Make 'Em Laugh

by Debbie Reynolds

  By the time Zsa Zsa’s first movie was released by MGM in July 1952, she’d already gone through her second marriage (to Conrad Hilton; she also had an affair with his son Nicky) and was about halfway through her third (to George Sanders). She would come to exercise class wearing a black leotard and all her jewelry—rings, strands of pearls, bracelets, earrings; everything but a tiara. It was exercise just lifting those gems!

  Ask Zsa Zsa to a party, any party, and if the refrigerator door opened, the lights went on, and Zsa Zsa was in the right spot, she would go into her routine: “I’m happy to be here, darling; the whole world loves me; I’m having such a good time.” She didn’t sing but she would do a speech. It didn’t matter to Zsa Zsa that nobody applauded. She was on.

  Sometimes Zsa Zsa was just too much. Once I gave a dinner party at my home for several friends, including Jimmy Stewart and his wife, Gloria, and Groucho Marx. Zsa Zsa was there with her spouse of the moment, Herbert Hutner. She didn’t do her routine that evening. Instead, while everyone chatted, Zsa Zsa loudly criticized Husband Number Four, saying things like “Why are you so boring?” and “Why can’t you be interesting like everyone else?” I was horrified. She was so rude to him that I finally went over to her.

  “My driver will take you home now,” I whispered in her ear. “Just get your things and leave.”

  Herbert seemed relieved to be going. He was always sweet and polite.

  After five years of marriage George Sanders left her. They were planning to go out for the evening. Zsa Zsa was never on time for anything. She’d spend hours getting herself ready. She was at her makeup table primping when George appeared in the bedroom doorway.

  “I’m leaving,” he said.

  “Wait, darling. I’ll just take a few more minutes.”

  “I’m leaving,” he said again, and turned and walked out of the house with the two suitcases he had packed and ready.

  I’m told Zsa Zsa was very surprised an hour later that she was in the house alone. I guess she didn’t hear the door close behind him.

  Zsa Zsa later advised George to marry Magda, as she would take care of him, whereas Zsa Zsa never did. George actually did marry Zsa Zsa’s older sister, but they had their union annulled after two months.

  George Sanders was a brilliant actor who is possibly best known for his role as Addison DeWitt in the 1950 film All About Eve with Bette Davis. Having performed in many movies, married four times, and being respected in the business, he committed suicide. George swallowed a lot of pills and lay down naked in his bed, covered in cash. He left a note saying in part, “I’m leaving because I’m bored.” It’s hard to imagine what else he needed to have for excitement.

  When I was filming Behind the Candelabra, the producers used Zsa Zsa’s residence as a location for Liberace’s house. I would have liked to go up to visit with Zsa Zsa. She’s been so ill for so many years that I didn’t think she would recognize me dressed as Liberace’s mother with a white wig and prosthetic nose. Even my son didn’t recognize me when someone sent him a picture of me in that wonderful makeup.

  Jolie’s youngest daughter, Eva, was my favorite in the family. We became friends in 1959 while filming It Started with a Kiss on location in Spain. In the 1960s Eva costarred in the hit TV series Green Acres.

  Eva and I were very close friends. Sometimes when I drove around town after the kids were in bed, I’d stop at Eva’s to visit. If she was busy entertaining a gentleman friend, she would shout out to me, “I can’t see you now, darling, I’m all tied up.” I’m not sure if she meant this literally, but I got the message that she was “occupied.”

  The Gabors were also famous for not remembering how old they were. Zsa Zsa said she was fifty for at least twenty-five years. Eva used to say, “I believe in loyalty. Once a woman finds an age she likes, she should stick to it.”

  Jolie (the mother of all Gabors) used to call me the Fourth Gabor. Here I am with Eva, my closest friend out of that bunch of crazy Hungarians!

  The gossip columnist Cindy Adams was a friend of Jolie’s who helped write her memoirs. In October 2007 Adams told Vanity Fair magazine about an incident that happened when she and Jolie were working on the book.

  Eva was getting married to her 44th husband, and the wedding gown was very décolleté. Between the fleshly hills of Gabor was a cross larger than St. Peter’s Basilica. The Gabors were Jewish, so I said to Jolie, “What’s with the goddamn cross?” Jolie said, “Eva’s new about-to-be-husband hates the Jews, so in this book you make us Catholic.”

  Actually Eva was married only five times. But you’ve got to hand it to the Gabors: they lived life on their own terms.

  Telling you about women who knew what they wanted and got it reminds me of someone who wasn’t really my friend but who was “close” to someone who was: George Eiferman. My friend George was part of this woman’s revue in the 1950s, along with several other titled bodybuilders. He went on to become Mr. Universe in 1962. George was living and teaching in Las Vegas when I first met him, and owned a lot of health clubs there. He was the perfect choice to perform with me when I added an impression of his former employer to my act.

  GIVE A MAN A FREE HAND AND HE’LL RUN IT ALL OVER YOU

  Mae West was one of the first women to break through in comedy. Gifted and provocative, she wrote her own material for her performances on the vaudeville circuit and Broadway. In the 1920s, she wrote a play called Sex in which she starred. The most famous thing about the show was that she and the Broadway cast were arrested on morals charges. Mae bailed out her company but spent eight days in jail herself. She told the press she’d worn silk underwear the whole time she was there. The play ran for nearly a year.

  Mae had an eye for talent of the male persuasion. She cast a young Cary Grant to star with her in her first movie, She Done Him Wrong, which gave him a boost. After her film career ended, she performed in Las Vegas with a collection of eight former Mr. Universes and other bodybuilding titleholders, including Steve Reeves. (Steve had a successful film career playing beefcake roles like Hercules in two hit movies. He also appeared with me in one of my less successful efforts, Athena. Another blonde bombshell, Jayne Mansfield, married one of Mae’s other musclemen: Mickey Hargitay. Their daughter, Mariska, is the wonderfully talented and successful star of television’s Law & Order: Special Victims Unit.)

  When I was preparing my impression of Mae West for my stage show in the early 1970s, I was fascinated by her and wanted to find out how she had learned so much about life. She was independent and brilliant, and created her own career. When I changed into my Mae West drag, I would sing “Some of These Days.” At one point, I’d pick up a chain that stretched across the stage and reel it in. At the end of the chain was my friend George, his muscles oiled and glistening, dressed in bathing trunks, leather gladiator sandals laced to midcalf, and a big smile, with the chain wrapped loosely around his neck. When he reached me at center stage, I would playfully look him over while doing my impression of Miss West.

  I took George with me when I brought my show, Debbie, to Broadway in the fall of 1976. I changed my costume for that engagement because of something George told me. Apparently Mae had heard that I wore a red gown when I did my impression of her, and her response was classic.

  “I nevah wore red. Hookahs wear red and Mae West was nevah a hookah.”

  So I changed it to a black gown. I love impersonating her, because I can say things as Mae that Debbie Reynolds would never say.

  Such as “You know, sex is like bridge. If you don’t have a good partner, you’d better have a good hand.”

  Or “Sex is like air. It doesn’t seem important until you aren’t getting any.”

  Mae certainly got her share. She loved the attention of men and relished sexual adventures. She lived in a beautiful apartment building in Hollywood called the Ravenswood on Rossmore Avenue. At one time, she had a lover who was a prizefighter. The other tenants in the building didn’t care for his frequent visits because he was an
African American, and teamed up to ban his visits. That didn’t stop Mae. Just like Howard Hughes, she simply bought the building, and that was the end of that.

  As Mae said, it’s not the men in your life, it’s the life in your men. Mae had men every day, around the clock. Happiness around the clock. She would say they “enjoyed” each other.

  Come up and see me sometime. Mae West was a true original—a brilliant writer as well as a great businesswoman. Here I am with George Eiferman, doing my impression of Miss West.

  In the 1960s I was working on the Paramount lot at the same time Audrey Hepburn was doing a film there. Wally Westmore was the studio’s chief makeup man. When Wally was working on Audrey and me, he didn’t care what we asked for.

  “Whatever you need is fine,” he said. “You girls don’t ask for anything compared to Mae West.”

  And he told us about when Mae had to do scenes in a nude net dress.

  By that time her chest was low, so Wally made a plaster-of-paris bustier for her to wear under her dress. She posed in the nude so he could slather her with wet plaster to get the mold. Then she insisted that he make her nipples long and pointed, so they would “read” on camera. Wally took a file and spent a lot of time working on Mae’s plaster nipples. He worked on them for days, but couldn’t make the nipples long enough or sharp enough to suit her. So she sat and filed them herself.

  That was Mae West. She was unique. No one since has ever matched her (although I do my best to show how remarkable she was in my act).

  Now I’ll get back to my friends. I just couldn’t resist telling you about Miss West. I’ll start with some of my comedian buddies who aren’t in that picture in chapter 5.

  “IF YOUR SHIP DOESN’T COME IN, SWIM OUT TO MEET IT.”

  Jonathan Winters heard voices. Happily he shared them with all of us. He was unique in a way that few comedians could be. Robin Williams adored him. You can see Jonathan’s influence in Robin’s crazy brand of humor. It’s the same voices filtered through a different genius. The only other comedian I knew who truly heard voices was Wayland Flowers. To him, the voices of the characters he created spoke to him just as Jonathan’s and Robin’s did to them.

  Jonathan found the love of his life in a wonderful woman named Eileen. She had electric-blue eyes and a fabulous sense of humor. She was so tuned in to him. She never got bored when he’d retell his stories about creatures and cartoons and caricatures that he came up with. She was the perfect mate. They were lovely together.

  Whenever I gave dinner parties, there were two people that everyone tried to sit next to—Jonathan and Jimmy Stewart. Everyone would scream at Jonathan’s funny lines. Jimmy was so opposite, but charming. Each of them was compelling in very different ways.

  Once I was at a party where I was seated at the same table with Jonathan and Thelma Ritter. Usually I feel the need to be entertaining when I’m around people, but not that night. All I did was hang on for dear life around those two. The air was thick with their funny lines. Jonathan was on all the time, but it wasn’t obnoxious like Milton Berle, who always had to have a loudspeaker. Jonathan just enjoyed sharing his funny scenarios and characters, which changed on the spot.

  Jonathan was a favorite on television shows. Johnny Carson loved him. Many of our other comedians consider him their greatest influence, people like Bob Newhart, Jim Carrey, and Steve Carell. He loved jokes. I used to call him whenever I heard a good one.

  Jonathan collected toys; the Winters home was full of stuffed animals and toys of all types and kinds. He loved toy soldiers. When MGM auctioned off everything on their lot including the lot in 1970, I bought a set of toy soldiers used in the film Marie Antoinette to give to Jonathan. He and Eileen were living in Toluca Lake at the time, in a lovely old colonial house right near a golf course. Jonathan was so thrilled with the gift that he thanked me a million times over.

  Jonathan and Eileen later moved to the Santa Barbara area. They were active in the community theater there. They asked me to bring my act to this beautiful old brick playhouse with wood pilings, which I was happy to do. After my two shows that night, Jonathan and Eileen gave me a big party.

  One evening I drove up to visit them and we all went out for dinner to a restaurant on the main thoroughfare. The food was really good. Jonathan loved an audience, and somehow included the tables around us, people he didn’t know, in our dinner party. He was so funny that everyone was entertained for the hour or two that we were there.

  Eileen died of cancer in 2009. It was very sad when she went first. Jonathan would go to the market twice a day, just to have an audience. He wanted to always entertain and he entertained to the end, even though it wasn’t onstage. But he had lost his best audience. His daughter lived nearby and the family was very close, so I know they took good care of him until his death in 2013. He was truly a treasure.

  SLEEPING WITH A MADAME

  “Good eveeening!”

  Her voice rings out—half southern belle and half drag queen doing Ethel Merman.

  “My name is Madame. This fellow over here is Wayland Flowers. You may have noticed that Wayland is not a ventriloquist. But that’s all right, because I am no fucking dummy! Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!”

  Stick-thin arms raised in glee, feathers flying, Madame’s laugh bends her backward as the audience applauds wildly. She sits up, her jewels sparkling in the spotlight, and fondles her fur wrap for a moment.

  “Like my fuzzy? It’s from Dicker and Dicker. This one looks like it’s been dicked to death.”

  And she’s off again, the audience with her all the way, her staccato laughter contagious. By now Wayland, standing beside and just below Madame at the edge of the spotlight, is invisible. No one is looking at the puppet’s boyish blond manipulator, or noticing that he is average height, barefoot, in slacks, a white shirt, and rainbow suspenders. All eyes are on Madame.

  On the set of the 1980s comedy Madame’s Place, with the star herself. Her best friend, Wayland, was so dear to me.

  Carol Hannaway

  It was easy to fall in love with Madame—and her creator. Like Jonathan Winters and Robin Williams, Wayland Flowers was in a special class. He actually heard voices. Some say this is a sign of schizophrenia. (Is it possible that comedy and fragile mental health are so closely related?) In Wayland’s case, I believe the things he heard made him unique as a performer. Puppets spoke to Wayland, and Wayland spoke through them.

  Wayland would disagree about calling Madame a puppet, however. She was a very real person to him. She always dressed in glittering gowns and jewels. She loved hats and turbans—with feathers, the bigger and showier the better. Her tiara was always nearby. She was only three feet tall, but her voice could shatter glass. As often as not, she used it to shock people as well as make them laugh.

  Sometimes Madame would interrupt the show to ask for a glass of water for Wayland.

  “How did you know I was thirsty?” he’d ask.

  “Your hand is dry.”

  “Would you like some?” he’d offer.

  “I never touch the stuff,” Madame shot back. “Fish fuck in it!”

  It was an old W. C. Fields joke but that’s okay. Comedians all “borrow” from one another.

  How to describe Madame to someone who’s never seen her? Basically she’s a hand-and-rod puppet, with a big head made up of extreme angles—a long pointy nose jutting out between tennis-ball cheeks above an equally long, knobbed chin. Huge eyes. Her arms had wooden dowels so they could bend at the elbows, and rods attached to tiny hands that Wayland operated ingeniously with his own amazingly nimble left hand. Most people find working with two rods too difficult. To Wayland it was second nature; he never needed instruction. Wayland himself was slender, with delicate wrists that fit nicely into Madame’s tiny neck while his right hand operated Madame’s wide, astonishingly expressive, lacquered mouth.

  Wayland hailed from a small Georgia town called Dawson that was so far south the natives used to call Atlanta “Yankee Country.” Raise
d from a toddler by his mother and aunts after his father’s death in World War II, he loved singing, and playing with dolls with his sister, Frankie. He was mesmerized by MGM and Fox musicals, and identified with stars like Ginger Rogers, Betty Grable, and Mae West. As soon as he figured out where he was, he left. He couldn’t wait to move to New York. There he worked for Bil Baird, the famous theater and television puppeteer, and learned to build puppets. He begged Jim Henson for work before Henson himself became famous, but Henson turned him down.

  He got a job operating a witch puppet in a Wizard of Oz show at the 1964–1965 New York World’s Fair. When the fair closed, his boss gave him the puppet. She hung on a wire hanger in Wayland’s closet for a long time, staring at Wayland whenever he opened the door. Finally he gave her a name. They entertained in bars in return for drinks. Then Andy Williams put Wayland and Madame on one of his television specials. They did some other programs, and then producer George Schlatter put them in his 1977 revival of Laugh-In. (George had a great eye for comic talent. The show also starred Robin Williams, who was then unknown. George is an exceptional man. He helped launch so many careers with his Laugh-In comedy shows. The first series introduced Lily Tomlin, Goldie Hawn, Ruth Buzzi, and many others.)

  Then Wayland and Madame took over the prized center square on the big Hollywood Squares tic-tac-toe board, after Paul Lynde left the show. I’m not sure if it was a requirement then that the center square be a gay man. Actors and comics such as Phyllis Diller, Charlie Weaver, and Vincent Price filled the eight remaining squares. Everyone made up funny responses to host Peter Marshall’s questions before giving their real answers. All I remember about that show is the grueling shooting schedule—the whole week was shot in one day!—and those narrow spiral stairways to the top squares. Going up and down was a nightmare.