Van Helsing: …Keep it.
When I said “cut,” I never heard such a loud laugh in my life. The entire crew collapsed in laughter. We could only shoot that scene four times, because our costumer only had four white period shirts for Steven Weber to wear. After each take, the entire set was cleaned up and Steve showered off the fake blood and put on a new white shirt. With each successive take we used bigger and bigger fountains of blood. So of course we ended up using the fourth take, which was practically visual pandemonium. Every inch of that set was drenched in a deluge of bright red blood. It might not have appeared realistic, but like they say in comedy: Bigger is better.
* * *
—
For our ending we took a page from Bram Stoker’s book that Dracula must never be seen in daylight. He can only roam the earth in darkness. In Hammer’s 1958 film Horror of Dracula, Van Helsing rips the curtains from a window before Dracula can get safely back into his coffin, flooding the room with sunlight and immediately reducing Dracula to ashes. For our film we had it be Dracula’s own devoted minion Renfield who attempts to save him by opening a trapdoor in the attic to let him escape his pursuers. Unfortunately, Renfield fails to realize it is daytime and so the trapdoor lets in a huge beam of sunlight, which instantaneously starts to destroy Dracula.
As he turns to dust, he screams angrily, “Renfield, you asshole!”
Trying to make the best of a bad situation, Renfield draws a little smiley face with his finger in the mound of dust that used to be his master.
* * *
—
We had so much fun working on the movie that even after it was finished and released, Rudy De Luca, Steve Haberman, and myself kept up our habit of having lunch together in my office about once a week. Those luncheons with Rudy and Steve went on for quite a while, but they don’t win the award for my longest running meal companion…
That award goes to Alfa-Betty Olsen, who I first met way back on Get Smart and who was also invaluable to me in many roles, especially as casting director while I was making my first movie, The Producers （1968）。 Alfa-Betty still lives in New York, but she frequently comes out to California for a visit. It all started with dinner with just me, Alfa-Betty, and her longtime writing partner and close friend Marshall Efron. Marshall was a brilliant comic, writer, and actor, best known for his performances on the PBS series The Great American Dream Machine. We’d all have Chinese food, and just like with Mario Puzo, there were never leftovers to take home because Marshall took care of that—he was a Chinese-food vacuum cleaner, and never let a stray noodle go unslurped.
It was somewhere around this time, I forget exactly when, but one summer when Anne and I were in London, my British BBC pal Alan Yentob introduced me to a prominent literary agent by the name of Ed Victor. I really liked Ed, he was a bright snazzy dresser and genuine bon vivant. Even though he was an American, he chose to make his business and home in London. At any party he was always a standout—wearing a double-breasted chalk stripe suit replete with a yellow flowered boutonniere in his lapel. And in his right hand a beautiful crystal glass of expensive French Bordeaux. He became so damn British that eventually he earned a CBE, a “Commander of the Most Excellent Order of the British Empire.” We had two important things in common: good books and good wine. Ed and I became good friends, and it was fortuitous that, like Anne and I, Ed also had a summer house in the same little town in the Hamptons called Water Mill. We’d often go to dinner with Ed and his lovely wife, Carol, when we were both in the Hamptons during the summers.
When my son Max showed me a rough draft for what would become his first book, The Zombie Survival Guide, I thought it was so unique and original. It was a completely serious look at something totally unreal: a step-by-step guide on how to survive a zombie apocalypse. And we happened to be in the Hamptons at the time, so naturally, the first person I shared it with was my literary agent friend, Ed Victor. After reading it, Ed agreed that the book was completely different, quirky, and really entertaining. He immediately told Max he wanted to represent it. And represent it he did! He made a great deal for Max at the Crown Publishing division of Random House. The only thing that slowed up its sales at the beginning was that because Max had been an Emmy-winning writer at Saturday Night Live, the book was put in the humor section of bookstores instead of where it eventually found a home, and its huge readership, in the self-help and reference section. Like Max explains, “I can’t think of anything less funny than dying in a zombie attack.”