All language subtitles for Remembering.Gene.Wilder.2023.1080p.NF.WEB-DL.DDP5.1.H.264-BABE

♪ Come with me and you'll be

in a world
of pure imagination ♪

He was a combination
of innocence and danger.

- Champagne?
- You didn't know

what Gene Wilder was gonna do.

He was an actor
who had an ability...

- ...to be funny.

Hello!

He's naive,
he's innocent.

Oops.

He's sweet,
simple, and honest.

But when he got excited,
he was a volcano.

- Life!

He had
a unique ability to find humor.

I never thought
it could be like this.

In anything.

I'm wet!

You'll never find
another Gene Wilder.

I didn't
think Jerry Silberman

had the right ring to it.

I wanted to be... Wilder.

Suppose you're walking
out of the Plaza Hotel

in New York City
on a warm spring day.

You want to go directly across
the street to Fifth Avenue,

but the Plaza fountain
is directly in your path.

You can get to Fifth Avenue

by walking around the fountain

on the path to your left,

or by taking
the path to your right.

I believe that
whichever choice you make

could change your life.

I'm sure everyone has had

these mysterious
brushes with irony,

perhaps referring to them
years later as "almost fate."

January, 1963.

Jerome Robbins
was going to direct

Bertolt Brecht's play
Mother Courage on Broadway

with Anne Bancroft as the star.

Fate must be working its magic,

because if he hadn't
miscast me in Mother Courage,

I wouldn't have met
Anne Bancroft.

If I hadn't met Anne Bancroft,

I wouldn't have met Mel Brooks.

If I hadn't met Mel Brooks,

I would probably be a patient

in some
neuropsychiatric hospital

looking through the bars
of a physical therapy window

as I made wallets.

We opened previews
at the Martin Beck Theatre

to a packed house.

Anne Bancroft's boyfriend
came to pick her up

each night after the show.

The boyfriend's name
was Mel Brooks.

We were
heavily engaged

and heavily in love.

She kept telling me
about this weird, strange,

very talented guy in the cast...

...who had innocence,
blessed with innocence,

and she knew that I was
writing a rough draft of--

then it was called
Springtime for Hitler.

Later I changed it
to The Producers.

And she knew that I had
this character, Leo Bloom,

and she said, "I think
he's Leo Bloom on the hoof,

he's right there, he's...

He's naive, he's innocent."

So I saw the show,

and I kept watching it
every night,

and I agreed
with her and I said,

"That's my Leo Bloom."

I want to meet him.

I met him backstage
at the Martin Beck Theatre.

When I met
Mel for the first time,

he was wearing
a black pea jacket,

it was the kind made famous
by the Merchant Marines.

So he said, "That's a pea coat."

And I--you know, and...

the Borscht Belt comic
in me said,

"No, no, that's too vulgar.

I call it a urine coat."

And he really grabbed his belly

and really laughed.

I immediately
fell in love with him.

You get a terrific
real laugh out of somebody.

And Gene was a great laugher.

Despite Anne's
Academy Award that year

for The Miracle Worker,

Mother Courage closed
after three months.

Mel asked if I would like
to spend a weekend

with him and Anne
on Fire Island.

And I
invited him out

to our house
on the beach for a weekend.

After dinner, Mel
asked Anne and me to sit down,

and then he began reading
the first three scenes

of Springtime for Hitler

almost verbatim as they
eventually appeared on screen.

Gee, you could
make more money...

...with a flop
than he could with a hit.

You keep saying that,
but you don't tell me how?

How can a producer make
more money with a flop

than he could with a hit?

I read 37 pages,
that's all I had,

introducing Leo Bloom fully.

But you still look angry.

How's this?

Good.

That's good.

That's very nice.

I thought I saw
a little tear run down his--

"And you want me to play that?"

I said, "Yes, I want you to play

that simple,
beautiful, innocent,

good-natured accountant."

I loved it.

I said yes.

I wondered,
"How can a few words

change your life?"

You originally
were Jerry Silberman.

Yes, and I think there's--

somewhere inside
he's still there lurking around.

I used to be Jerry Silberman

from Milwaukee.

When I was eight years old,

my mother had
her first heart attack.

After my father brought her
home from the hospital,

her heart specialist came
to see how she was doing.

He grabbed my right arm
and whispered in my ear,

"Don't ever argue
with your mother.

You might kill her.

Try to make her laugh."

If he hadn't said
those two sentences,

I might have gone
into used car salesman

or something like that.

Or a concert violinist
or perhaps a painter.

Well,
Aunt Jeanne was always ill,

and Jerry just adored her.

He did try to be funny,
he tried to amuse her,

he tried to do things
to make her laugh.

I had thought
often about being a comedian.

Mostly because I had seen
Danny Kaye in Up in Arms.

Danny Kaye was,
I think, very special to him.

And then
Jerry Lewis on television.

Let's keep it
quiet, buddy.

And then for me
the king of them all,

was Sid Caesar
on Your Show of Shows.

I did Jewish accents
and German accents.

And I did make my mother laugh.

Every once in a while,

if I was
a little too successful,

she'd run into
the bathroom squealing,

"Oh, Jerry, now look
what you've made me do!"

She had
a wonderful sense of humor.

I think Gene probably got
some of it from her.

And then
when I started acting...

...she always thought
that I was good,

and that gave me
the confidence to go on.

- Sorry, sir.

I think he loved
the stage best of all.

He just belonged there.

I was asked
to take over Alan Arkin's role

in Luv on Broadway.

It had now been three years

since I'd heard
from Mel Brooks.

I'd given up hopes
of being Leo Bloom

in Springtime for Hitler.

I was taking off
my makeup one day

when someone knocked
on my dressing room door.

- I opened the door...

...and there was Mel.

Mel said, "You don't think
I forgot, do you?"

Then he introduced me
to the tall gentleman with him,

Sidney Glazier,

who was going to produce
Springtime for Hitler.

I met
Sidney Glazier,

I gave him my script.

He said,
"I don't wanna read it.

Read it to me."

And I began reading,

and he was eating
a big tuna fish sandwich

and a huge cup of coffee.

And he'd sip the coffee,
and he'd eat,

and he'd listen.

And every once
in a while he'd smile.

Once in a while
he'd laugh a little bit.

And when I got
to the blue blanket scene--

My blanket,
my blue blanket,

give me my blue blanket!

He spit the coffee
all over the office

and he said,
"We gotta make this movie."

Mel started
talking as if we were

just continuing
a conversation from yesterday.

"Now, listen,
you know I love you,

but Zero Mostel
is gonna play Bialystock,

and I can't just
spring you on him

because he's got approval
of anyone who plays Leo.

So you gotta do
a reading with him

just so he can see
for himself how good you are.

The morning of the reading,
I was very nervous.

If I don't get this part,

I'll just be a good featured,

maybe supporting actor
for the rest of my life.

Mel opened the door
and gave me a hug.

I could see Zero Mostel
in the background.

And then Mel pulled me
into the office.

This huge round
fantasy of a man

came waltzing towards me.

My heart was pounding so loud

I thought he'd hear it.

Zero grabbed Gene,
bent him over,

and kissed him
on the lips fully.

And then turned to me
and said, "This is my Bloom."

All nervousness floated away.

I think Zero did it
for that reason.

I gave a good reading

and was cast
in Springtime for Hitler.

Take one!

Filming on
Springtime for Hitler

was to begin in May,

but in the meantime,

I was offered a small part

in a movie called
Bonnie and Clyde

starring Warren Beatty
and directed by Arthur Penn.

The company was
already filming in Texas.

I arrived in Dallas
and I went to the set.

Arthur Penn introduced me
to the pretty young woman

who would be playing
my fiancée.

Her name was Evans Evans.

We said hello and shook hands.

The camera started rolling.

The first scene started
with Evans and me

kissing on her porch.

A little strange
to start kissing someone

you just met
two minutes earlier,

but it was fun.

Say, isn't that
your car, Eugene?

That's my car.

Arthur said, "Cut. Very good."

And that was my introduction
to movie acting.

Later, I'm riding
in the back of a car

with the Barrow gang.

Maybe y'all oughta
join up with us?

Oh, boy.

It sure would be a surprise
to hear that back home.

Hey, what do you do anyhow?

I'm an undertaker.

Get them out of here.

When filming was over,

Arthur Penn told me that
he had never envisioned

the part being played
the way I did it.

He never imagined it
being funny.

Zero Mostel had a car
and driver assigned to him

when filming for
Springtime for Hitler began.

He would pick me up
each morning

in that we could travel
to work together.

It was
a marriage made in heaven.

They were just made
for each other.

I'm an honest man,
you don't understand.

No, Bloom, you don't understand!

This is fate, this is destiny,

this is kismet!

There's no avoiding it!

It was the first
movie I ever directed.

- A toast.
It was like

getting into a big canoe
and gliding down the river.

That's how easy
they made it for me.

- I'm happy!

And they did--
sometimes they ad-libbed stuff

that was a lot better
than stuff I had written.

But I was in heaven.

Joe Levine,

the man who put up
half the budget

and was going
to distribute the film

went to
a screening room with Mel

and saw the first
11 minutes of the dailies.

Joe Levine
saw the dailies

on the third day
with Bialystock and Bloom,

the one in the hallway
where he's frightened

and where he's just superb.

Speak to me, speak!

- Why don't you speak?
- I'm scared, can't talk.

He said,
"He's cute, he has curly hair,

but I need a leading man.

He's--he's a--a bit of a wimp.

I'll give you another $10,000.

Get somebody who looks
like a leading man."

I said, "I don't want
a leading man!

I want the opposite
of a leading man.

I want somebody
who's afraid of the world,

who retreats instead
of attacks like Bialystock."

He said, "Get another guy
to play Leo Bloom."

I said, and this is
the first time I said it,

and at every single movie

I said to the head
of the studio,

"Yeah, you're right,
you got it."

And never, ever did
what they wanted me to do.

I started with Joe Levine.

Gene Wilder is out!

You'll see.

Next week
I'll have somebody else.

He left
the screening room happy.

We were
about to rehearse

my big hysterical scene.

I was anxious to see how Zero
and I would play it together.

Mel never said "action"
like every other director.

Mel said, "Go."

Oh...

And I gave it my all.

You miserable, cowardly,
wretched little caterpillar.

You would normally be
a little afraid of Bialystock,

who was a force,
who's a living force.

He was just a ton of flesh,
a crescendo of humanity.

...glory!

You're gonna jump on me.

Huh?

You're gonna jump on me,

I know you're gonna jump on me!

This giant hulk of a man

is now making
all these strange gestures

and might possibly
pounce on me.

Please don't jump on me!

I'm not gonna jump!

Will you get a hold of yourself?

Don't touch me,
don't touch me!

He could scare you.

And, uh, he scared Gene,
and Gene was timid.

I think
what connects Leo Bloom

to me and to the audience
is fear.

I'm hysterical!

Just the fear

that he goes
through life carrying.

What comes across

is this intense humanity, right,

this authenticity

that Gene brings out
of Leo Bloom.

When the scene was over,

the whole crew
laughed and applauded.

I was worn out
and a little hoarse,

but the scene went very well.

Joe Levine,
who said I had to take out Gene,

we kept him away from
the dailies so he never knew

that Gene would come in
every day and work it.

Finally, I said,
"He's done half the picture.

It would cost us too much money
to replace him."

"Yeah, yeah, all right."

We were at
the Lincoln Center fountain

on the last day of filming,

waiting for the sun to go down.

I said to the guy
running the fountain at--

at Lincoln Center, I said,

I said, "It goes up
to 12 or 15 feet.

Can you get it up to 20?"

He says,
"I can get it up to 50."

I said, "Go for broke."

When the sun
finally went down,

the cameras started rolling.

I'll do it!

And the fountain was turned on,

in the film and in my life.

And we finished the movie
right on that--on that night.

That was a miraculous moment.

I was sad
that the film was ending,

of course, but also very happy.

And I knew that I'd been
part of a unique film,

working with
the two most unusual people

I had ever met.

The outrageousness,

the complete audacity
of Zero and Mel

remains with me.

The movie that
really launched you, as it were,

that was a character
that held in the anger, too,

and that suddenly
would burst out into manic--

- Explosion.
- Was that you?

Yes, that was me.

It was a part of me.

When my mother was suffering,

the doctor set off
something terrible in me,

because "don't ever argue
with your mother"

inhibited me
from getting angry with anyone

and holding it all in,
and that's poison.

No child should ever be told,

"Don't argue with your mother,
you might kill her."

That is an unbelievably
heavy burden to carry.

I felt a rage

that I didn't
or couldn't express,

except through acting.

He started acting
in high school plays.

And then Gene was with
the Milwaukee Players.

He was always the lead.

We'd go to rehearsals together.

And he just came and got me so--
take me with him.

Being
on stage was a thing

that saved me from myself.

When I was in a play,
I was safe.

I was drafted into the Army
on September 10th, 1956.

At the end of basic training,

I was assigned
to the medical corps

at the neuropsychiatric
hospital

in Phoenixville, Pennsylvania.

Patients were all going
through psychotic phases.

I saw their behavior.

I thought that would be
the closest to acting

that would help me later on.

Rowers, keep on rowing!

I wasn't wrong.

And they're
certainly not showing

any signs that they are slowing!

It's really tough for me to pick
my favorite Gene Wilder film

because so many of them
were so great.

But I have to say that
Willy Wonka's my favorite

because what Gene
was able to do on camera.

That was so attractive.

That was so charismatic
and becoming.

I'm so glad you could come.

This is going to be
such an exciting day.

I hope you enjoy it.

I think you will.

And now would you please
show me your golden tickets?

- Charlie Bucket.
- Well, well, Charlie Bucket.

I read all about you
in the papers.

I'm so happy for you.

I was
in fourth grade

in Shaker Heights, Ohio,

and the Cleveland Playhouse

has a very active
children's theater.

It's got a nice résumé.

Joel Grey came from
the Cleveland Playhouse.

Margaret Hamilton,
Wicked Witch of the West.

It was a good place to learn,

good place to start for me.

When they were
casting Willy Wonka,

that was one of the theaters

that they called.

So my name was given to them.

They had me do a screen test.

I was nobody.

I didn't have a large résumé.

This was just like a lark.

It was fun.

If I didn't get the part,

there was--there weren't
any hard feelings, you know?

Months later,
Mel Stuart, the director,

finally called and talked
to my mother and said,

"Hey, you got the role."

I'm gonna be Charlie.

"And you need to be
in Munich in like 10 days."

Casting was very important
in the--

but above all,
the casting of Wonka.

One day I remember we were at
the Plaza Hotel in New York,

we were casting there.

Gene Wilder walks in.

And I looked at him and I said,

"Here's just a line.

Would you read just a line
for us from the book?"

And he reads it.

And he says, "Okay."

I said, "Okay."

And he starts to walk out.

And I went to the producer,
Dave Wolper, and I said,

"No matter what happens,
he is Willy Wonka."

I wasn't sure if
I wanted to play Willy Wonka.

The script was good,

but there was something
that was bothering me.

Mel Stuart asked me,
"What's bothering you?"

It was my entrance walk.

I think in the script

it was written as this
big, energetic entrance.

But he wanted to come out
sort of hobbling with a cane,

kind of hunched over.

Then Willy Wonka's
cane gets stuck in a brick.

And when Gene
came out and he's hobbling,

and that's not what you expect,

and then he falls
and does a somersault.

That caught everybody
off--off guard.

That was Gene's idea,
and I just thought

it was so brilliant
because it was really important

from the very first time
that you met him,

you never know, is this guy,
you know, for real,

or is he full of baloney?

Right from the get-go,

that was how
he was setting himself up

for us and for the audience.

You could tell that
this was gonna be somebody

that was gonna be fun
to work with.

Right away
I think we hit it off.

Gene was a father figure
and my mentor.

He was one of those people,

like when you have
a really good teacher,

you don't want to let them down.

He wasn't treating me
like a kid.

I was being treated
like his costar.

Ladies and gentlemen.

Boys and girls.

The Chocolate Room.

Our
first introduction

to the Chocolate Room
was in fact

the first time
that we had ever seen it.

And Mel wanted
our initial reaction.

That wow factor.

And it was a big room, big set.

Hold your breath.

Make a wish.

Count to three.

♪ Come with me and you'll be

in a world
of pure imagination ♪

Everything
is not what you think.

- ♪ And you'll see ♪
When you watched

Willy Wonka,
and particularly with Gene.

He was always doing
something unexpected,

even if it was going down
three steps, coming back two.

Why didn't you just
go down the step?

No, no, no, no.

For him to treat those lyrics

and that vocal performance

and that acting performance

with such care and specificity,

it was almost like
the way a wise person

would speak to you
on top of a mountaintop.

It's not always what you expect,

but you leave feeling
a lot more enlightened

than you did when you got there.

We are the music makers

and we are the dreamers
of the dreams.

And that was Gene's great gift.

The guy
that built that set,

Harper Goff,
was a brilliant designer.

He had built
the most beautiful office

for Mr. Wonka
for the end of the film.

Charlie's gonna say goodbye.

I said, "No, Wonka's berserk."

I said, "I want you to cut

every piece of furniture
in half.

I want the desks in half,

I want the vault in half,

I want the piece of paper
he reads in half.

You've gotta keep the madness
up to the last minute.

Mr. Wonka.

I am
extraordinarily busy, sir.

I just wanted to ask
about the chocolate.

It was unrehearsed.

Gene knew what he was gonna do,

but we didn't know
what he was gonna do.

The lifetime supply
of chocolate for Charlie.

When does he get it?

He doesn't.
- Why not?

Because he broke the rules.

What rules?

We didn't see any rules,
did we, Charlie?

And they didn't know
what I was gonna do.

But I really let 'em have it.

Wrong, sir, wrong.

Well, I knew that he was gonna
get a little upset with us,

but I didn't know
he was gonna get that upset,

you know, with us.

It's all there, black and white,

clear as crystal!

You stole Fizzy Lifting Drinks!

You bumped into the ceiling,

which now has to be
washed and sterilized,

so you get nothing!

You lose!

Good day, sir!

He wasn't gonna tell you
what he was gonna do.

And so your expression,

your reaction
was a genuine reaction.

Charlie.

My boy.

In retrospect,
Gene made it quite easy for me.

That's what good actors do.

They help
their partners on stage.

This is
a very contemplative artist.

The stars aligned,

because that kind of artistry
is--is super rare.

One of
the best reviews of Willy Wonka

comes from probably
the greatest film critic

of his generation, Roger Ebert,

who says that Willy Wonka
and the Chocolate Factory

is probably
the best film of its sort

since The Wizard of Oz.

"It is everything
that family movies

usually claim to be, but aren't:

Delightful, funny,
scary, exciting,

and most of all,
a genuine work of imagination."

I was asked
to do publicity in Chicago

for the release of Willy Wonka.

The next day, I got
a call from Woody Allen.

"I want to do a remake
of Sister Carrie," he said.

I love you so much.

"But instead
of a woman

in Jennifer Jones' part,
I want to use a sheep."

I knew before reading
the script why he wanted me.

An actor who could believably
fall in love with a sheep

and play it straight.

When I left for Los Angeles
to do Woody's film...

I found out that Willy Wonka
had failed at the box office.

I was told
that many mothers thought

the lessons in the movie
were too cruel

for children to understand.

I was leaving for California
to do Woody's film

in hopes
of resurrecting my career.

During all of the filming

of Everything You Always
Wanted to Know About Sex,

Woody said, "If you don't
like any of these lines,

just change them to what
you'd like to say."

Hello, Daisy.

She's so...

It seemed
an extraordinary thing to say.

Woody's great confidence
was not that he knew

he'd chosen the right actor,

but that the event
he had written

was more important
than the particular words

the actor used to bring
that event to life.

Mr. Milos, I, uh...

I'd like to see
the two of you again,

but right now, you know,
my office is jammed full.

Oh, I knew you could help.

I knew--thank you, Doctor.

As a matter of fact, uh,

if I could see Daisy alone,

maybe, you know...

Anything, anything.

You know, Gene was able
to do things in comedy

that are dangerous to do,

because he went often

for such an extreme
characterization

or such an extreme situation,

digging down into yourself

to find this absurd reality.

Darling.

I know this must all seem
very strange to you.

You from the hills of Armenia

and me from Jackson Heights.

And yet I think it could work...

if we gave it a chance.

You could have substituted

the most glamorous
female movie star

for the sheep the way
Gene treated the sheep.

I don't think I've ever known
such peace and happiness

in my life.

There's this ability
to be simple and honest...

Is it my imagination

or do you really smell
from lamb chops?

...in a situation which is
extraordinary and absurd.

Defendant did commit
an adulterous act with a sheep.

It's most distasteful
in view of the fact

that the sheep
was under 18 years old.

The memory of

Everything You Always
Wanted to Know About Sex

was so happy
that it was making me sad,

wondering if I would
ever be asked

to work on
something wonderful again.

In California, Mel Brooks
was doing preproduction

on a film called Black Bart.

The title was later changed
to Blazing Saddles.

It was a Western
poking fun at Westerns.

Has anybody got a dime?

My biggest problem
was finding the Waco Kid.

The Waco Kid is the sidekick
to the Black sheriff.

An alcoholic that's struggling
to stay alive in the world.

Then I saw a movie
with Gig Young,

They Shoot Horses, Don't They?

But I sure as hell
can spot a loser.

A wonderful actor.

And I found out
that in real life

he was a bit of an alcoholic.

His agent said, "No, no,

he's been on the wagon
for two years.

Not to worry."

But life has taught me
"not to worry" means worry!

Anyway, we start shooting.

We're in the jail.

The Waco Kid is upside down.

Are we awake?

There's Cleavon Little

upside down from
the Waco Kid's POV,

point of view.

And Gig Young, he's struggling.

"Are we Bla--are we Bla--"

He never finished
the word Black.

And ended it
with a geyser of green vomit

that shot across the jail cell

and got the crew
and everybody drenched.

So we called for an ambulance

and got him
to the hospital in Burbank.

The doctor who was
treating him said,

"He's suffering from the DTs,"

or what's that,
delirium tremens.

It's a thing alcoholics get.

So he hadn't stopped drinking.

I said, "Well, can he work?"

And he said, "Yeah,
in about three or four months."

This is Friday,
I've got a shoot Monday.

There!

It came to me right then
and there, Gene Wilder.

He'll save me.

He saved me on The Producers.

He will save me.

And I called him and I said,

and I was crying...

I said, "Gene, I need you!

I need you! Come here!

Come. Save me."

He called me
from the phone on stage.

He said,
"Can you come tomorrow?"

I said, "I'm supposed
to go to London to do, uh,

The Little Prince
with Stanley Donen directing."

"Beg off."

- The next day I was on a plane,

and the next day I was hanging
upside down in a jail cell.

Are we awake?

We are not sure.

Are we Black?

You know, it's just
so great, his reading.

And I said,
"That's the Waco Kid."

Send a wire to the main office
and tell 'em that I said--

- Ow!

Send wire, main office.

Tell them I said, "Ow." Gotcha.

I was one of the bad guys,

but I was the funniest one
of the bad guys, too.

And I played him
all through the thing,

maybe not quite
all there up here.

We come riding up in the picture

and meet the Waco Kid
and the sheriff.

And Mr. Taggart says,
"We're gonna shoot you guys."

All right, boys.

On a count of three.

I wouldn't do that
if I were you.

We have our guns drawn

and we're gonna shoot
all the good guys.

Gene, being the quick draw
that he was,

he's kind of like,

"I got something here
that you don't know I've got."

He puts his guns back
and you can see the smoke

coming out
of his holsters there.

So I'll remember Gene
not just by his acting ability,

which was wonderful...

...but because he was so good
to me and so supportive.

Hurray!

Hurray! Hurray!

Even though
it was a wild comedy...

...in Blazing Saddles...

...racial prejudice
is the engine

that really drives the film
and helps to make it work.

Good mornin', ma'am.

Cleavon Little,
he sees a little old lady.

...a lovely morning?

Trying to make friends
with the citizens of Rock Ridge,

and she says,
"Up yours, n-word."

The sheriff shakes his head
and we can see tears.

And Gene read
these lines so beautifully.

What did you expect?

"Welcome, sonny,
make yourself at home"?

"Marry my daughter"?

You gotta remember that
these are just simple farmers.

These are people of the land.

The common clay of the new West.

You know...

morons.

And--and that was one
of the funniest, you know,

laughs in the whole picture,

and nobody in the world
could have handled it

half as well as Gene Wilder.

And you can tell

from the scene
and listening to him,

he's speaking from the heart.

There is this
authenticity to the Waco Kid

that I don't think someone
like John Wayne or Gig Young

would have brought,

because instantly
it would have registered,

"Oh, this is a veteran
Western character actor

doing a parody
of a Western character actor."

Gene Wilder played the Waco Kid

as crazy and nutty
but entirely believable.

Where are you headed, cowboy?

Nowhere special.

Nowhere special.

I always wanted to go there.

What can I tell ya?

He did a magnificent job
all through the picture.

I think 1974's
probably the perfect year

for Blazing Saddles.

Blaxploitation films
at their height.

Having a smart
and thoughtful Western parody

that really takes a hard look
at America's racism,

that is genius.

I met Gene one day

when I was buying clothes
in Beverly Hills.

I introduced myself.

I said, "Gene,
you know, I'm Mike Medavoy.

I'm an agent
and I'd like to represent you."

And I said, "The truth is,
I look at your career,

you oughta be writing
and probably directing too."

Because of
that accidental bump

on the street corner,

Mike Medavoy became
my California agent.

And I signed Gene.

I rented
a small house on the bay

in Westhampton Beach, New York.

After lunch one afternoon,

I walked up to my bedroom

with a yellow legal pad
and a blue felt pen.

At the top of the page,
I wrote,

"Young Frankenstein."

"The Birth of a Monster."

And then wrote two pages
of what might happen to me

if I were the great-grandson
of Beaufort von Frankenstein

and was called to Transylvania

because I had just inherited

the Frankenstein estate.

That night I watched a summer
replacement television show

called The Marty Feldman
Comedy Machine.

Would you, uh, walk this way?

After seeing it,

I said, "Who is that
funny man on television?"

A week later, I received a call

from my California agent,
Mike Medavoy.

I was sitting in my office

and Marty Feldman
and his wife were there

to try to get me
to represent him.

And then Peter Boyle
walked into the office.

And so I introduced all of them.

And I decided, "You know what?

I have a feeling that this
would be a really good group

to put together with Gene."

So I called Gene up
on the phone.

And I said, "Gene, do you have
anything that you can do

with Marty Feldman
and Peter Boyle?"

I said, "How did you happen
to come up with that?"

He said, "'Cause I represent
you and Marty and Peter."

- And, uh...

As it happens,

I think I do have something.

I want to work on it
for another day.

I'll send it to you.

- That night, inspired by

having just seen
Marty Feldman on television,

I wrote a scene that takes
place at Transylvania Station

where Igor and Frederick
meet for the first time

almost verbatim
the way it was later filmed.

Dr. Frankenstein?

Frankenstein.

You're putting me on.

I called
Mel Brooks and told him

my little
Frankenstein scenario.

"Cute," he said,
"that's cute."

"What's your dream for this?"

He said, "I want you to write it
with me and direct it.

And not be in it."

And I said, "Okay, I'll do it."

The next morning,
I would start writing.

Mel would come over
after dinner each evening

and look at the pages.

When we thought
we had a good script,

we met Mike Gruskoff,

a wonderful guy
and a wonderful producer.

And he said, "I've had
a discussion already

with Columbia Pictures."

"Yeah? Yeah?"

Gene, Mel, and I,

we had a meeting at Columbia.

I said, "We really like
the script."

We thought we had
something good, you know?

We definitely thought
we had something good.

We shook hands.

We're ready, we're ready
to make Young Frankenstein

for Columbia Pictures.

As we leave the--the meeting,

I get to the door,
before I shut it, I say,

"Oh, by the way..."

"...in the James Whale
1931 Universal tradition,

we are making it
in black and white."

Closed the door, left.

A thundering herd
of Jewish executives

run after us
down the hall, saying,

"No, no, it's a deal-breaker."

And as one,

Gruskoff, and Gene,
and Mel shouted back,

"Then break it."

Nobody wanted to do
a black and white movie.

Mike Gruskoff actually was
very friendly with Alan Ladd,

and took it to Fox.

Alan Ladd, Jr.
was one of my close friends.

He had come to Fox.

Three days later, we had a deal.

If you're gonna
make a parody tribute film

of James Whale's Frankenstein,

you're gonna have to do that
in black and white

if you're gonna do it right.

Mel Brooks and Gene Wilder
understood that.

Columbia executives,

to their eternal regret,

did not.

Making Young Frankenstein

was the happiest
I'd ever been on a film.

Madeline Kahn, Peter Boyle,

Marty Feldman, Teri Garr,

Cloris Leachman, Kenny Mars,

and Mel directing.

It was like taking a small
breath of heaven each day.

Creatively,
I let them do their thing.

Gene and Mel take it
to the next step.

They go beyond.

They have balls,

that's what they have.

What knockers!

Oh, thank you, Doctor.

Mel and Gene,

they're not afraid to go big.

They're not afraid of failure.

They'll take a chance.

The only thing that concerns me

is the preservation of life!

I never had
to give Gene any direction.

And I didn't have to, really,

'cause he was such a good actor.

We shall ascend
into the heavens.

We shall mock the earthquake.

We had a code,
blue and orange.

When I said, "Gene, blue,"
meant, "Bring it up."

Give me more intensity,
more excitement.

When I said, "Orange,"

I want you to play over the top.

I'd say, "Gene, I need orange
here at the end of this."

"Got it."

Life, do you hear me?

Give my creation life!

He could
hit a high note...

...easily as high
as Maria Callas.

He--he could go there.

He was amazing.

I had
favorite moments of him,

as I do of most actors.

I admire so much
the big moments

when he still was believable.

It's alive!

And then there was
a quiet moment

in Young Frankenstein

when it was just as ludicrous,

but it was quiet and sincere.

He was questioning Igor
like a little boy.

Would you mind telling me...

whose brain I did put in?

And you won't be angry?

I will not be angry.

Abby someone.

Abby someone?

Abby who?

Abby Normal.

"Abby Normal."

I'm almost sure
that was the name.

Are you saying
that I put an abnormal brain

into a seven-and-a-half-
foot long,

54-inch-wide...

...gorilla?

He was so real about it

that it was just as absurd
as the big, showy moment,

but even more hilarious,

because he meant it,
he really meant it.

We shall be friends.

It was Gene Wilder's idea.

He says, "Well, maybe
I can get Gene Hackman

to play the blind guy."

Because they were pals.

And he got Hackman,

who was so great.

Are you ready for your soup?

Oh, my friend, my friend.

You don't know how long
I've waited for the pleasure

of another human being.

And sometimes,
in our preoccupation...

And he was funny,
he was very funny, you know?

Oof!

We never
improvised dialogue on the set.

Would you like to have
a roll in the hay?

Physical actions, yes,

but not dialogue.

♪ Roll, roll,
roll in the hay ♪

Marker.

We were
filming the scene

of Madeline Kahn's arrival
at the Frankenstein castle.

Action!

She was
wearing a fox stole

and a big turban on her head,

and then Marty,

in one of his
impulsive inspirations,

took a huge bite out
of the tail of the fox fur

that Madeline was wearing
around her neck.

But the tail
came off in his mouth.

Stop that!

And we
couldn't not laugh.

May I go in?

Cut!

We all laughed,

and Marty was
so funny doing it.

Out of such lunacy,
great comedy is born.

We had to stop
a lot of times to...

That music!

Because
everybody was laughing.

That quaint...

All right!

We had
to take breaks.

Follow me, please.

It cost me over $200.

I bought handkerchiefs,

about 150 handkerchiefs
for the crew and everybody.

Now, listen
to me very carefully.

Don't put the candle back.

I said, "When you feel
a laugh coming on..."

"...shove that handkerchief
in your mouth.

Stifle your laugh."

I think it may have been
the "What hump?"

You know, I don't
mean to embarrass you,

but I'm a rather
brilliant surgeon.

Perhaps I could
help you with that hump?

What hump?

He turned
to look at the crew

and I saw a sea
of white handkerchiefs.

I said, "I think
we got a hit here."

In all
the time we spent together,

Mel and I had
only one argument.

It was when I showed him
a scene I had written

in which Dr. Frankenstein
and the monster sing and dance

to "Puttin' on the Ritz."

I said, "There's no
'Puttin' on the Ritz,'

we are not gonna do that.

Because we have been
very faithful

to James Whale
and to the horror films

of the '30s.

This makes it silly."

I said, "No, we're not doing it,
that's the end of it."

I was close to rage and tears.

I argued logic

from Dr. Frankenstein's
point of view.

His need to win over
this stuffy audience

of scientists and their wives

that the monster could
be taught to do anything.

And right in mid-sentence,
Mel says,

"Okay, it's in."

"I wanted to see
how hard you'd fight for it."

And I knew if you
fought hard enough,

it was right."

We would start shooting,

and Gene put everything
he had into it to prove it.

♪ Come, let's mix where
Rockefellers walk with... ♪

And Peter Boyle
was never better.

After that was over, I said,

"Gene, accept my apology.

It's the best thing
in the movie.

It's the reason we made it."

When you think about

great cinematic collaborations--

I mean, whether you're
talking about Tracy and Hepburn

or William Powell and Myrna Loy,

or, uh, Steven Spielberg
and John Williams,

Mel Brooks and Gene Wilder
belong in that class.

They fed off each other
and that pushed them

to the heights
they both achieved.

On the last day
of filming,

during our lunch hour,

I was sitting in
the Frankenstein bedroom set,

staring at the fake fireplace.

Mel wandered in and saw me.

"What's the matter?

Why so sad?" he asked.

"I don't want
to leave Transylvania."

When we were in the thick
of editing Young Frankenstein,

Mel turned to me and said,

"If you keep writing,

you're gonna want to direct

just so someone doesn't
screw up what you've written."

Two weeks later,
fate just struck again.

Alan Ladd, Jr. asked me
if I wanted to direct

Sherlock Holmes'
Smarter Brother,

my idea for
a romantic comedy

about a brother
of Sherlock Holmes.

Gene said,
"There's something

I want to write and direct."

And Gene Wilder went on
to have a very nice career

as a writer-director.

I had
a comedy scene

at the beginning
of filming Sherlock

that was one of my favorites.

I'm waiting to see
Lord Redcliff in his study.

There's a tempting
box of chocolates

sitting open on his desk
and melting in the sun,

so I decide to steal
just one tiny piece.

The crew was
holding back laughter,

but all I was trying
to do as an actor

was to act as normally
as I possibly could.

It was the same lesson I'd
learned from Charlie Chaplin

when I saw The Circus.

If the physical thing
you're doing is funny,

you don't have
to act funny while doing it.

Just be real
and it will be funnier.

The acting lesson
from this film

seemed so simple,

yet it inspired me
for the rest of my career.

When I was 23,

I was miraculously
nominated for Best Actress

for a movie called
Hester Street.

The phone didn't ring
for a solid year after that.

And the first call
I got about work

was Gene calling about
The World's Greatest Lover.

I had never in my life
done a comedy.

Why would Gene Wilder be calling
for me to be in a comedy?

You get
some insight into Gene

that he casts Carol Kane.

This was not a comedy actress.

He had the sense--
he knew people.

I mean, Carol Kane comes off
this Oscar nomination

for a dramatic role,
and he thinks,

"No, funny--she's funny."

And now we know,

now there's 40-plus
years of evidence

that Carol Kane is funny.

But, you know,
Gene recognized it.

It was about
a baker from Milwaukee in 1927

who wants to try out
for a big Hollywood contest

to find the next
Rudolph Valentino.

He takes his wife to Hollywood.

I will win that screen test,

not because I'm
the best actor in the world,

not because I'm
the sexiest man in the world,

not because I'm the most
handsome man in the world,

but because I am unique!

♪ You ought
to be in pictures ♪

♪ You're wonderful to see ♪

♪ You ought to be in pictures ♪

♪ Oh, what a hit
you would be ♪

For someone just beginning

as a director-writer-
producer-star,

Gene was very calm
and confident and happy.

When you write,
direct, and act in a movie,

there are three ways
they can kill you.

And if they wanna kill you,
they go for all three.

Gene was able to exert
his own artistic vision.

- I'm ready!

The World's Greatest Lover

is a big love letter
to movies, Hollywood,

all his idols.

Chaplin.

Busby Berkeley.

♪ We're in the money ♪

Laurel and Hardy

and these classic comedy bits.

The way Gene shot the movie,

extreme close-ups
frequently of the eyes,

to let the eyes do the talking,

as they did
in the silent-movie era.

He manages
to convey hurt and longing

and fear and anger
in those eyes

without speaking a line.

Gene Wilder would have been
a great silent actor.

No surprise that
he chose to make a film

that salutes silent Hollywood.

The lighting
and the costumes and the makeup

is so evocative of that time.

That obviously
appealed to Gene a lot.

I love Gene's choice
of acting roles.

It's totally eclectic.

He did what he wanted to do.

What spoke to him,
what he loved,

he just did it.

It was called
The Frisco Kid.

A film about
a Polish rabbi...

America.

...who comes
to America

at the time of the gold rush...

- Oy!

...and becomes
best friends with a bank robber

and is captured by Indians.

Yes or no:
Can your god make rain?

He doesn't make rain!

The rabbi
and the chief form a friendship

discussing the Jewish god.

...around blindly like
little mice in the darkness,

but He does not make rain!

Of course, sometimes,
just like that,

He'll change His mind.

The Frisco Kid
came closer

to what I am in life
than anything else.

We were never
a particularly religious family

when I was growing up

in the sense of prayers
at home or rituals,

other than going
to my grandparents'

for a meal on Passover,

and going to the synagogue
on the High Holidays.

Gene's grandfather

was president
of his old synagogue,

which was an old,
little small Orthodox synagogue

in the old Jewish neighborhood.

We had strong feelings
about Judaism.

I would say Gene was spiritual.

There's my mother in me,

and there's my father in me.

There was a certain innocence

about the way I acted onscreen.

I must have inherited it
from my father.

My father was born in Russia

but came to Milwaukee
with his family when he was 11.

He wasn't dumb,
but he was very innocent.

Dost thou speak English?

Dost thou

speak Eng--

Oy--oy gevalt!

The wonderful
Robert Aldrich was directing,

and Mace Neufeld
was the producer,

but we still had
to find a co-star.

When we started to do the film,

we were gonna use John Wayne.

And he was all excited
about joining the project.

I was so happy,

and one of the executives
got the bright idea

of going out
to Long Beach, California,

where John Wayne lived,

and tried to
knock him down $250,000.

And he said,
"Forget the whole thing."

He was out.

I was asked
to look at the work

of an up-and-coming
young actor

by the name of Harrison Ford.

I thought Harrison was charming

and might possibly get
somewhere in the business.

What do you call this,
in Jewish?

A--a tuchus.

Well, you keep your eyes
on this too-kas

and don't take 'em off
till I tell ya.

Harrison was super popular,

and everybody was
crazy about him,

but Gene was different.

Gene Wilder was
one of my heroes.

He was smart,
he was funny, he was kind.

He made me feel very special.

I was 14 years old,

and my father said
that I was okay

to actually be in the movie.

So they made me up,

probably inappropriately,

and I was the Jewish Indian.

I remember feeling
very excited but very nervous

to be on the set.

Everybody dance!

So he's teaching the Indians

Jewish dancing.

That's good
with the hands.

Watch that lady!

I think that lady's
a Jewish Indian.

Gene had taken peyote,

but he doesn't know that.

♪ Now we do a jump,
a little bit of jump ♪

He is
feeling the effects

of the drug.

♪ One, two, three ♪

And he passes out.

And I look at him and I go...

So, that's my big role
in the movie.

Now we had
Harrison Ford and Gene Wilder,

and Gene Wilder carried
the comedy in the movie.

Don't wake me
in the mornin'.

I'll try to be
as quiet as possible!

One example of Gene's
connection to Judaism

is that Gene and Harrison Ford

are trying to get away
from the bad guys.

What the hell are you doin'?

I don't ride today.

And it's the Sabbath.

You can't ride on the Sabbath.

Gene says, "We have
to wait for the sun to set."

Not yet!

Now!

And as soon as the sun set...

- Now!
...off they go.

Thank God.

Longest damned day of my life.

I'll never
be as good in drama

as I am in comedy.

- Oy!

But when
I'm acting,

I want to be really funny

and part vulnerable.

Hey, we are doing this
to keep warm, aren't we?

Uh-huh.

In that case, you can
put your arms around me.

That's what
I like the best.

I'm not a good actor;

I'm a good reactor.

Something happens.

That's why Richard and I
are so good together.

Richard Pryor and I
met in Calgary, Canada,

as we were both
checking in at the hotel.

The next morning,
we did our first short scene

in the film Silver Streak.

There were police cars
and helicopters and guns

all around us.

Argh! Shit!

Take it easy, killer.

What are you doing here?

When Richard and I
did our first scene,

some magic happened,
what they call chemistry.

I would answer him,
back and forth, back and forth,

and we were on
such a similar wavelength.

No thinking,
just spontaneous reaction.

Who's in charge here?

Would you get down?

That was
the start

of our improvisatory
relationship on film.

My dad couldn't read very well.

He was dyslexic a little bit.

So a lot of his education
came from the feel of something.

Richard's way
always has an emotional

rather than intellectual base.

In this regard,
Richard was my teacher.

- What are you doing?
- I'm gettin' bad.

Better get bad, Jack,
'cause if you ain't bad,

you gonna get fucked.

You're bad,
they don't mess with ya.

Words kept
coming out of my mouth

in response to things
that Richard was saying.

- Get down!
- Hey!

Things that
weren't in the script.

You a little too bad, ain't ya?

My dad knew undeniably

there was a magic between them.

That's right, that's right,
we bad, uh-huh, that's right.

Together, it was like
explosive on the screen.

Hi-ya!

I don't
know what makes

a great comedy duo.

They both have to be funny,

but they have
to work off each other.

Gene Wilder and Richard Pryor,

they fuel each other.

And their improvs
made them both better.

The director,
Sidney Poitier,

wanted the script
rewritten to accommodate

the particular talents
of his two stars.

Then he said,
"I want you both to fly."

Please! He's sick,
he's--he's havin' a fit.

See, he don't have
his tooth pills.

He's got--see?

And we did fly.

- Harry.

Harry, for God's sake.

- Argh!
- You're gonna get us in trouble.

They're
wild together.

Your crew is laughing.

Harry, here, come here.

They weren't afraid
to be silly,

and it comes out genius.

All right, you two.

Up and at 'em!

Argh! I can't feel
nothin' in my leg!

Richard and I
were certainly silly together,

at least on film.

But as close
as we were on film,

it didn't carry over
to our private lives.

When the camera
was off, that was it.

And that's kind of
how they were,

and I understand that.

I mean, they were
two polar opposites.

Gene, when you were
doing those movies

with Richard Pryor,

did his drug usage ever
get in the way of the film?

I got to know Richard

and I got to love him,

and he was going
through a difficult period.

But I never talked
to him about that.

Whatever it was
that he was going through,

he quieted it with his
drugs and alcohols and women.

It was almost like
self-sabotaging,

you know, to not
show up on time to set.

But when they came together,

a black-and-white duo team,

creating this laughter together,

that, to me,
is what comedy is about.

You can't deny that's magic.

You're doing all right,
you're getting the hang of it.

My next
movie project was

a comedy-mystery
called Hanky Panky,

with Sidney Poitier directing.

Lots of female stars
said they would do the movie,

but Sidney cast Gilda Radner.

The day Gilda and I met,

I was in my makeup
and dressed in a tuxedo

when I walked up to her
to say hello.

Stay here, I'll be right back.

Your co-star
in this is Gilda Radner.

Isn't she wonderful?

Why are you smiling?

'Cause you wanna know
what I think of her,

it'd be more
than wonderful, yes.

When Gilda went
to do the movie Hanky Panky,

she was having difficulty
in the marriage that she was in.

So when she told me
that she's becoming

very friendly with Gene Wilder,

very friendly,
I'm going, "All right."

That was a euphemism for,

"I'm gonna end up
with Gene Wilder."

He had
a mesmerizing stare.

And those eyes,
those blue--

I mean, I could see why
Gilda fell in love with him.

Gilda was like 14-ish
when her dad died.

Gene was one-stop shopping.

He was older,

so there was the dad thing.

He already had his own career.

And she was grateful for it.

Gilda was
the most generous

and compassionate
and original person

I had ever met.

It was wonderful
to be with Gilda,

most of the time.

She was so strong-willed
and yet so fragile.

When Gilda met Gene,

she had a world of problems.

She drank too much.

She was a bulimic.

And Gene sent her
to a battery of doctors

to redo her,
to fix her,

and rehabilitates her,
to a degree.

We were
living in Los Angeles,

having just finished filming
The Woman in Red.

Seeing Gilda looking strong
and healthy and so happy,

I thought, "Maybe things
between us can work."

If I found
a restaurant

that was interesting,

I'd always call him
and say, "Let's go here."

And he'd take Gilda,

who loved my wife, Anne,

and Anne loved Gilda,
so it was perfect.

We were best friends,
it was wonderful.

Gilda
was different.

She said, "I'm not
a perfect woman

that you've been searching
for all your life.

I'm just little,
imperfect Gilda.

And if that's what you want,
a real love,

I'm your best bet."

We were married
on September 18th, 1984.

She was 38 years old.

Now she wanted a baby.

Desperately, of course.

Just when it stops
before you go away again.

Meanwhile,
I was making a new movie,

Haunted Honeymoon.

It's always much easier
to kiss someone in a movie

that you kiss all the time.

'Cause it's familiar territory!

Gilda found out
that she was pregnant

and was thrilled beyond belief.

She went in for an exam

and found out it was
an ectopic pregnancy,

and it was devastating.

Everything was devastating.

A couple months
after the surgery,

that's when they realized
that she had ovarian cancer.

Gilda grabbed
my face in her hands

and sobbed.

"No more bad news,
no more bad news.

I don't want
any more bad news."

There's something mythological

about somebody going
through all of this,

finding the love
of their lives,

and then, God saying, "Ha.

You're not gonna enjoy this."

She was on
such a beautiful path

and beautiful life.

Everything that
she ever dreamt of

was happening,

and then,
this was like a bomb

that fell in her lap.

Between her
chemotherapy treatments,

Gilda would come home
and try to lead

as normal a life as possible,

but the first few days
were always exhausting

because she was
so hyped-up from steroids.

I remember,
we were out once,

I said, "How you doing?"

And she said,
"I'm doing the best I can,

but, poor Gene.

You have no idea what
I'm putting that guy through."

It was unfortunate he had
to be put to that test,

but he was terrific.

She made herself
very public when she was sick.

She was on the cover
of Life magazine.

She did a thousand interviews.

She went on Letterman

and on a show
I co-created called

It's Garry Shandling's Show.

Gene was very supportive
of her coming on.

When she got cancer,

I never thought
that she would die from it.

I thought she'd lick it.

I was stupid, 'cause
everyone else seemed to know

but I didn't.

She was 43 years old
when she died.

I buried her in front
of a tall white ash tree

three miles from
her home in Connecticut.

I used to worry
all my early life

about being good enough
to please God.

Gilda didn't think
about those things.

She was just naturally good.

I don't want to be
a better person than Gilda.

She was just human,

and that's all I want to be,
just human.

In our bedroom
in Connecticut,

for the sake of
my psychological health,

I was rewriting a comedy
for me and Richard Pryor.

It sounds oxymoronic,

but absurdity was
a familiar guest now.

I had done research

at the Braille Institute
in Los Angeles

which gave me confidence
in writing Richard's part.

I needed to know about people
who were profoundly deaf,

which was the case with
the character I was to play.

So I went to see this lady

at the New York League
for the Hard of Hearing.

They told me
her name was "Ms. Webb."

I said, "Oh my God, my luck,

some New England old biddy
is gonna say,

'You're making fun
of the blind and the deaf!'"

So I just thought,

I'll meet him
just like a regular person.

And he wasn't a regular person.

He was gorgeous!

He was very interested
in getting his character right.

He came to class and he saw

how people learned
how to lip-read.

Bath.

And he'd ask them a question,

like, "Does everybody say,
'What are you, fuckin' deaf?'"

And they'd say, "All the time."

And that line is in the movie.

What are you,
fuckin' deaf? Move!

Get out of the way!

And then
I would take little plugs

and put them in my ears
so I could walk

through the streets of New York,
and it cut out

about 65 percent of sound.

- Ya dumb idiot!
- You're a dumb idiot!

You talkin' to me?

See No Evil,
Hear No Evil

was a big deal for Daddy

because it was
two and half years into

his multiple sclerosis
diagnosis.

He needed something
for him to show

he could still do what he does.

Dad was definitely
very authentic,

because he was going
through all those things.

He was having trouble.

He--he was that blind man...

I'm blind.

...who lost
his eyesight.

You're blind?

Yes, I'm blind.
Now can I have the job?

So, everything was authentic
for him in that moment.

And we
were very conscious

of the fact
that we were doing

a film about people
with a disability.

We worked very diligently

at not offending people.

I had no idea, I'm sorry.

Now you know.
Can I get the job?

You're really blind?

Yes. I'm really blind, man!

What are you, fuckin' deaf?

Yes! I'm fucking deaf!

They both were so vulnerable,

and I think they both wore
their hearts on their sleeve,

and that's what we see
coming across, you know,

on the camera,
is this real love.

I got to be on set
and watch the process

of them work together,

and the kindness
that I saw Gene display

towards my dad, who was
struggling sometimes physically.

We have steps coming up, Wally.

Three steps, and--

I witnessed
my dad having trouble walking,

holding on,
and remembering lines

because of the MS.

And I loved that,
in a non-obvious way,

Gene was there for him
to be able to be unsteady

but not come off
unsteady to us.

- That's teamwork.
- ...go!

Of all
the pleasurable times

that Richard and I had
on previous films--

and there were
some wonderful times,

despite the difficulties--

the experience on
See No Evil, Hear No Evil

was the happiest.

- What are you doing?
Richard was sane

and clearheaded
and filled with good humor.

I have a lot of love for you.

Thank you.

Ha! Ha-ha!

People looked forward
to these "buddy" films.

The formula wasn't
just in the writing;

the formula was
the two people.

Here they were,

from different sides
of racial lines,

being able to come together
and make us laugh.

And that's an amazing legacy.

In September
of 1989,

I got a call from

the New York League
for the Hard of Hearing

saying that Ms. Webb
wanted to speak to me.

I called him and said
that I had grant money...

...to make a videotape

for people to learn
to speech-read

so that we could
put them in libraries.

And he said,
"I'd help you with that."

We
arranged to meet

at my favorite Italian
restaurant in Manhattan.

She set a tape recorder
between us,

and while we ate,

Karen posed common problems
for the hearing-impaired.

The second time we met,
at the same restaurant,

we worked on improving
the actual language

that the characters
in each sketch would use.

The third week, I said,

"Leave the tape recorder
at home."

We had our first actual date

on a beautiful fall evening
in the same restaurant

at the same corner table.

He was unique
in that he truly listened.

He was just
a different kind of person

than I'd ever met.

I'd hold
Karen's hand.

To have found someone
at this stage in my life...

I was in love.

Now I'll go back
to watercolor painting

and maybe to acting,
if I get another job,

and--and I'm gonna get married.

Are--Is this an announcement?

Can we--can we--I mean,
is this the first time

you've mentioned it?

- Yes, yeah.
You kiddin' me?

I was wondering
whether to ask her, and I--

Looking at you, I decided,

"I'm going to ask
that girl to marry me."

On September 8th, 1991,

Karen and I were
married in the backyard

of the home in Connecticut
that Gilda had left me.

Fate brought us together
at this exact point

in both of our lives.

If I hadn't been
in See No Evil, Hear No Evil,

I would never
have met "Ms. Webb,"

and now I'm married to her.

Gene was
wonderful.

He was the best husband
I think anybody could ask for.

To love and be loved
is the best gift in the world.

And we had that.

We did watercolors together.

And we played tennis together.

And we walked together,

we played golf together.

He was the world's
greatest lover,

and he was my Frisco Kid.

He truly cared about me.

He loved my family,
even my grandchildren.

And everybody felt that love.

We took
tap-dancing lessons

once a week.

Karen found
a wonderful teacher,

and here's the amazing thing:

It felt as exciting as it did

when we had
our first actual date

when she was
still a stranger to me.

With Karen,
I do believe in fate.

You've
been through so much.

You've had incredible
career success.

You've had tragedy in your life.

You seem like you're
in a really good place now,

you're happy, and that made
me feel really, you know--

that made me feel good,
'cause I just--

I want you to be happy,
so that was nice.

That's true, right?
You feel good.

I'm happier than
I've ever been in my life.

- That's fantastic. Well...

That makes...

When he had
television interviews,

I went with him.

I went with him everywhere.

I went to the movie set.

And I would watch him act.

I'm sorry, Mr. Truman.

- Does my pounding disturb you?
- No, sir.

It just--just
caught me by surprise.

Oh, okay, well,
I'll try to be more considerate

in the future!

We were
blessed with Gene

coming on Will & Grace.

- We were just floored.

I like to think
that he recognized

something in the show that--

that harkened back
to all the things he brought.

He was so kind and gentle.

And I just wanted
to make him laugh.

Say, "I'm Stein."

I'm Stein.

- Louder! "I'm Stein!"
- Louder! "I'm Stein!"

I surprised him
with something in a take

that I'm very proud of.

Your name
is Frankenstein!

It was
just so lovely.

It's one of
my favorite memories.

There was a gentleness
to the show,

and there was
a sensitivity to the show,

and there was an insane
wackiness to the show.

Occupied!

And he got
to do all of those things.

Hear, hear!

It was
almost like a victory lap.

I don't want to have to prove

that I'm a good actor anymore.

I started writing a novel.

Right now, I would rather
write fiction than act.

Gene was
an extremely talented person

in many areas.

He was a very,
very good painter,

mainly watercolors,

and he studied hard,
he took lessons,

he kept trying to get
better and better.

Will you just shut your mouth?

- I'm having a heart attack.
- Oh, nonsense!

I got to do
some plays with Gene

at the Westport Playhouse,
and that was fun,

fun to be on stage with him.

Both Gene and I come
from a background of theater,

and he was a very creative guy

and a big appreciator
of other people's creativity.

The first signs
something was wrong

were when I noticed
Gene would forget things

that were really always
easy for him to remember.

But when-when we did
the one in-in jail--

Stir Crazy.

Yeah. It was Stir Crazy,
wasn't it?

He didn't
remember the name

of the movie Young Frankenstein.

He would've never,
ever forgot that,

because that was
his favorite movie.

He then started
to forget many things,

and I asked him
if he'd noticed

and if he'd go
for an evaluation,

and he said,
"If it gets worse."

A lot of people have
mild cognitive impairment

and it doesn't progress,

and I suppose I hoped
that was what it was.

I found a doctor who did
the comprehensive test

for cognitive impairment
in Connecticut.

Gene was amazed
that he couldn't draw a clock

and make it 10:30.

And he couldn't do it.

He wasn't upset,

he just couldn't figure out why.

But I knew then that
something was very wrong.

Our friend suggested
we go see Dr. Michael Rafii

in San Diego,
where we've spent the winters.

I first met Gene
in January of 2014,

where he was 80 years old.

Based on the history,
the examination,

memory testing,
MRI of the brain,

as well as a very
specialized kind of scan

called an amyloid PET scan,

was confirmatory
for his diagnosis.

Alzheimer's disease dementia.

I said, "Oh, no."

And Gene said, "Oh, no."

He never really accepted
that he had Alzheimer's,

and maybe by the time
we found out that's what it was,

his hippocampus
didn't let him remember.

So I'm not sure
that he ever knew.

When I'd see him
slip away further from me,

I was sick to my stomach,

but I had to keep smiling

and tell him
that everything was okay.

That was the hardest
part for me.

Gene certainly had memory loss

that progressively
worsened over time

and also included
some other thinking skills

that were affected,
including language.

I called him a lot,

thinking maybe if I gave him
enough references,

I could get him out of it.

Insanity, in my part.

He was in the throes
of that terrible disease.

We could never talk too long
after he got it.

It was so sad,
it made me cry a lot, you know.

We still went out to dinner,

and he made it
to his nephew's wedding.

He could hardly walk.

He danced down the aisle

and made it
through the wedding.

He was
always in our prayers,

and it's a sad thing
to see somebody

that you love so much,
you know, suffer like that.

To Karen and anybody,
you know,

who was involved
with him intimately,

it's hard--it's hard
to see that.

People think
Alzheimer's is

only a memory disease,

but what attacks your brain
attacks your body.

Couldn't put on his shoes,
couldn't tie his tie.

One time, he fell,

and there were three of us,

and we couldn't
get him up on the bed.

And finally,
we ended up laughing.

We have pictures
of all of us laughing.

Took us couple of hours.

He was dying, and Gene
looked at me and says,

"Is that what's happening?"

"Yeah," I said. "Yes."

He hadn't walked alone,

and it was just a few days
before he died,

and I looked up,

and he was walking
across the kitchen.

And--and then he said,
"I want to go swimming."

He dove into the pool
like he used to.

I saw his little tush
in the air,

and I was awestruck.

And he took two strokes,
he stood up,

shook his head
the way he always did

to get the water
out of his ear, and said,

"That's good."

Went back to bed,

and I think he just
wanted to get in the pool

one more time.

We always had music playing
in the house.

We used to listen
to Ella Fitzgerald.

The music was playing
in the background.

♪ Somewhere
over the rainbow ♪

Ella Fitzgerald
was singing

"Somewhere Over the Rainbow."

♪ Way up high ♪

I was lying next to him,

and he sat up in bed
and he said...

"I trust you."

Then he said, "I love you."

That's the last thing he said.

There was
some really sad news

about the passing
of Gene Wilder.

We're learning more about
the death of Gene Wilder.

One of the most legendary
comedic talents of our time...

...has died due to complications
from Alzheimer's disease.

The reactions pouring in
from coast to coast.

I was inconsolable
for a couple of weeks.

When he lived his life,
he lived it loud and eloquently.

He was an outstanding actor,

and also, an outstanding person.

You are my best friend!

I believe
Leo Bloom exists.

I believe the Waco Kid exists.

I believe
Dr. Frankenstein exists.

That's insane.

Gene makes you think
that that guy is out there,

trying his hardest,

despite all these obstacles,

to navigate
this impossible world.

He embodied these characters,

and we felt their humanity.

This is a wonderful man.

He made me what I am today.

I miss
his enjoying my humor.

I could make him laugh

where he would
sometimes grab his belly,

hit the ground,

and roll around
on the ground and laugh.

That's the real payment
in being a comic.

And, boy, he paid,
he was delicious.

Acting seems
so much easier than life,

and when I'm taking my bow,

I have the belief that I've
earned my feeling of grace,

as if God were saying,
"You did something worthwhile."