Growing Up Laughing_ My Story and the Story of Funny - Marlo Thomas [64]
“Great,” I said.
“Not great,” Tony said. “NBC doesn’t want him.”
I was floored. My father had been a star on television for decades. The idea of a network turning him down seemed unthinkable.
“Why not?” I asked.
Tony sighed. I could hear the pain.
“Because they think he’s too polished,” he said. “They think of him as a performer. You know, the shiny black hair, the pressed tuxedo. They want a Spencer Tracy kind of guy—a rumpled, disgruntled, ashes-on-his-shirt type. They’re talking about Art Carney.”
“Wow,” I said. “Well, if he really wants the part, he should make a test.”
“A test?! Dad? He’s not going to do that.”
“But he has no choice if the network doesn’t think he can do it. He has to show them.”
Tony was in a tough spot. He and Paul were successful TV-movie producers with a decent track record (they’d go on to produce Soap, Benson, Empty Nest and Golden Girls, with their partner Susan Harris)—but they did not have that kind of clout yet. And without it, it is very difficult to get a network to cast who they don’t want to cast. As a producer and (more important) as a son, Tony was stuck.
We knew what we had to do—we had to get Dad to make a test. So we strategized. Tony would call Dad and tell him the problem. (That would be hard enough.) Then after Dad had a chance to digest it, I’d call him with the hope of a solution.
Tony did his part. Then, after a little pacing, I made my call. I told Dad that I’d heard about the situation with the network. He was furious and devastated.
“Well,” I said as carefully as I could, “why don’t you test for it?”
I knew what was coming.
“Test?!” he bellowed. “I’ve been on television most of my life. What the hell do I have to prove to anybody?”
“Look, Pop. Marlon Brando tested for The Godfather. These people don’t have any imagination. They saw what you did last and that’s all they think you can do. Do you really believe you can play this part?”
“I know I can,” Dad said.
“Then let’s make a test and show them.”
I convinced Dad to come to New York so I could produce it. I couldn’t go to L.A. because I was still on Broadway in Thieves. Then I asked Chuck Grodin to direct the test. In addition to Thieves, Chuck had directed me in my TV special Acts of Love and Other Comedies, and I knew he’d be perfect to direct my father. He was funny, sensitive, patient.
As Dad traveled to New York, Tony, Chuck and I got to work. We chose three scenes that would show different sides of the character—one in his office with a patient, one with his children (he was a widower), and one with a love interest. We talked Dad into dyeing his hair white and making it curly. Chuck put together a supporting cast and rehearsed them with care, as if the show were actually going into production. ABC, which was my network at the time, gave me a soundstage for the shoot, and we hired a crew. Everything was set.
The night before the filming I couldn’t sleep. What was I doing? What if Dad couldn’t pull it off? Wouldn’t that be an even bigger heartbreak than if we had just let it go as a bad network decision? My father was trusting me. It would kill me if I hurt him.
Morning came; we held our breath and shot the test. Dad was remarkable—grumpy, rumpled, warm and funny. Like he always had, he stepped up to the plate.
Dad left for L.A. I called Tony—he hadn’t had much sleep the night before, either—and told him what a great job Dad had done. Then Chuck and I went into edit. We stayed up all night putting the scenes together. At around 6:00 A.M., Chuck and I left the editing room. I was so grateful to him. He had put so much time into this, purely out of friendship. I hugged him tight and said, “I can never truly thank you for what you’ve done for my father.” In true Grodin style, he said “Your father? I thought he was my father.”
I took the edited tape with me and went to my apartment