Random Reminiscing: Looking Back at My Many Random Roles Interviews (Part 22 of Quite a Few)
Featuring anecdotes from Ed Begley, Jr., Richard Kind, Jonathan Slavin, Tom Selleck, James Brolin, Carol Kane, and Norman Lloyd
Back in 2021, when I celebrated the 10th anniversary of my first Random Roles, I was feeling a tad nostalgic, so I decided that I wanted to start looking back at my contributions to this A.V. Club feature, since it’s the portion of my freelance career of which I’m most proud.
If you accidentally missed the previous part of this reminiscing (and you may have, because it was in 2021!), you can check it out by clicking right here…and if you missed the part before that, well, each installment has a link to the previous installment in the intro, so just keep on clicking back until you’ve read ‘em all!
If you’re all up to date, though, then for heaven’s sake, why are you wasting time with this intro? Just dive right in!
Ed Begley, Jr.:
Goin’ South (1978)—“Whitey Haber”
Not to dwell on your party-hearty wild man years, but if ever there was a film that demanded that we stay on that topic, it would seem to be Goin’ South. Based on what’s been written, that definitely seems to have been a party film.
Ed Begley, Jr/: I’ll just speak about myself, because I don’t want to incriminate others. It’s kind of well-known what John Belushi and I got up to, because that’s written about in a book called Wired, so I’m not giving any information on that, but let me tell you how out there I was on Goin’ South. I was 27, not quite 28 years old, so I thought I could drink with impunity. And I was on such a tear, I was trying to outdrink Jack Nicholson’s father-in-law, this guy Shorty George Smith, who was this guy who worked for the railroad in Jersey, and he was kind of Jack’s father figure, if you will. And Shorty George was a professional drinker.
I was an amateur. I was not even a journeyman at this point. I mean, I could drink a quart of vodka, but Shorty could outdrink me. And I was there trying to outdrink this man who was, like, at that point 50 years old or something. And I’m twentysomething and trying to outdrink this guy. And at some point John Belushi comes and drags me out of the bar, saying, “This is crazy! You’re gonna kill yourself! You can’t drink that much!” I was too far gone for John Belushi, is the point. [Laughs.] John and Judy Belushi—it wasn’t just John—grabbed me by each arm and took me out. We took a drive around the countryside, saw some of Durango, and had a nice afternoon. But they thought I needed to leave the bar. There was too much drinking and partying for John Belushi. So that’ll tell you all you need to know about my years of the ’70s and what I was up to.
Richard Kind:
The Bennett Brothers (1987)—“Richard Bennett”
Richard Kind: Well, the best thing to come out of that was a paycheck. [Laughs.] That’s a joke. It was one of my best friends: George Clooney. Another actor had been hired, I came in to play his brother, they mixed and matched us, and I auditioned with him. They had hired him already, I auditioned with him, and I blew him away. He couldn’t match my energy. And they liked my energy better than his, so they went looking for somebody else. They couldn’t find anyone. We rehearsed Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday. On Friday night, this actor was fired. They went to somebody else, and they called me and said, “On Monday morning, a guy named George Clooney is going to be playing your brother.” Of course, he wasn’t George Clooney at the time.
George had come to Chicago when I was at Second City. He came to town to do a play called Vicious, based on Sid Vicious’s life, and he came to Second City. He was doing rehearsals, they had the nights off, so he saw me on stage, he saw me improvise, and we went out. We played pool, we got drunk. He was a lovely guy. So I sort of remember him, but not really. So Monday morning rolls around, and here comes this guy, and he has his arms out. [Excitedly.] “Hey!” I didn’t recognize him. I had no idea who it was. And he goes, “Don’t you remember? I came to Second City, we had drinks, we went and played pool.” I said, “I… don’t remember.” But you have to remember: He was looking at me for two and a half hours, I was only looking at him when I was drunk and playing pool! So there’s no reason for me to remember him. And like I said, he wasn’t George Clooney at the time. He was just… George Clooney.
You’re usually given eight shooting days to make a pilot, to rehearse and stuff like that, and here we were with only five. And that brought us closer together, and we worked really, really hard. We would meet every night after rehearsal, we’d have dinner, we’d go over the script, we’d work. We really wanted to be good. We played brothers, and we found out that we had the same politics, we felt the same way about the world, about show biz, about movies. We talked about what we liked. And we were forced to be brotherly, and we became like brothers during that, and have remained that way for many years. So it started out like a forced blind date, but it worked out.
By the way, back then he played horrible, horrible practical jokes on me. Horrible. You know, it was my first TV pilot, it was a comedy, I’m a title character—or at least half of a title character—and I wanted to be thin, because I’ve had a problem with weight all my life, so I was on a diet for a long time. So he goes to the wardrobe department, we wore a tuxedo in one of the scenes, and he said, “Listen, every day I want you to take the tuxedo in half an inch,” so that by Thursday I’m putting the tuxedo on and I’m going, “Oh, my God! How can I be gaining so much weight?” Yeah, he had been paying the wardrobe department to take the tux in. And that was just one of many things.
Jonathan Slavin:
Homeboys In Outer Space (1996)—“Prince Bob”
Jonathan Slavin: Okay, see… [Laughs.] That was one of the early jobs. UPN was a very young network, and it was an experience, for sure. I think there was lots that was funny on paper. There were challenges on that set, but nothing that I would take anyone to task for. It was just, like, you make a show called Homeboys In Outer Space, it’s funny, campy, and sort of broad, and I was, uh, sort of broad on it.
What you don’t see on it was that I was Prince Bob of Caucasia. That was the planet I was from. So I was in a giant blonde afro and a toga for the whole thing. So it was very broad. But James Doohan from Star Trek was on it! So that was amazing, to be, like, “I’m working with Scotty!” So it was a good job to get early on, but early. [Laughs.] You know, it was work!
As soon as the words “giant blond afro” left your lips, this officially became a must-see.
No! [Laughs.] No, I promise you, you don’t need to see it. It was before I was out, because I was so new, so I just wasn’t 100 percent comfortable. It was a very homophobic environment, with a number of the crew and a number of the cast, and it just sort of fed on itself, so it was an uncomfortable situation to work in. It wouldn’t be now, because I’d be, like, “Guys, I’m a total queer, so, like, you kind of can’t talk that way around me.” But at the time I think I was either 22 or 23 and just kind of finding my way.
So it was a harder job for me, but really only because of what I was dealing with personally. I wish I had the confidence that I do now, in just being, like, “Big homo on set! You can feel that way, but you may not want to say that in front of me!” But with that said, I don’t think anybody meant anything mean-spirited by what they said. I think it was just a different time, and it was very casual. But it wouldn’t fly now. And that’s awesome.
Tom Selleck:
Christopher Columbus: The Discovery (1992)—“Ferdinand, King Of All Of Spain”
Tom Selleck: Gene Siskel reviewed my hair and said it was ridiculous, which I got to accost him about later. You know, I was in that movie for all of about a cup of coffee. It’s a horrible movie. The Salkinds produced it. But Marlon Brando was going to be in it! So I said, “Well, I’ll do it if Brando does it.” They said, “Well, what if he doesn’t?” And I said, “Then I’m not doing it!” [Laughs.]
So at the time I had, like, seven scenes with Brando. By the time they rewrote the script, I had one scene. I did have Rachel Ward as my queen, but it was just a big disappointment, and it was… Well, it was just unfortunate. But I’m in the movie for all of, like, three or four minutes of film, and they reviewed it like it starred me and Marlon Brando! So I caught a lot of flak for it. It’s the only picture I speak ill of. Some work out better than others, but I don’t criticize them. This one kind of was misrepresented. But, yes, I did play— and get the title right!—Ferdinand, King Of All Of Spain.
I’ll make sure it’s represented accurately.
Yes, that’s very important. [Laughs.]
And even if it was cut down to just the one scene, how was Brando?
Brando was conflicted. He was as disappointed as I was, because he played Torquemada, head of the Spanish Inquisition, and he was really committed to it. But once they changed the script… I thought he had become my best pal, because we would meet at night to talk about the next day. Actually, he was getting five million dollars for two weeks’ work and he wanted the paycheck, so he knew if I left—because they had financed the movie partly on our names—that might mean that he wouldn’t get a paycheck. So he kept me interested. [Laughs.]
But we had great discussions. It was really memorable. We had some great nights, and he wrote me a couple of really lovely notes, because my daughter had been born not too long before I came. So it was worthwhile from that point of view. But Brando was no longer very involved in the work. He had to play a monk, and he pulled the hood down so far that you couldn’t see his face. He was playing a lot of tricks on the producers and director, and mumbling his lines. I didn’t quite expect that. But he was the man when I grew up. When I started acting, he was the guy.
James Brolin:
Marcus Welby, M.D. (1969-76)—“Dr. Steven Kiley”
Skyjacked (1972)—“Jerome K. Weber”
Westworld (1973)—“John Blane”
You made your first real waves on Marcus Welby, M.D., but how did you come to make the jump from TV into bigger film roles?
James Brolin: Well, Welby was number one by the sixth episode, and I won the Emmy [for Outstanding Performance By An Actor In A Supporting Role In Drama] for the pilot, so we were kind of on the map at that time. Universal seemed to be not that interested in putting me in the movies. When I signed with them, I said, “Listen, I’m tired of waiting around. I’ve been at Fox for seven years. I want to be in the movies!” And, of course, the next thing I knew, three weeks later I was testing for Marcus Welby. Once it got to number one, it stayed there for a very long time, so it was a real good ride.
At that point, I got a call from MGM, and they were interested in me for a film called Skyjacked. Who was the least likely guy to hijack an airplane? Well, I was a nice doctor, right? [Laughs.] I’m the last guy who would hijack an airplane! So they wanted me for this role of the hijacker, because he seemed nice at the beginning of the flight, and then he turned into a cuckoo. And that was great. I just loved going and shooting that. It was just a great picture with a terrific cast and a very strong director, and we really felt like we were in the movies. I went back to work on Welby after that hiatus—because that was a couple of months shooting—and then they wanted me back to do Westworld the following year. Skyjacked was a pretty good hit. It brought in pretty good money and played for awhile. But Westworld really was a genuine hit.
That was still early on in Michael Crichton’s career. What are your recollections about working with him?
I thought he was very good. I kind of became friends with him until the picture was over, and then I didn’t hear too much from him. I saw him every once in awhile. But I think he felt—especially after he did The Great Train Robbery—that if he didn’t have all hits, he didn’t want to direct anymore. So he didn’t direct anymore. I don’t think he did, anyway. But, of course, every book he wrote was a masterpiece in its own way, and I loved reading them. I loved the technicality of his writing. There was such foundation to everything that was said in his books. There was such truth, and there was such research. He was an M.D., you know. He was a very, very interesting guy, and we had a very fun time, because I think when he did Westworld he had never directed before, and it was like a bunch of young boys on a great ride.
Yul Brynner’s presence on Westworld was like having an old master there, but he would show up in patent red boots and patent red belt, and he’d always wear a black outfit. And on Skyjacked, Charlton Heston would come in, and he’d drive up in a new Corvette, and we’d all swear that he’d sprayed under his arms so it’d look like he’d been working out and had just come from the gym. [Laughs.] The two of ’em, everything was kind of for effect when they showed up for work. It’s really funny, because it’s so different today than it was during the hippie era of actors, when everybody started taking real last names rather than changing their names.
Speaking of Skyjacked, that was one of those movies that was part of the Airport breed, where you had an all-star cast in mid-air peril, but that cast really covered the gamut, from Walter Pidgeon to Rosie Grier.
And Susan Dey! There was also another actress, one of the great black-and-white stars, one of those actresses who always had a stage accent even though she wasn’t British. [Laughs.]
Was that Jeanne Crain?
Maybe. It might be. You know, I’ll tell you: I got into this business at just the right time, I think. Maybe a few years earlier would’ve been fun, but I saw the tail end of all that, with guys coming on the lot in their Bentleys with the top down, stopping outside to comb their hair to make sure they looked good before they drove on the lot. I guess the lot was important because people saw you who might hire you again. The great fear—for them and for all of us, really, is that this is your last one! It’s just like me with Life In Pieces. I mean, who knew? I’m fine in Malibu. I did three pictures last year, but if I do one picture a year, I’m a happy camper. But with three pictures coming out and a series, too, I mean, really, who knew? It’s like the brass ring coming around again, even when you weren’t looking for it!
Carol Kane:
Taxi (1980-83)—“Simka Dahblitz-Gravas”
Carol Kane: Oh, well, you’re asking me about all these great things! I think I’m just going to be your most boring interview yet, because I’ve had a pretty great time, and I know I keep saying so! [Laughs.] But on Taxi, the first thing I remember is when I read the script where I got to say, “Peel me like a grape, so I can get out of here.” It was the episode where Andy cheated on me to stay alive in a blizzard and made love to his fellow cabbie, so I had to go make love to one of his co-workers, and it was going to be Judd [Hirsch], who rejected me.
I remember driving on the lot. That’s magic for me: going to the Paramount lot and having my own parking space, and seeing the fake mountains as you drive in, the backdrop for the water tank where they shot the little miniature ship, and just those sound stages that have been there for so long and have housed so many magical productions. And I had my own parking space there! To go through the gate, past the guards, I’d be thinking, “I can’t believe I’m getting paid to do this,” you know? And I would’ve paid them to get to say that line: “Peel me like a grape, so I can get out of here.” Are you kidding me? Me and Mae West got to say that! [Laughs.] That was just insanely great. And those of us who are still living are still close friends.
How did you find your way into the series? Was it an audition?
No, originally I guess Jim Brooks had seen Hester Street and had asked me about playing Simka, and it was one episode originally, in the second season. And we got talking at a party, I guess a year later or whatever, and we both just thought—miraculously!—that it would be so great to keep that story going. That was such a privilege for me. So I came back in the fourth season. That was just so great. And those producer-writers were so brilliant, the cast was so brilliant, and Andy… [Sighs.] You know, he created that character—the character of Foreign Man—and I got to learn about that world through him.
Did you and he have chemistry right away?
Yes, we definitely matched up easily. The thing that was always a point of discussion between us was our different work modes. Because he always said, “I don’t rehearse. I do stand-up.” He created his own act, you know, and the less rehearsal, the better for him. And I grew up in the theater, so I’m very dependent on a tremendous amount of rehearsal. That’s just historically what I was used to. So we used to always have a discussion and reach a compromise about it. [Laughs.] About how much we were going to rehearse together, and how I thought he didn’t want to rehearse and he thought I didn’t want to rehearse. We always had this great discussion like married people, and it ended up in love.
Out of curiosity, did you ever have any run-ins with another one of Kaufman’s characters, Tony Clifton?
Well, you know, I wasn’t there when Tony Clifton was on Taxi. He was on an episode and got fired, but I wasn’t there then, so I didn’t really deal with him. Because once he got fired, he wasn’t there. But I did know about him. And then later, after Andy was gone, there’s an annual Andy Kaufman event at Caroline’s where someone gets awarded a scholarship in Andy’s name, and Tony Clifton hosted and was, uh, terribly obnoxious. [Laughs.] He took over the show! But that wasn’t Andy. And then there was this other great character that I did get to work with, which was Vic Ferrari, who was kind of obnoxious and pretentious and slick and sly. The opposite of Latka. And I had a date with Latka and woke up to Vic. That was kind of amazing and great.
Norman Lloyd:
Julius Caesar (1937)—“Cinna The Poet”
You were a charter member of The Mercury Theater, and your first play was the Mercury production of Julius Caesar. How did you first cross paths with Orson Welles and John Houseman?
Norman Lloyd: Crossing paths with Orson. That’s a good way to put it. [Laughs.] Nothing detrimental here! Nothing detrimental!
I was on the Federal Theater, the Living Newspaper, which was a very important theater in the history of theater, actually. It was developed by Joe Losey and a writer named Arthur Aaron. We did The Living Newspaper in 1936, and Joe had been to Moscow and seen a very advanced experimental theater of [Yevgeny] Vakhtangov, and he brought these ideas back and implemented them in this play, which was the history of labor in the courts. It was called Injunction Granted. Also, he did one before that called Triple-A Plowed Under, which was about the terrible drought of 1935. Out of that, I began to play the leads in those plays.
But on the Federal Theater at that time, there were various different projects, so we were known as The Living Newspaper, and there was one called 891, and that was Orson Welles and John Houseman. Houseman was the producer, Welles was the director and actor, and they were into Elizabethan, more classical theater. They were doing Faustus with Orson, and then they did Horse Eats Hat, which was a French farce from the 19th century, that starred Joe Cotten. So with Orson and Joe Cotten and John Houseman as the producer, they developed their theater. Now at the end of the year, there was trouble. That is to say, Orson had developed a play called The Cradle Will Rock, and the government wouldn’t let him do it. You probably know the story of how they marched down Broadway.
Well, with that, Orson and John Houseman—John who, incidentally, in the course of time started seven theaters, the last of which was the Phoenix—they decided to start their own theater. And they started the Mercury. At that point, I was thinking of leaving the Federal Theater, and John Houseman asked me to come over and have a meeting with him and Orson at the Empire Theater, where they had their offices, so I went over there had a meeting with Orson and John.
That was the first time I had met both of them, but John had seen me act and—if I may say so—he was approving. So he asked me to be in the company, and the part they offered me was this very small part of Cinna The Poet. Now, according to the books, if you’ve read them—not that you should, but if you are so disposed—this Cinna The Poet scene, which was about eight or 10 lines in the play, became the most famous scene in the play. And I think that’s why probably I was never warmly embraced by Orson. [Laughs.]
Although time went on, and years later we appeared together on a tribute to Orson. Each night of five weeknights was a tribute to a different phase of his career, and I was asked to speak of what he brought to the theater and to film. And after that evening, all of us who were involved in the evening, like Kenneth Tynan, the critic, and so forth—we gathered on the stage to say hello and goodbye, at which point Orson embraced me in this tremendous embrace and whispered in my ear, “You son of a bitch.” And that was the last time I saw him! [Laughs.] I took it as a mark of affection.
Either way, it’s a great last line.
Yeah! But I think he just was saying, “You’re impossible, and I love you.” And that was true!