Laugh Lines: Conversations With Comedians

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Laugh Lines: Conversations With Comedians Page 7

by Corey Andrew


  Corey: Do you temper your act if certain people are going to be in the house, like your mother? Would you not do the cashew?

  Dane: When I was first in Boston, she would come all the time. She loved coming to the show. My mother’s really cool. She has a truck driver mouth herself. Some nights she would have a couple Kaluha Sombreros, and she would be yelling from the back, heckling me. People would be like, ‘Shut up.’ ‘No, no, no, that’s my mom. Don’t tell her to shut up.’ And she would always be like, ‘Tell the sex stories about me and your father.’ Just nutty.

  Don Rickles

  Getting zinged by the king of insult comics is a rare treat.

  Fans in the front row of his shows wait with nervous smiles on their mugs, anticipating a verbal smack down from “Mr. Warmth,” Don Rickles. After more than 50 years of slaying in Vegas and theatres around the country, it’s second nature for the master—not slowing at all in his 80s.

  He got me quick—mainly for not reading his book before the interview.

  Aptly dubbed “Rickles’ Book,” the effort finds the comic riffing through his life, dubbing his member “Spider,” performing in strip joints, Don’s long friendship with Bob Newhart and into his movie career up through the classic turn as Mr. Potato Head in the “Toy Story” series.

  (I have read the book since this interview, because Rickles threatened bodily harm if I didn’t.)

  The book is not packed with any shockers but is a quick, enjoyable read—mainly because it’s written in Rickles’ rat-a-tat voice. He’s a class act, though quick to rattle the cages of celebrity pals like Frank Sinatra—who dubbed the bald comic “Bullet-head.”

  Frank Sinatra Jr. told me that Rickles is a terrific guy, “one of the few real men in the whole business, too. He has integrity, has honor. He’s devoted to his to family, his wife, his children, his grandchildren. He’s a decent man.”

  I was excited to speak with “His Decency,” so I jumped right in with the questions after a quick exchange of “Hello. How are you?”

  Corey: What can we look forward to in your upcoming show in St. Louis?

  Don Rickles: Oh, you’re ready to go, eh? OK, boom. You’re Charlie-Fire-the-Bullets. What’s your name?

  Corey: Corey.

  Rickles: Corey, jeez, hit me, bang, bang, bang. OK, I’ll go as fast as you. I’m gonna do some jokes, make people laugh, ‘Ha ha ha,’ then I’m gonna say goodbye. Boom. That’s it.

  Corey: Do you remember the last time you were in St. Louis?

  Rickles: The last time, Corey, I was in St. Louis, I was with Sinatra. That’s the only time, and I’m looking forward to it.

  Corey: You know, Frank Sinatra Jr.’s gonna be playing the same theatre that you are.

  Rickles: That’s wonderful. Maybe I can get an autographed picture of him.

  Corey: Do you have any words of wisdom to share with him?

  Rickles: Just tell him to send me some of his father’s money.

  Corey: I imagine you’re pretty pleased with the success of the book.

  Rickles: Oh yeah, you know it was a New York Times Bestseller. I’m the Jewish Mark Twain. I never dreamed that I’d have a book. Have you read it?

  Corey: I’ve read snippets.

  Rickles: You haven’t read it. Don’t lie. I hate that. Don’t lie to me, Corey. Now, I have to come to St. Louis and I have to slap ya’ in front of people. Can’t believe you didn’t read the book. You better start reading the book, because if we bump into each other in St. Louis and you haven’t read the book, I’m gonna have to hurt you.

  Corey: I’m gonna read the book.

  Rickles: Anyway, what was the question?

  Corey: I just commented that you must be pleased by how the book is doing.

  Rickles: Oh yeah, sure. Simon and Schuster came to me and said, ‘Write a book.’ To David Rosenthal, (the publisher) of Simon and Schuster, I said, ‘David, why? Everybody is writing a book.’ He said, ‘Because it’s you.’ What I did, which turned out to be great, I did memoirs. I didn’t do my life story in order. I’ve done highlights of my life that I think people would be interested in. And it’s been very successful to this day.

  Corey: If it continues to be a hit, they could ask for a follow-up.

  Rickles: Yeah, they could ask for that, too, but first I’ll wait and see if Corey reads my first one. I don’t want to push it until Corey knows what the hell I’m doing.

  Corey: When you go into a show now, do you look for something in the crowd or do you just know?

  Rickles: Oh no, after all these years, it’s part of my personality. And the show is not based only on having fun with the audience. I like to think of it as a theatrical performance, because there is music to it now. There’s a little bit of dance. There’s stories. It’s not exactly a stand-up guy walking out there, and saying, ‘Two Jews got off a bus’ or ‘Two Irish guys had a drink,’ you know what I’m saying? It’s more of a storytelling performance with music and dancing and conversation. And thank God it’s kept me going pretty damn good all these years.

  Corey: You probably haven’t had to deal with a heckler in a long time then.

  Rickles: Oh no, those days are over, when I worked in joints, you know. Thank God, anybody that heckles me now better have a lot of Blue Cross.

  Corey: What do you think of the ones they show on Comedy Central?

  Rickles: You’ve seen the Dean Martin roasts that they showed on television, and they were great. Now it’s a new generation that’s doing it, and I think they’ll never top them, in my opinion, because they were very special, and the people that were on it were big, big heavyweights and it was fun to do.

  Corey: What do you think about people trying to carry on your torch, like Lisa Lampanelli?

  Rickles: More power to them. I like to think that I’m one of a kind—and I am. No one can take that away from me. The original is always the best. People that are impersonating Frank Sinatra, you can never be Frank Sinatra, you know what I’m saying? That’s how I feel about that.

  Corey: You definitely come across as one of the nice guys of show business. What’s the secret, the long marriage?

  Rickles: I don’t know about that, but I’m married 42 years to a wonderful lady that keeps my head straight if I ever get out of gear. I think being a nice guy is just part of your personality. I was brought up with a wonderful mom and dad. I’m an only child. I’ve made some nice friends. I’ve never been in the position of being envious. I’ve never been in trouble, if you know about my career. You’ve never heard stories, ‘Rickles did this’ or was terrible or was mean. I’ve never had ever that kind of remark about me, so there it is.

  Corey: This might be in the book—and I’m going to find out soon if it is—but where did the origin of ‘hockey puck’ begin?

  Rickles: That’s a good question, Corey. If you find out, you call me, because we’ve never been able to track it down. In my joint days—I call them my joint days, because today they have comedy clubs—but in my day, it was striptease places. Believe me, striptease—they were dressed compared to what they do today. I worked at places where they had four, five girls entertaining, and I was the comedian in between.

  Those were tough places because they were there to see the girls. When guys heckled me—and there were hecklers in those days, for some dumb reason—best of my recollection, I said, ‘Don’t be a hockey puck.’ I don’t know why I said that, but I did. And to this day, when I walk down the street, with love and warmth, in New York City, where I come from originally, guys will yell, ‘Hey, hockey puck! How are you?’ Ask me how that stuck, I don’t know.

  Corey: Do people want you to insult them in the street?

  Rickles: Somebody will come up to me and maybe see me before the show and will say, ‘Don, if you’d call my mother a moron, that would mean so much to me.’ To myself, I’d say, ‘Go away; are you crazy?’

  Corey: What’s the status of this documentary that John Landis is involved with?

  Rickles: Oh, it�
�s wonderful. God, I’m blowing my own horn, but John Landis and I go way back to a picture called ‘Kelly’s Heroes.’ He was a gofer then. He was 18 years old, and we’ve remained friends. Then I did a picture with him called ‘Innocent Blood,’ which was pretty good. Then my son decided to do a documentary about my career, and John heard about it and said, ‘I want to be part of it.’ He really took it over with my son and really made it great.

  There’s so many major stars in it. It’s a little about my life, and it’s a little about my vacations with Newhart. It’s a little about my relationships with different stars. And they all talk about me, and I talk about my career.

  Corey: Is there footage in there of the roasts and from Johnny Carson?

  Rickles: Oh yeah, lots of stuff about Johnny and the Martin roasts—it’s all there. I can’t make it up. It’s gonna be on HBO, too, so you’ll get to see it if you have a television set. I don’t know. You talk so fast; you’re so busy. You didn’t read my book, and you don’t have a television set, so you don’t have to worry about me.

  Corey: One of the things I really enjoyed seeing you in was ‘Casino.’ Did you do your own stunt where Joe Pesci hit you over the head with the telephone?

  Rickles: They had me covered up with a suit, but Joe got carried away and really thought he was one of the mob.

  Corey: What was it like working with Martin Scorsese?

  Rickles: Oh terrific, except he mumbles too much. I told him that. ‘I’m not gonna carry you anymore in these movies if you’re gonna mumble all the time.’ It was a great trip for me.

  Corey: You must not have had any qualms about taking shots at everybody. You took on Sinatra, Ronald Reagan. Is there anybody you’ve ever thought, ‘I’m not gonna go there’?

  Rickles: If the Pope showed up, I’d have to think about it. But I might say something if he’s in the audience. I’m very respectful. I even kid people who have a problem with their physical being, if they’re sitting in the front—and they love it. I go into ‘Walk on, walk on,’ and I start to cry like Jerry Lewis. That’s a joke. I don’t cry, but I do that sometimes.

  Corey: Who makes you laugh?

  Rickles: Well naturally, Bob Newhart does. I don’t like to pick out people, but Jerry Seinfeld is very clever. I got to know him, and his performances are always funny. There’s so many other guys that make me laugh for different reasons.

  Corey: Being so known for your ad-libs, has it ever been tough for you to stop laughing, since laughter is contagious?

  Rickles: I always laugh at myself, because I can’t believe I’m that funny. Oh sure, I enjoy myself. I make fun of myself as well as the people around me. You’ve never seen me?

  Corey: Just on TV.

  Rickles: OK, come backstage, and I’ll give you a slap. If you haven’t read the book, don’t come backstage.

  Corey: I’ll bring the book, and I’ll even dog-ear some pages.

  Rickles: Come backstage. How old are you?

  Corey: 32.

  Rickles: Aw, jeez. Still lock yourself in the bathroom. Yeah, I know you guys.

  Corey: With the younger generation, if your legacy is a potato from the ‘Toy Story’ films, are you going to be all right with that?

  Rickles: Sure. It keeps my grandchildren alive and they know they’re in the will.

  Lisa Lampanelli

  Lisa Lampanelli doesn’t really have hate in her heart. What she says onstage—while to the naked ear might sound offensive—is an attempt to bring everyone together, down to the same level.

  Lisa’s known for playing with existing stereotypes—lazy blacks, thieving Hispanics and slutty gays—and cranking them up to 11 with a bawdy Italian bravado. She’s an Equal Opportunity Offender and no one’s safe: gays, Asians, Latinos, blacks—even soccer moms.

  As an insult comic, she has claimed the throne for roasts on both coasts, shredding celebrities and lesser-known comics in her wake. She typically goes last because no one wants to follow her. Lisa’s seat-wetting machine gun sets during Comedy Central roasts for the likes of Pam Anderson, David Hasselhoff and William Shatner helped make her a household name and even given her some Hollywood cache.

  With her self-esteem raised to astronaut levels, Lisa Lampanelli ranks with top male comics—and she knows she’s the funniest woman working in America today.

  Just ask her.

  Corey: Do people on the street want you to start roasting them?

  Lisa Lampanelli: People started slipping me money to roast their dumb, awful friends at the clubs. I don’t want to be indebted to any douche bag who wants their friend to be made fun of. Suppose it doesn’t come up, and I’ve already taken their $100? I’ll feel like an a-hole. I just say, ‘Whatever, dude,’ and I do what I do. It was pretty funny though.

  The best thing that came out of the Pam Anderson roast—besides making the jump to theatres and stuff—is that people don’t make fun of me anymore. The audience—they’re so retarded—they think that because I’m an insult comic that after a show they can say, ‘Hey, you fat whatever,’ or ‘Hey, you loudmouth cunt.’ It hurts my feelings because I’m a nice person. Now with the Pam Anderson roast, it got me more to a level of respect. They’re like, ‘Hello, Miss Lampanelli.’ I’m like, ‘Keep calling me Miss Lampanelli; I love it.’ And nobody insults me anymore; it’s the best.

  Corey: I can’t imagine people being ballsy or drunk enough to mess with you after a show.

  Lisa: It’s a death wish to mess with Lisa Lampanelli. ‘You think you amateur, drunken whores can go up against me?’ Some girl tried it in Kansas City. Let’s put it this way, she didn’t try it again. It’s so funny to me when people think that’s a good idea. Now I get good heckling like, ‘We love you,’ or stupid shit that they yell. It’s hard to say, ‘Shut up. You love me? Oh, sorry.’ You have to shut them up enough that they’re not cock-blocking the punch line. You gotta give ’em a little love, because they’re not yellin’, ‘You’re a loud-mouthed whore.’

  Corey: I watched the Pam Anderson roast, where you closed, and at the William Shatner roast you closed. How did you end up being a roast closer?

  Lisa: How do you think, bitch? Who can follow me? It’s like me and Don Rickles, that’s all that counts when it comes to insult comedy. I’ll be honest with ya’, I’ve had guys tell me—I’m not lying—two guys told me, ‘We have it in our contracts; we do not follow Lisa Lampanelli.’ It cracks me up because, how did these guys become such babies? I know I’m good, but ‘Wah, wah, wah.’

  Corey: How much prep time do you get, and how early do you know who else is going to be on the dais?

  Lisa: Oh! It’s horrifying. They start off a month in advance or so with a list. That list will change. This year Sharon Stone had to opt out because, she, um, her father had cancer or something, so we couldn’t do any Sharon Stone jokes. But I’d already written like a ton of them, but I’ll use them some other time when her father has gotten his cancer together. They change who’s on, who’s off, what the roast subject says we can’t talk about.

  For Shatner, you couldn’t talk about the dead wife in the pool. I respect that. If a guy’s putting himself out there, if there’s one subject you can’t talk about, that’s fine. For Pam Anderson, we couldn’t talk about the Hepatitis C. I respect that, even though I had the best joke ever about Hepatitis C, which was that her and Tommy registered for their wedding at Bed, Bath and Beyond and Centers for Disease Control. I didn’t want to hurt her feelings, because she’s a nice person. It does change literally up to the last day.

  Corey: One of my favorite lines of yours from the Shatner roast is actually pretty clean: (‘Betty White is so old, on the first game show she did, the prize was fire.’)

  Lisa: Yeah, I love that line. I don’t go clean because I want to, but when a clean joke’s funny, I’m like, ‘Oh, that’s surprising.’ I also loved the one—they put in some versions, but not all—‘William Shatner is better than us; he had a “Biography” on A&E. Betty White couldn’t have a “Biograp
hy” on TV because they couldn’t get the rights to her cave drawings.’

  Corey: I read that you just did a Jerry Lewis roast and, correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t he say a couple years ago that women are not funny?

  Lisa: Uh huh, and guess what, he requested me for that roast. Women aren’t funny, dude. Let me tell you something, here’s the difference—he should amend that sentence slightly—pretty women aren’t funny. Women in general aren’t funny.

 

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