One time he said, “Can I bring my dog?” I said, ‘Sure.” I didn’t care who or what was there as long as I could get from one part to the next. I mean we saw Beverly as a child, then as a teen, then raising her child, and then as an author needing permission from her ex before she could publish her book. There were no in-betweens. It just skipped years.

Plus Jim, who could normally be counted on for his share of brilliant ideas, was going through a divorce and producing
What About Joan
, a television series with Joan Cusack, so he was a little preoccupied.
It all was a mess from the get-go. As a general rule, don’t work with people who are getting divorced. They’re thinking about other things.

We shot a bit on City Island, in New York, but spent the bulk of production in New Jersey. We built our own town on the campus of the defunct Upsala College, in East Orange. After we finished, the fire department set fire to the homes and storefronts we’d built and used them for practice. Meanwhile, I brought in people I knew, like Rosie Perez, who was funny, and David Moscow, who had been in
Big
. If he could understand me when he was twelve, I figured he could do even better now in his twenties, and he did.

Brittany Murphy was also a trouper. She would work through anything. She was sick as a dog when we shot a scene where Drew’s kid fell in the pool. No problem. I also knew she could sing; I’d seen her test for the Janis Joplin movie that never got made. So I asked her to sing “Soldier Boy.” She jumped into it. No problem. I appreciated that attitude. Drew required more finesse and patience. However, Miroslav was able to say whatever he wanted to her because he didn’t speak any known language, so she always thought it was something nice.

This was the first of all the pictures I did where I felt less than fully in control of the challenges, and it was because I didn’t I have any support. Even when Whoopi was angry on
Jumpin’ Jack Flash
, I had Joel Silver and Larry Gordon backing me up. Jim was going through too much shit to pay attention, and his response when he did focus was usually a variation of “Well, cut to Drew.” He wanted all Drew, all the time. That might have worked in another movie, but this wasn’t one of them. There was too much other stuff going on.

We’d had several screenings for the studio and had sort of finished putting it together when 9/11 happened. The studio pushed all the violent movies back and asked if we could come out in October. I said sure. The movie wasn’t going to get any better. It was what it was. The bigger problem was getting people into the theaters. The president
of the United States was warning the public to stay away from malls. Where were we going to open?

I wanted a premiere in New York. Besides drawing attention to the movie, it would serve as a positive event for the city. It was shot in New York. We had a New York crew. Most of the actors were from the East. And as a New Yorker myself, I thought it was important to show the terrorists and the world that the United States was not going to be intimidated and New York City was not going to be stopped. But Jim said no. Like many others, he didn’t want to come in from L.A. I was furious. I took it personally.

I called Lorne and said I needed a date for Drew to host
Saturday Night Live
. He said fine, no problem, and put her on the October 13 show. However, unbeknownst to me, she didn’t get on the plane from Los Angeles to rehearse. I got the call from Lorne. “Guess what? She’s not here.” Eventually she showed up, but fled again when an envelope containing white powder and a note stating that it was anthrax was delivered to NBC’s offices at 30 Rock.

I called Ronald Perelman and said I needed his security people, all ex-cops, to find Drew. They located her in the doorway of her hotel and took her to their doctor.

Rosie O’Donnell was ready to fill in. “Look, I’m already on Cipro,” she said, referring to the antibiotic that was a treatment for those exposed to anthrax. But Drew resurfaced in time, summoned her courage, and did the show. Her monologue was an accurate account of what had happened.

“I was so afraid to fly here—so I canceled my trip,” she said. “And then I saw Giuliani on television saying to be brave. So, the next day I got on an airplane. Then we started rehearsing, and I got calm, I got really excited. And then, yesterday, they discovered anthrax in the building! So, I immediately left. I went back to the hotel, and I thought again about being brave. So I came back, and I’m here, and
you’re
here, and
you’re
being brave, too! And I thank you for it! And
I want to thank my husband, because he’s here and he’s supporting me—Tom, thank you!”

They cut to comedian Tom Green, who was sitting in the front wearing a gas mask.

I flew into New York the next day, after Carrie and I had celebrated our birthdays, the last of our joint parties. We had done them for twenty years. They were like the
Vanity Fair
party after the Oscars. It was too much—and too expensive. When you see Shaquille O’Neal and Salman Rushdie waiting for their cars at the end of your driveway, you know things are out of control.

The day after arriving in New York, I attended Denis Leary’s benefit for the Firefighters Foundation. It was at a club downtown, and everyone was there: James Gandolfini, Lorraine Bracco, Julianne Moore, Rosie Perez, Ronald Perelman and his then-wife, Ellen Barkin. I was going to read “Sitting,” a poem my brother had written a few days after the attack. But I knew I couldn’t make it through without breaking down. Ellen graciously read it for me and brought the place to tears.

Sitting

If you ever sat on a curb
Or on a park fence railing
Or a running board
Or on a red fire escape landing
It’s time to stand up and stand together.
If you ever sat in Shea Stadium
Or bygone Ebbets Field
Or the stands of Yankee Stadium
Or in the shadows of the Polo Grounds
It’s time to stand up and stand together.
If you ever sat under a low-lit lamppost
Or in an empty subway car
Or the dark balcony of a movie
Or on a gray cement stoop
It’s time to stand up and stand together.
If you ever sat on a bridge chair in front of your building
On a roof of tar in the sun
Or on a snow bank piled by your sidewalk
Or on a pony in the aromatic Bronx Zoo
It’s time to stand up and stand together.
If you ever sat at a table at the Automat
Or the stairwell of your public school
At a desk with a blue black ink well
Or on a spinning soda fountain stool
It’s time to stand up and stand together.
If you ever sat on a fire hydrant
On a car fender
On an orange crate
Or on the seat of a three-wheeler or a Schwinn
It’s time to stand up and stand together.
If you ever sat on a bench in Central Park
Or the Ferris wheel at Coney Island
On a blanket at Orchard Beach or Jones Beach
Or the deck of the Staten Island Ferry
If you ever sat in any of these places, you’re probably from New York City. They’re burying people in New York these days, but they’ll never bury the New York spirit. It’s time to stand up and stand together … to make sure the spirit of New York City shall go on forever.