Here is what he said:
“Lavishing praise on people does not come easy to me. In fact, I find it quite distasteful. Let’s just say it’s not my cup of tea. Usually I have to wait for somebody to die to do it, and even then, I have to give it a couple of years. But not so tonight. When I first heard the 2000 Year Old Man, I was laughing so hard my father came into the room and turned off the record player. ‘What the hell’s going on in here, Larry?’ See, my parents didn’t mind me chuckling at a comedy album, or a TV show. A little chuckle was fine. But this was something else entirely. This was disturbing. So out of the ordinary. I never knew a person could be that funny. And from the very first time I heard that album, from that moment on, I said to myself, I can never ever be a comedian. What is the point? So Mel Brooks didn’t get me into comedy. He kept me away from it. I wasted years doing nothing because of him. No job, living at home, lying on the couch watching Shindig. My parents were beside themselves. They cried themselves to sleep every night. He killed them. He killed my parents that little Jew bastard. Working with Mel on my show was one of the great thrills of my life. And that season was inspired by what was possibly the greatest comedic premise that anyone has ever dreamed up. The Producers.”
When the camera cut to my reaction everybody was puzzled—I wasn’t there! I had slipped under the table, unable to speak and laughing my brains out.
* * *
—
Earlier the AFI had asked me to choose from a list of previous recipients who I wanted to actually present the award to me at the end of the night. The minute I saw Marty Scorsese’s name on the list I said, “See if you can get him.”
When Bob Gazzale called me back to say that Scorsese was honored to be chosen and more than happy to do it, I was absolutely thrilled.
Here is what Martin Scorsese said that night when he handed me the award:
“You know, there is a lot we take for granted but we shouldn’t. And one of them is the treasured tradition of classic American film comedy. That’s what we’re celebrating here and honoring tonight. Because in Mel’s films, all bets are off. The boundaries between what’s funny and what isn’t kind of fade away or tumble like that sheet falling in It Happened One Night. Mel breaks these boundaries with laughter. These boundaries actually disintegrate before your eyes at the end of Blazing Saddles. Telling a joke is one thing, making it part of a cohesive whole is something else again. And that’s where the filmmaking comes in, his mastery of filmmaking. Mel has an anarchic spirit but a loving heart, and his films come from a profound fondness for classic cinema and a deep understanding of it. His uniquely manic sensibility is hardwired to something that is so easy to miss because we are laughing so hard, and that is his extremely disciplined mastery of the vocabulary of film. Mel has made his own comedy his own way and reminded us yet again what it’s all too easy to forget: You could be a great filmmaker, just for laughs.
“Ladies and gentlemen, the recipient of the AFI 41st Life Achievement Award, Mel Brooks.”
Needless to say, I was humbled and flattered by Scorsese’s beautiful and eloquent tribute. But now it was time for me to say good night and give my acceptance speech.
Here is how I began: From inside my tuxedo pocket, I pulled out a stack of notecards. I said, “So here are my notes.”
I picked up the first one and read:
“Thank AFI, friends, family, and colleagues for coming—try to be sincere.”
I set that card aside to a nice bit of laughter and picked up the next card:
“This says I grew up in a tenement at 365 South Third Street and everyone there was either working or destined to end up working in the Garment Center. But I took a road less traveled: movies. And they saved me. Movies saved my life. They rescued my soul. No matter what was bad or wrong it could be wiped out on Saturday morning.”
Now let me interrupt here to explain something. I’m gonna tell you the god’s honest truth. I realized that the recipient of the AFI award, if they are still alive, usually comes back to say some nice words the following year about the new AFI honoree. I just didn’t want to do that. I didn’t want to have to come back here, wear a tuxedo and tight shiny patent leather shoes, eat that dry chicken washed down with not the very best wine, and—no offense—make believe I was enjoying the evening. So instead, I devised a plan to both do the job and not have to come back.
This is what I said:
“…with your permission I’d like to preemptively toast next year’s honoree. So I don’t have to come back, okay? Listen, he or she is a remarkable creative force who has had a huge impact on my life and career. I’ve known him or her for over twenty years and can honestly say that he or she is the only person that I’ve never been jealous of, because when somebody is truly talented you just have to salute it! So here’s to you for a well-deserved award, and to the AFI—you finally got it right!”