Gasping for Airtime - Jay Mohr [30]
Even when I was doing a killer sketch, I always felt like the audience was wondering who was under the prosthetic. When I played Don Rickles, my entire face was covered. I was in the makeup chair for three hours. I had a bald cap on and they fitted me with big jowls and made me new lips. I was unrecognizable. While in the makeup, I walked around the hallways and no one knew who I was. Everyone thought I was an old man in a tuxedo walking around. I walked up behind my manager and told him to get out of my way as Rickles. When he turned around, he apologized and stepped aside. I should have gone out and robbed banks with that makeup on.
I played Don Rickles in a sketch about NFL football moving to Fox. The premise of the sketch was that Fox was using all of its different television stars doing commentary for the game. Rickles and Richard Lewis, played by Adam Sandler, were in a Fox sitcom at the time. Chris Farley played John Madden, who tossed to Rickles and Lewis via satellite. Sandler did a pretty good Richard Lewis, but I still think my Rickles was perfect. When I spoke in the sketch, no one even giggled. They didn’t know who I was. They really had no idea, and spent every moment of every line I had trying to place me. I again overheard people in the audience whispering things like “Is that Spade?” and “No! I bet it’s Mike Myers!” Sorry, folks, but it’s me, Jay, and if you would just give me your undivided attention for a few minutes I will blow your balls off with this impression I’m doing over here. The sketch went over well and got its share of laughs. Just not when I spoke.
During a commercial break, Sandler and I were standing under the bleachers in the studio waiting to go onstage. I had shaved my chest to look more like Joe Perry. I was wearing leather pants and a cool wig with long curly hair, and I had a guitar slung around my neck. Sandler was dressed just like Steven Tyler. His wig was perfect and his clothes were right on the money—except that he was wearing a pair of sunglasses that looked like Elton John’s. I told him before we walked under the bleachers that I thought the sunglasses were wrong, but he disagreed. With about thirty seconds left in the commercial break, I tried again, telling him that he should get a better pair of sunglasses. He glared at me.
“Why don’t you shut the fuck up!” Adam yelled.
I was stunned. Looking back, I realize my timing was inappropriate. Since he had written the sketch for himself and was gracious enough to include me, what the hell did I care what kind of sunglasses he had on? But I did care. For some reason I cared a lot. I looked Sandler in the eye to see if he was serious. He was.
Then I looked up and noticed we were standing a few feet in front of the overhang of the bleachers. About twenty audience members were reaching over the railing, desperately trying to touch Sandler. I wanted to hit him or at least shout back, but I couldn’t help but feel forty eyes on me—twenty people who if they saw Adam Sandler and a guy in a curly wig in a fistfight would dive out of the bleachers and kick the shit out of me.
The worst part for me was that they all saw the entire exchange. I must have looked like a real asshole telling Adam Sandler to change his sunglasses. There wasn’t time to think