When I came into his office on Friday, I had bells hanging around my ankles and shook them. He laughed out loud. I brought him what we had outlined of the script, and he looked through it and said, “Interesting. Very interesting. I think this will work.”
As he continued reading, he gave me some wonderful pointers on what he thought was more important, and then not so important. The things he thought would work, and stuff he thought was not worth exploring. Then he said, “Come over every Friday. I’ll make time for you and take a look at where you are in the script.”
Wow, I couldn’t believe it! Dutifully, I was there every Friday for pointers from the great Alfred Hitchcock…as well as a free lunch!
On one of those occasions he said, “I’ve got a joke for you. Maybe you could use it?”
And then he told me the following: “Our hero is running from someone who’s trying to kill him. He’s running full tilt, full speed. The killer is right behind him and closing in. He comes to a dock and sees a ferry. The space between the ferry and the dock is about eight feet. He leaps with all his might and comes crashing to the deck of the ferry. He just makes it. But unfortunately, instead of going out, the ferry is coming in.”
It was really funny, but I could not find a place in the script to use it. (And I never told him it was much too expensive to shoot.)
Over the weeks we became pretty good chums. He was just wonderful. He was like a silent partner. He would give me notes on the script and what he thought I should push. We would eat lunch after, which was set up in the next room. It was always a beautifully prepared meal. I could smell the roast beef and the roast potatoes, the succulent aromas emanating from the adjoining dining room. At that point in his life, Hitch had arthritis and problems with his knees. So unfortunately, one day he was in the doorway between his office and the luncheon room and got kind of stuck there. I don’t know what possessed me, but I had a crazy comedy urge and I acted on it. I banged my knee into his tush and said, “Come on, Al. Get moving. We’re hungry!”
I immediately realized, What have I done?
And then he just broke out into a big laugh. He said, “You naughty boy.”
He loved it. I think he enjoyed my basically crude Brooklyn humor. He liked the juxtaposition of it against his proper English background.
Hitch was also very funny. His films used a lot of dark humor to heighten the tension. In North by Northwest (1959), when Cary Grant’s Roger Thornhill is being led away by the two enemy agents, no one believes he is being threatened. His mother asks the agents, “You gentlemen aren’t really trying to kill my son, are you?”
Out to dinner with Alfred Hitchcock at the famous Chasen’s restaurant in Los Angeles. (Hitch paid.)
Everyone starts laughing and the joke is on his mother.
In Rear Window (1954), Jimmy Stewart asks his editor, “Gunnison, how did you get to be such a big editor with such a small memory?”
And the editor comes back with, “Thrift, industry, and hard work, and also catching the publisher with his secretary.”
I think he understood that I wasn’t going to make fun of him. If the picture is a send-up, it’s also an act of homage to a great artist. Hitchcock could really manipulate an audience’s emotions; he could go from light comedy to stark drama. I was inspired by his genius. As a matter of fact, I dedicated the film to him.
It read like this:
This film is dedicated
to the Master of Suspense
Alfred Hitchcock
For the basic movie that would house all his unforgettable scenes, we decided on a takeoff of a wonderful Hitchcock thriller Vertigo (1958). In particular, we borrowed scenes from Hitchcock’s Spellbound (1945), Psycho (1960), The Birds (1963), and North by Northwest (1959). But we were careful to structure the script in a way that would make narrative sense even to an audience entirely ignorant of Hitchcock’s work. It had to work on its own as a good, funny comedy.
We called our picture High Anxiety, and I would be playing the new head psychiatrist of a place we called “the Institute for the Very Very Nervous.” My character was called Dr. Richard H. Thorndyke and in the movie when he’s asked what the H stands for he says, “Harpo, my mother was a big fan of the Marx Brothers. She loved Harpo.”
As the High Anxiety script took shape, we also thought a lot about casting. For the main villains of the piece, I hired two inspired comic talents, Harvey Korman and Cloris Leachman. Harvey had done such a terrific job in Blazing Saddles; I was always looking for how I could use him again. The same goes for Cloris, who was the iconic Frau Blücher in Young Frankenstein. As Dr. Charles Montague and Nurse Diesel, they were stuffing the institute with perfectly sane people that they were making crazy and turning it into an enormous cash cow for themselves.
In one scene with Harvey as Dr. Montague, Harvey’s line and his timing were so brilliant that I nearly broke up and ruined the take. It goes like this: I ask Harvey, “Can you tell me the rate of patient recovery here at the institute?”
Harvey replies, “Rate of patient recovery? I’ll have that for you in a moment.” He reaches into his pocket and whips out a small handheld calculator. He taps it once or twice and then says, “Once in a blue moon.”
I don’t know how I held it together.
When Cloris showed up to shoot her first scene as Nurse Diesel, she was wearing a nurse’s uniform with two large, pointed breasts like a Teutonic Valkyrie in Wagner’s “Ride of the Valkyries.” At first, I thought that was going overboard, but then I realized she was doing a take on Nurse Ratched from One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest (1975), which was really perfect. And then I noticed what I thought was a faint mustache under her nose.
When I said, “Cloris, do you realize that in a close-up we can see that you have a mustache?”
She said, “Yes, I know. I put it there.”
“Fine,” I said. (Who was I to argue with the great Cloris Leachman?)
Dick Van Patten played an innocent and hapless psychologist, Dr. Wentworth, who is going to spill the beans, but before he can, Montague and Nurse Diesel get rid of him in a horrific scene in which he’s trapped in his car as the radio (which he can’t turn off) plays a loud rock song called “If You Love Me Baby Tell Me Loud” which gets louder and louder until his eardrums burst. It was a very scary scene, which Dick pulled off perfectly.
I met Dick when the two of us played tennis at Merv Griffin’s ex-wife Julann Griffin’s home. We went on to become close friends. One of the most interesting stories about our friendship involved an emergency call I got from him. Dick was in his home in Sherman Oaks when he became dizzy and unstable. He thought he was having a stroke. He managed to fumble his way to his telephone. His first instinct was not to call a doctor, but to call a comedian. He dialed my number. I picked up the phone.
Dick said, “I’ve got a problem.”
I said, “What’s the matter?”
He said, “I think I’m having a stroke. My whole arm is tingling, and now it’s going to my leg.”