Kind of Like James L. Brooks. Broadcast News and As Good As It Gets? Awesome.
Then comes Spanglish. Barf. Brooks lost his touch, kind of kind Apatow
seems to have done. I was about to write
off Judd Apatow for good and then I came
to this little story where he fawns over Steve Martin. That’s when I knew that he was not
hopeless. Anyone who worships Steve
Martin is okay in my book. Even Martin
had his share of flops and misses but after every Sgt. Bilko or Pink Panther, he
got back on track eventually and produced some great work. Apatow can do the same- he just needs to get
back in touch with his inner Martin. If
you look below at “Death Of An Anecdote”, you’ll see the item I’m talking
about. It was a really sweet and amusing
story and it showed why Steve Martin is worthy of emulation and how Apatow’s comic
sensibility can redeem him if he puts his mind to it.
Then on the next page of the magazine, I
see something titled “Birth Of An Anecdote” by Steve Martin. I almost fall out of my seat from laughing,
just from the anticipation, from the idea of what is about to come. Then I actually read Martin’s response and
think “No wonder this guy is a master of Twitter and a genius at succinct, humorous
essays.” He can take the nine sentences below
and compose a perfect response- one that is funny, subversive, understands context
and elevates the gag to a higher level. Then
on top of that, there is the picture after the two anecdotes. Perfection.
These two pages made my day. Now
that I’ve hyped it up so much, maybe you should quickly lower your expectations
before reading the bits below so you can experience the same unexpected reading
pleasure that I experienced on a subway car late at night.
Judd Apatow: The
Death of an Anecdote
(By Judd Apatow, Guest
Editor for Vanity Fair December 2012 Issue)
I have always loved comedy, and this
portfolio and issue, filled with men and women I admire, are my attempt to show
you what it means to me. Some of them have shaped my sensibility; others just
make me laugh. Anyway, I’m proud to have
worked with many of the comic geniuses who appear in these pages, one of whom I
have a fantastic anecdote about. I probably tell it too often. But here goes.
One last time, for Vanity Fair, and then I’ll retire it forever.
When I was 12
years old, I went to visit my grandparents in Beverly Hills. I was, and am
still, a massive Steve Martin fan. One day, in the car, my grandmother pointed
out where he lived. A few days later, as
we drove by, I looked out the window and saw something mind-blowing. Steve
Martin was standing in front of his house! I yelled at my grandmother to stop
the car, grabbed a pen and paper, and jumped out.
“Mr. Martin. Can
I have your autograph?”
“No, I’m sorry,
but I don’t sign autographs at my house.”“Please?”
“I’m sorry, but
if I do, then people will start coming over.”
“Well, will you
sign it in the street?”
I thought that
was pretty good for a 12-year-old. But he said no and apologized. I jumped back
in the car in a rage. Back at my grandparents, I pulled out a notepad and
started writing him a letter:
Dear Mr. Martin,
I think you are the funniest man on earth, but you
treat your fans like crap. If I didn’t buy all your albums and go to all your
movies you wouldn’t live in that house. If you don’t send me an apology I am
going to send your address to “Homes of the Stars” and you will have tour buses
passing by 24 hours a day.
I left it in his
mailbox—for effect.
About six months
later, back home, I received a package. Inside was the book Cruel Shoes,
by Steve Martin, with the following inscription:
Dear Judd,
I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I was speaking to the
Judd Apatow!
Your friend,
Steve Martin 3/80
Steve Martin 3/80
I knew that the
only reason he responded was because my letter had made him laugh. If I could
make Steve Martin laugh, then maybe one day I could enter this mysterious world
of comedy. I tell this story a lot and feel bad if it ever sounds like he was
not gracious. If someone walked up to my door and asked for my autograph, I’d
be pissed, then move in a panic. Thanks, Steve!
The Birth Of An Anecdote
(By Steve Martin, Vanity Fair, December 2012)