An evening with Mel

The universe works in mighty strange ways. Case in point, last Saturday night.

Prior to that evening my wife and I walked the dog down to the burgeoning Culver City, which has changed in more ways than one. Hello, skyrocketing real estate values.

As we were surveying the new Steps Plaza and the adjoining and evolving Culver Studios, I pointed out that while I was freelancing for Fullscreen Studio, I was shown the production offices of Mel Brooks. He was located at the far west wing of the "plantation" building.

I was told, he was showing up with less regularity those days, so there was little chance of a fanboy encounter. Sadly.

Fast forward to later that evening when I stumbled across a documentary on HBO, Mel Brooks Unwrapped.

I missed the opening 10 minutes but the rest of the film was unadulterated joy.

I was a Mel Brooks fan long before the arrival of Blazing Saddles, which appealed to my juvenile obsession with flatulence. As well as Young Frankenstein, which appealed to my juvenile obsession with "great knockers."

My admiration for Mr. Brooks harkens back to an earlier movie featuring the inimitable Zero Mostel and Gene Wilder, The Producers. Yes it was schticky. And, oh how did one of my former less-woke bosses put it so indelicately, it was "New York deli" in style.

I loved it for something more. It was a reproach to the horrors of the Holocaust. A study in gallows humor. And it was classic in its Jewishness.

"Oh you super efficient Teutonic agents of Satan want to murder us and wipe us all from the face of the earth, well guess what, we're still here. And now we're wearing leather jackboots, prancing around on stage and mocking your failed 1000 year regime. Geh kachen afin yam."  

When you finish the documentary, and by all means I recommend you do, you come away with an altogether different picture of Mel, who in addition to being the grandpa we all wish we had, is incredibly intelligent and monumentally talented. He sings. He dances. He charms the hell out of you.

I could watch him demonstrate proper hand drumming techniques for hours on end.

As I mentioned before, I never met Mel. But my buddies from New Jersey, who spent a raucous summer out here in LA, did. This was a very long time ago. They were walking by a restaurant in Beverlywood and spotted Mel and his wife Anne Bancroft eating lunch at window table.

Instead of going up to Mel they went back to their car, found a piece of cardboard and a magic marker and quickly scribbled out a sign. Then they went back to the restaurant and pressed the sign up to the window. It read:

"We loved Silent Movie."

Mel and his wife had a great chuckle. So much so that he and Ann waved them to come inside the restaurant for a personal meet and greet.

Now that menschy story makes so much more sense to me.