The table at Orso

Nov. 8, 2007 | LOS ANGELES -- Orso is an unpretentious restaurant located on Third Street near Robertson Boulevard in Los Angeles. It's almost right across the street from Cedars-Sinai hospital, so those of us who choose to dine outside in the garden almost constantly hear the sound of ambulances rushing to drop off new arrivals at the emergency room. It makes for an exciting lunch. The customers at Orso vary from established showbiz agents and managers to hot stars and lukewarm wannabes, plus assorted normal people and almost always some very attractive babes.

About four or five years ago a group of us began meeting there for lunch almost every Friday. Our table included Mel Brooks, Michael Gruskoff, Alan Ladd Jr., Jay Kanter, Freddie Fields and me, Paul Mazursky. The group seemed to be about the men who had toiled on the third floor at Twentieth Century Fox studios in the '70s. The studio was run by Laddie with the help of Gareth Wigan and Jay Kanter. On the third floor, in offices that faced each other and always had wide-open doors, were Brooks and Mazursky. Nearby was Gruskoff, who produced "My Favorite Year," "Quest for Fire" and "Young Frankenstein" (or is that Frankensteen?). Freddie Fields was my agent and a legendary figure in his own unique way. Sometimes sporting a pencil-thin mustache and other times looking a bit like Sinatra, he was, I think, the man who coined the phrase "bottom line."

Early in my career I was represented by both Freddie and David Begelman. One day I saw them work in tandem and they truly shocked me. I was in early preproduction on "Alex in Wonderland" and I knew that Mike Frankovich (my producer and a man I truly adored, since he had given me my first shot at directing with "Bob and Carol and Ted and Alice") really wasn't happy about "Alex." The movie would open with a scene of Donald Sutherland taking a bath with his 4-year-old movie daughter. Frankovich thought it was disgusting. I thought it was real. So in order to avoid later arguments I told Freddie and David that maybe we should switch the movie to another studio. This was a very tricky thing to pull off, but one day I got a call from Freddie and David asking me to come up to the office. "We think we've got a way to get Frankovich to let you move the project. The trick is to make Mike think it's his idea," Freddie explained. The saturnine David calmly told his secretary, Toni Howard, to get Frankovich on the phone. Then came the shocker.

"Hi, Mike," said David, "this is Freddie."

"Hello, Mike," Freddie said, "this is David."

In about five minutes they got Frankovich turned around and the movie was moved to MGM. It was an amazing performance. At times, even though I was sitting there, I wasn't sure who was who. When the conversation was over, I asked them why they had switched roles. David smiled. Freddie laughed, "Just to relax, kiddo. Just to relax."

Freddie was also the man who told me after "Harry and Tonto" had been turned down about 15 times, "you only need one yes, kid." How right he was. The yes came from a young Alan Ladd Jr., who had just been ensconced at Fox as an executive. We met for dinner at La Scala (then on little Santa Monica Boulevard) with Jeff Berg, then one of my agents at CMA (now called ICM). Laddie was very quiet, a bit like his famous father, the man who played "Shane." He told me that if I could do the film for under $1 million, he thought he could get it made at Fox. The rest is history. It cost $980,000, Art Carney won the Oscar for best actor, and Josh Greenfield and I were nominated for best original screenplay. That was the beginning of my stay at Fox for three more films. They were tricky movies to greenlight, but Laddie always said yes. How could a goyisheh boy brought up in cloistered old Hollywood get "Next Stop, Greenwich Village," a story about a Jewish kid from Brooklyn who moves to bohemian Greenwich Village? But he did. And then came "An Unmarried Woman," "Willie and Phil" and an OK on the screenplay of "Tempest," all quirky movies, risky movies. But that was the joy of the '70s.

Across the hall from my office was zany Mr. Brooks shouting into the phone so loudly that I knew all his plans. Laddie OK'd Mel's wacky, irreverent and often brilliant comedies. Brooks and I became friendly. It was easy. He was like one of the guys I grew up with in Brownsville, Brooklyn, only funnier. He often called me "Mr. Greenwich Village, the man who makes great art films." I didn't know whether to like that or get pissed off. Then Mel cast me in "History of the World, Part One." I guess that's when I began to love him. Anyone who gives an actor a job is immediately adored. Then I met the divine Anne Bancroft. I got to know her better and better because Mel and I went to Pritikin to lose weight, get healthy and eat better. Anne was there with Mel. She was thin and gorgeous and had a great sense of humor. Dom DeLuise would show up, but just for the low-cal meals. The portions were tiny, especially the Jell-O desserts. Dom handled that by sucking up a dozen at a time. Mel and I did our best to score laughs while we were on the treadmill or stretching on the mat. It was often hilarious. Annie was our biggest laugher. Years later, when Mel lost her, somehow the table at Orso became more and more important for him. Our small group became an island of some relief and compassion for Mel, and we were touched to be a part of this.

Next page: Brando and I discussed Russia, Shelley Winters and the plight of the American Indian. But not my movie