The Rolling Stone interviews - Jann Wenner [115]
Did you ever find the transition from TV to films unwieldy? It seemed in some ways like bringing a Tasmanian devil into captivity.
Some of the reviews have indicated that. I’ve had an odd habit of choosing projects that were the opposite of me, sometimes to the detriment. People are now saying about Good Morning, Vietnam, “This film is basically you and what you do best. So why did you wait eight years?” Well, I made other choices. I wanted to go against what I was doing on TV—not just with Mork & Mindy but the cable stuff as well. I was saying, in effect, “I’ll act. I’ll show you I can act.”
The real Adrian Cronauer wasn’t exactly the radio desperado you portrayed him as in ‘Good Morning, Vietnam.’
No, he’s a very straight guy. He looks like Judge Bork. In real life he never did anything outrageous. He did witness a bombing in Saigon. He wanted to report it—he was overruled, but he said okay. He didn’t want to buck the system, because you can get court-martialed for that shit. So, yes, we took some dramatic license.
But he did play rock & roll, he did do characters to introduce standard army announcements, and “Goooood morning, Vietnam” really was his signature line. He says he learned whenever soldiers in the field heard his sign-on line, they’d shout back at their radios, “Gehhhhht fucked, Cronauer!”
I heard you improvised several characters on mike that we never saw in the movie. Do you remember any?
We left out a lot of stuff because the jokes just took too long to set up. Some other stuff might have been too rough. I was trying a riff on booby traps and said [as black GI], “Now, if it was a pussy trap, people would line up to get in.” Armed Forces Radio used to give out winning bingo numbers, so I tried this: “Our lucky bingo winners are 14, 12 and 35. If you’ve been with any of these girls, call your medic immediately!”
Do you think Bob Hope approved of you moving in on his territory? It looked like he gave you the cold shoulder on the Carson show a few weeks ago.
[As Hope] “Yeah, wiiiiild, isn’t he?” I don’t know. Certainly, there’s that line about him in the film: “Bob Hope doesn’t play police actions. Bob likes a big room.” I think Hope knew about that, because he leaned over to me at one point and said, “You know, I was there in ’65, but they didn’t want to get all the guys in one place.” At one point he was talking about the Persian Gulf, and I said, “I’ll go if you like.” He said, “Yeah, right.” Translated: “I’d no sooner have you there than a third testicle.”
For the first time ever you’re seeing a therapist. People around you are saying you’re saner than ever.
[Grinning] Yeah, they bought it.
Has inner peace been difficult to achieve?
Oh, I don’t have inner peace. I don’t think I’ll ever be the type that goes, “I am now at one with myself.” Then you’re fucking dead, okay? You’re out of your body. I do feel much calmer. And therapy helps a little. . . . I mean, it helps a lot. It makes you reexamine everything: your life, how you relate to people, how far you can push the “like me” desire before there’s nothing left of you to like. It makes you face your limitations, what I can and can’t do.
Sounds like Robin Williams has grown up.
[Facetiously] Yeah, right. [As Freudian analyst] “But you still talk about your dick a lot, though, don’t you?” It’s been a tough year with the death of my father, the separation from my wife, dealing with life, with business, with myself. Someone said I should send out Buddhist thank-you cards, since Buddhists believe that anything that challenges you makes you pull yourself together.
You used to refer to your father as Lord Posh—he was an uncommonly elegant man, a powerful automobile executive. Did you see him any differently at the