New Mel Brooks biography focuses on director’s dark side
Patrick McGilligan’s new biography, “Funny Man: Mel Brooks,” seeks to undermine the cultivated image of the lovable, goofy uber-Jew who has worked in film, television, audio recordings and theater. He has earned an Oscar, four Emmys, three Tonys, three Grammys, a Kennedy Center Honor and a National Medal of the Arts. If one were to hold up these accolades as evidence of Brooks’ genius, McGilligan’s response might resemble the soundtrack from a certain vulgar scene in “Blazing Saddles.”
The book’s organizing principle is that Brooks is bifurcated, a Jekyll-and-Hyde-type being, comprising “Good Mel” and “Bad Mel.” Good Mel, resembling Yogurt from “Spaceballs” — kindly and ever ready with a pun or an endearingly crude joke — is the public Mel. But
Bad Mel — like the nasty, greedy and uncaring President Skroob — is most of Mel.
McGilligan distinguishes three phases in the comedian’s life: pre-famous Mel, famous Mel and little old man Mel. Young Melvin Kaminsky was the innocent Good Mel. Making his widowed mother and older brothers laugh as a boy, he grows to idolize the Borscht
Belt saxophonist and rising comedy star Sid Caesar as a late teen, becoming Caesar’s personal jester, forever at his heel trying to make him laugh to gain validation. Adopting a truncated version of his mother’s maiden name, Brookman, he becomes a mixture of vulnerability and tenacity, yearning for Caesar’s approval so that he may glom onto his accelerating success.
At the end of the book, as a senior citizen, Good Mel again resurfaces. He is the cute old Jew who reminisces and makes jokes that come across as innocuous, even in their occasional vulgarity.
But for the vast majority of McGilligan’s telling, the Mel of the Mel Brooks brand is Bad Mel. And not just bad, but a new Jewish supervillain, the Incredible Schmuck, who, whenever anyone else receives credit or compensation for creative work, turns green with envy and rages in a destructive, often litigious fury that wrecks anything and anyone who gets in his way, friend or foe.
McGilligan’s cataloging of the artistic, financial and personal atrocities of Bad Mel constitutes the main thrust of the telling of Brooks’ life story. You do not come away from the book feeling like you have spent time with Mel Brooks. Rather, you feel like you were on a long car ride with Brooks’ gossipy, catty accountant. In exploring a prolific figure in show business, we get lots of business and much less show.
Brooks has warts. From his serial womanizing during his first marriage and the shielding of his wealth during the divorce, to squabbles over on-screen credits and revenue from creative work, there are morally worrisome elements that should complicate our understanding of him. But McGilligan is so enthusiastic about the destructive aspects that the complexity becomes caricature.
The minimal descriptions of his caring thereby seem peculiar. McGilligan describes one such act, when Brooks found a small role in “Spaceballs” for an actor who otherwise would not have met his annual minimum earnings for union-provided health insurance for his family. The actor, Ted Sorel, wrote a letter to the Los Angeles Times saying, “When I mentioned this thoughtfulness to one of Brooks’ associates on the movie, he remarked that I was one of many remembered with similar favors.”
There is some of what Brooks’ fans would hope for in a biography, the sort of behindthe-scenes insights that provide us with background into the bits and characters that have become so beloved.
While devoted Brooks fans may recognize some of these tidbits, there are enough new trivia nuggets that most readers will come away with something they did not know before.
For those who want an indepth account of Mel Brooks, the ruthless businessman, “Funny Man” is for you. For those who want a genuine funny book about the man, you’ll feel more like you were ruthlessly given the business. Steven Gimbel is the author of “Isn’t That Clever: A Philosophy of Humor and Comedy” and a professor of Judaic studies and philosophy at Gettysburg College.