Later on, after David had accepted his award for Joy, he stopped backstage to give me a kiss on the cheek before he was about to leave. I had met David O. Russell in 2011 at an awards season luncheon. He was with his wife, and he approached me and said, “Hi, I’m David O. Russell, and I directed The Fighter.” He said it in that very direct way that I now notice in his characters. He cracks me up every time I run into him. He’s very intense, even if we are just having small talk. He seems to have no sense of personal space, which I find charming because he always has something interesting to say.
Anyway, back to the story. Before he left the backstage area, I unloaded on him. “DAVID! This was your big chance to publicly look Lily Tomlin right in the eye and, even though she has nothing to do with Joy, randomly let the world know that you guys are pals and have made up. Jesus, David, do I have to do everything, including sell the popcorn?”
He’s a pussycat. He laughed and said, “Oh shit. I really meant to thank Lily.”
I told him to go back to his seat and wait for five minutes when I would return to the stage and save his career once and for all. I went back out there and proudly announced that I was about to publicly bring back David O. Russell and Lily Tomlin in a sign of solidarity for actresses and directors everywhere. “David? David, get up here, and let’s clear this whole thing up and get a nice photo that will obviously be Lily’s Christmas card.” Well, wouldn’t you know … he left by the time of my almost epic announcement.
David, I’m going to give you one more chance to save your fledgling career. Listen up. Where’s my great movie role, Mr. I Love Casting Women Over Fifty? (He got Melissa Leo an Oscar for The Fighter, for Chrissakes, and Jacki Weaver a nomination for Silver Linings Playbook, and he gave Diane Ladd and Isabella Rossellini some of their best roles in years in Joy!) It’s already unusual that a big-time Hollywood director even knows who I am, much less loves me, so let’s just say, I’m ready to be your Mo’Nique in whatever you want, David, so get to writing my Precious—I’m ready for my close-up with Bradley Cooper and JLaw. David, you can cast me as a bipolar female boxer with a cleaning-product empire, and we’ll call it Joyfight. Just get to work. But if you scream at me, I’m calling Lily.
RUSSELL, KURT
Great Actor, but also Fox News Pundit
In the interests of squeezing as much out of Oscar-winning Goldie Hawn as I could in order to agree to host her children’s charity event, I added another clause to our negotiation. “I want dinner with you and Kurt. Dinner. Not whatever this was, with you looking like you just got off a treadmill. It’s a dinner, with you and Kurt looking like movie stars.”
She looked concerned. “Well, can we at least bring Marty Short?”
“Why?”
“Kurt’s afraid of you,” she revealed.
(Ah, Martin Short’s their hedge against unpleasantness, their buffer.)
“Well, Kurt should be afraid of me,” I said to Goldie. “Tell him to get his butt off Fox News and get his head on straight.” (Kurt and Goldie are like the James Carville / Mary Matalin of Hollywood: deeply opposed about politics, but deeply committed to each other.)
She gasped. “Don’t you think we have these fights every day? Your reaction is what I’m talking about. He’s expressed … you know … nervousness.”
I didn’t mince words: “Well, you just said the worst thing you could say to me.”
The night of the Love In For Kids arrived, and I chased Kurt all night long, like a frickin’ bobbysoxer. I had my hands full hosting, but whenever I wasn’t, I had my eyes on the prize, which was messing with Kurt. He was filming the western The Hateful Eight for Quentin Tarantino at the time, so his in-character grooming was on target. “Kurt! What’s with the facial hair? Don’t walk away from me, cowboy! Did you take Uber Horse here? What kind of ’stache is that? Where did you get it, at a Hollywood Boulevard magic shop? I love that you wore your wardrobe from the movie today, but you should put on your real suit now?!”
Whatever I said, Kurt’s response was the same: “Heh heh heh…” and then backing away. At one point, he started dancing, and Goldie confided to me, “He never dances.” That’s me. I can get ’em to dance. At least Goldie was encouraging, saying, “Don’t let him off the hook that easy.”
Whatever I did, it was catching, because when it came time for Martin Short and Kurt and I to be onstage together, Marty let Kurt have it hilariously, announcing him as coming straight from his home on the range, and so on. It was a really fun evening, and it worked, too, because shortly after that night, I got word from Goldie’s assistant, Iris, that Kurt and Goldie wanted to take me out to dinner. It hasn’t happened yet, but I am due for my monthly call from Iris saying, “Goldie and Kurt really want to set up that dinner at Nobu in Malibu.” Well, it’s in this book now, so they can’t ignore me.
SHAKUR, TUPAC
Big Reader, or…?
Oh, you guys didn’t know I spent the day with Tupac Shakur one time? You don’t get me! I am #urban. I’m practically a “thot.” I don’t know how your day with Tupac went, but here’s how mine went:
This little cat has had many lives. Believe it or not in this story, I’m the cat. One of my many jobs that I had on ill-fated television shows that I was completely convinced would catapult me into global fame was a six-episode sketch comedy show on Fox called Saturday Night Special. The show was executive produced by Roseanne Barr, while she was also starring in her wildly popular sitcom. I was cast as one of the sketch players along with my pal Jennifer Coolidge (Stifler’s mom) and several other up-and-comers. It was 1996, and thanks to Roseanne’s heat, the show snagged some really big guests, including Sharon Stone and Patti Smith, and hot up-and-comers like Green Day and D’Angelo. One of the most exciting things about being a cast member on this series was I honestly didn’t know who was going to walk onto the soundstage as a performer or even a visitor. The energy on this set was extra exciting. Slash from Guns N’ Roses and I did a sketch. Ice-T came in to do a sketch. In fact, on the day Ice-T came to set, he had a surprise for us. A surprise named Tupac Shakur. Not the hologram, kids. The real live Pac.
“Is it cool I brought Tupac?” Ice-T asked.
Roseanne, sensing an opportunity, said, “Yes! Let’s throw Tupac into a sketch.”
He ended up doing a sketch, his own performance, and … wait for it … a spoof, yet charming version of the Neil Diamond / Barbra Streisand classic duet “You Don’t Bring Me Flowers.” I have a pretty good eye and ear for a special moment, and this day was filled with them. Remember, Tupac was at the height of his “California Love” fame, and watching him goof around with Ice-T was not something I ever thought I’d see on a normal workday. I admit it. I just sort of followed them around all day like an observant puppy.
Let me just cut to the chase. I can’t confirm this in any way, shape, or form, but it was my observation that Tupac was struggling with reading. I, myself, am wildly dyslexic. Watch this … lfaksdjfladjflk;ajds. See? Ice-T stayed close to Tupac, like a big brother. He appeared to be doing all of Tupac’s reading for him, out loud: the contract, the script, anything. I recall Ice-T even filling out forms for him. I remember wondering that very day if Tupac Shakur, or frankly any global superstar, could reach that level of fame, be that talented, create an iconic and lasting legend, and still possibly have been illiterate??? Okay, I know that last sentence was a barn burner, but give me this much: 1) You never would have guessed that I would have met Tupac Shakur, 2) You can’t blame me for thoughts that pop into my head as I’m falling asleep at night. Thoughts such as I’m not sure Tupac could read. Or … maybe Tupac was just so damn famous that he had a designated celebrity reader, in this case Ice-T, read for him. Now that’s famous.
SHANDLING, GARRY
Television Comedy Pioneer, Former Fiancé (Kind Of)
I was fortunate enough to call him a friend, and if legendary Hollywood agent Sue Mengers had had her way, I might have called him my husband. She was set on me falling in love w
ith him and marrying him. What she didn’t know was that she did not have to sell me on falling in love with him. I was very much in love with him—in a platonic way.
One day, Sue yelled to me on the phone, “You need a strong, wealthy man who understands your world, and you will marry Garry Shandling!” Unfortunately for Sue, Garry and I were more like a brother and sister. As long as I knew Garry, he had preferred hot model types, and God bless him for it. Have you ever met a male stand-up comic? They have a type. Model types.
Sue’s attempt at creating a comedically epic power couple for the ages was very touching to me. I was more than happy to break bread with my future husband at one of her famous dinners. As I was getting ready for this particular dinner in the fall of 2010, I could never have predicted how the evening would end. I took Megan Mullally as my date, and I went with no expectations on the matchmaking front—mostly I was excited to just be once again in the orbit of one of the funniest men on earth.
Garry was late, though, and Sue got mad, so I said, “You’re right, Sue. Screw it! I’m calling off the engagement! Be honest, now. Tell everyone how you want to fix me up with Garry and that it’s not going to happen, and now he’s not even showing up because he doesn’t want to go out with me.” At which point, Garry walked in and sat down right next to me.
We were in plush chairs and sofas around Sue’s coffee table—which she came to prefer for its intimacy over the formality of a dining room table—and Garry was so close I started to wonder, did Sue convince him this might work? He seemed really uncomfortable, which I attributed to the fix-up scenario. With Garry next to me, I found myself wanting to become even more emboldened by busting the balls of this big-time, well-dressed, handsome manager I hadn’t seen in forever who was sitting right across from us. This dinner (like all of Sue’s dinners) was a combination of famous people, titans of industry, award-winning novelists, and other distinguished influencers.
When I saw the manager dude in an expensive tailored suit, I just decided to make him my target for the evening in an Anderson Cooper–type of way. With Garry by my side, I seized the opportunity to live a dream: to have great comedic banter with this groundbreaking comedic force. Oh, how I loved sitting next to, and riffing with, the man who gave us all those nights sitting in for Johnny Carson, It’s Garry Shandling’s Show, and of course, The Larry Sanders Show.
Big-time manager dude was looking at his phone every few minutes. I thought that in and of itself was funny, considering this crowd. He told me his wife was sending him photos of runway couture clothing from God only knows what fashion show. He was clearly choosing not to engage with me, which fueled my fire even more. I admit, my real agenda was to make Garry laugh. Then Garry reached down and held my hand. What was going on here? Was he actually making a move? Was it time to pick out the china patterns? Would I have a future with him in which I could send him cell phone photos of couture clothing from a runway show?
Pretty soon, what might happen meant little, because Garry began chiming in with his witty brilliance, and soon he was on a roll with making everyone laugh. He was on fire that night, and at the end of the night in Sue’s driveway, Megan and I rehashed the evening, saying repeatedly, “Is there anyone funnier than Garry Shandling?”
Though Garry and I parted ways after dinner, the next time I saw Garry, that night suddenly became a lot clearer.
“Do you know that I will always be grateful to you for that night?” he said.
“Oh, I know, you mean the discomfort of Sue trying to set us up?” I asked.
And he said, “No, no, no. Do you know that I was in one of the longest litigations in TV history with Brad Grey and that we hate each other?”
(Oh…)
“That I haven’t seen him since then?”
(… My…)
“I walked in, and Brad is sitting there, and I sat next to you—”
(… God!)
“—and you were giving him so much shit. That’s why I held your hand! I will never stop thanking you for getting me through what I’d always dreaded—running into Brad again.”
Yes, that’s right, the “well-dressed manager dude” I was making fun of was none other than Brad Grey. It had completely slipped my mind that Garry had sued his longtime manager/friend back in the 1990s for $100 million for improper leveraging of their relationship in order to benefit Grey’s business. (They settled the excruciating and public legal battle back in 1999.) What was even more embarrassing was that I didn’t realize Grey wasn’t even a manager anymore—he was the chairman and CEO of Paramount Pictures! (As Maggie rightly pointed out to me, “Why do you always have to make fun of the goddamn check signers! Jesus.” Oops.)
Garry said to me, “You made that evening bearable, because you were—”
“Clueless??” I interrupted.
Garry, I was happy to unwittingly ease your discomfort, friend. I miss you so much. You were always generous with your support of me; you could make me laugh like nobody else, and oh, what a night we had!
SHATNER, WILLIAM
ACTOR, DAMN IT, ACTOR!
He really is my favorite red-faced, bloated space captain. I love how he’s never had a downtime in his career. He’s always been cool or anticool, hip or not hip, but always on the cultural radar.
Well, back in the 1990s, when I was on nobody’s radar, I got to go to his house because he was auditioning people for a television pilot he was going to make. As you might imagine, I was excited. But I can’t even remember the role or the script, because everything else about the audition was nuts. Are you surprised?
We were in his living room, and he sat across from me, very close, and when I said, “It’s great to meet you, Mr. Shatner. Would you like me to read?” he said, very intensely, “How do you fee-e-e-e-l about your father?”
Okay, not what I was expecting. I said, “Ummm … I like him?”
He shouted back, “GET IN THERE! How do ya fee-e-e-e-l? What PISSES YOU OFF?” Taken aback, and a little scared, I blurted out sheepishly, “When I’m really hungry?”
You’d have thought this was a hidden camera show, it was so bizarre. His veins were popping, his face was turning that deep crimson, he had his hands on his knees, and he was leaning in like a bad-cop detective ready to break me. The questions kept coming, and he wore me down. After twenty minutes I was telling him things I’ve never told anyone.
Shatner: “WHADDAYA WANT TO SAY TO YOUR FIRST GRADE SCHOOLTEACHER? GIVE IT TO HER! LET HER HAVE IT!”
Me: “SCREW YOU, SISTER MARY!! I’M SPECIAL!!”
It was insane. But I’d have gone back. Come on, an invite to Shatner’s house? I got a “Good work” from him at the end, and yet nothing happened, and the pilot was never made.
When I see him now, it’s the same every time. I lovingly blurt out, “Bill?!” And he slaps his knees and shouts, “Come here, honey!”
SHEEN, CHARLIE
Famous and Infamous
I met Charlie Sheen at a great time and in a great way. We were seated next to each other as judges of a charity event / drag show benefitting Aid for AIDS. (This was years before he announced to the world that he was HIV-positive.) When one takes a seat next to Charlie Sheen, one does not know what one may be in for. Okay, you caught me. I’m “one.”
Even in 2008, he had been in the tabloids for all kinds of behavior from antics on the set of his hit show, Two and a Half Men, to his divorce from Denise Richards. As if that isn’t juicy enough, it was the time in his life when he was married to Brooke Mueller, whom he had a tumultuous relationship with, and, get this, she was pregnant at the time. Okay, it was before his “I’m winning” / tiger blood phase, but if you think I’d forgotten that I was sitting next to the Charlie Sheen that accidentally shot Kelly Preston, you are mistaken. My ears were pricked up like a newborn puppy. I love moments like this where I am up close and personal with a famous (and infamous) celebrity in a celebratory, yet somewhat formal, environment.
Obviously, Charlie and Brooke w
ere going to be on their best behavior. The other judges at this event ranged from Charlie’s father, the great Martin Sheen, to John C. Reilly to Julia Louis-Dreyfus to Melanie Griffith. I was saying things to Charlie that night like, “Now, you’re okay with this, right? It’s a bunch of dudes who dress up like chicks, and you’re going to have to stand up and clap.”
He said, “Sure, sure.”
I’ve always heard from several pals that Charlie Sheen is very funny in real life, and he was. We were enjoying some fun, silly banter back and forth as the show was progressing. Keep in mind that we were in the front row, and this is one of those celebrity charity events where the celebrities are asked to stand and wave to the crowd. This is not a tale of Charlie Sheen going off on his pregnant wife or me. Sorry. No charges are going to be pressed during this story. Charlie did not lock a drag queen in a bathroom. Charlie did not throw a chair at fellow judge Molly Shannon. None of that. Yes, folks, here is the surprise. Charlie Sheen and his then pregnant wife Brooke Mueller were like the Bickersons! In fact, I would go so far as to say Brooke was really giving Charlie a run for his money in the bickering department. That is what caught me off guard. She argued with him about everything, from how much to donate to when they could leave to murmurs of things I couldn’t hear or understand. The funny part was when Charlie would turn to me with, whether manufactured or genuine, kind of a henpecked husband series of gestures and comments. It was a lot of “What can I do? Heh heh heh…” and shrugging his shoulders as if to say, “She’s normally nice!” It was weird and hilarious, like I was watching some old-timey marital sitcom.
Kathy Griffin's Celebrity Run-Ins Page 17