I was working in Hollywood at Universal Studios for a producer named Marvin Schwartz. He had several projects in the idea stage for me to help him develop.
I noticed a sign on the next bungalow read granart.
I asked Marvin, “What’s Granart?”
He said, “That’s Cary Grant’s company.”
I got so excited. “Does he ever show up?” I asked.
Marvin said, “Yes. He comes to the office all the time.”
One day I was walking to lunch and I heard a voice behind me: “Mel Brooks, Mel Brooks!”
I turned around. Oh my god! It was Cary Grant.
He’s talking to me. I heard my name! I said to myself, “My name is Mel Brooks!” So I turned around and said, “Cary Grant!”
He said, “Yes! I’m Cary Grant.”
I said, “Well, I don’t know if you’re Cary Grant or not, but that’s the best impression of Cary Grant I’ve ever heard!”
He laughed and I said, “You shouldn’t talk to me. I’m nothing! I’m a…I’m a figment of your imagination! You’re a great big star. I’m a little Jew from Brooklyn. Don’t even look at me!”
He said, “I spent a thousand dollars yesterday buying your 2000 Year Old Man record. I’ve sent your records to all my friends, it’s the funniest damn record I’ve ever heard in my life!”
I couldn’t believe it. Praise like that from Cary Grant!
“Where are you going?” he said.
“I’m going to the commissary,” I said.
“Okay, come on. I’ll buy your lunch.”
To which I said, “All right, Cary Grant!”
So we go to the commissary together. I walk past my friend Murray who worked for Lou Wasserman and I said, “Murray, me and Cary Grant are going to lunch!”
Murray was impressed.
We sit down and Cary orders dry toast, two boiled eggs, and a cup of tea. I order a tuna fish sandwich on rye. We eat. And we start talking about different things.
He asks, “What’s your favorite color?”
I said, “Blue. What’s your favorite color?”
He said, “Yellow.”
Okay, fine, great! We finish lunch, and we go back. He goes to Granart. I go to Schwartz.
Next day. Ring! “Is Mel Brooks there?”
Yeah, he’s there. “It’s Cary Grant.”
Carl and me, back to back, laughing it up.
“Cary Grant, for me?”
“Are we going to lunch?”
“Yes, Cary! I’ll meet you right outside.”
“Okay, buddy!”
Cary Grant and I are walking to lunch.
I said, “How you doing? What’s your favorite car?”
He said, “Rolls-Royce. What’s yours?”
I said, “I like a ’38 Buick.” We talk about clothes. He likes double-breasted, I like single-breasted. We talk shoes. He likes brown, maroon, or black. I like black-and-white wing tips. We can’t get enough of each other. We continue our small talk. “I like a red tie, you like a blue tie, isn’t that great?” I like his hair; he has no comment on mine. We arrive at the commissary. He has boiled eggs; I have a tuna fish sandwich. We finish lunch. He goes back to Granart. I go back to Schwartz. Fine.
The next two days? Ring! “Mel? It’s Cary.”
“Lunch?”
“You got it!”
By this time we meet outside and we’re skipping to the lunchroom; we’re so happy to be together. But the conversation is getting sparse. I don’t really know what to say anymore at lunch. I’m getting a little worried.
The next day, Friday, the phone rings…
“Hello, is Mel Brooks there?”
And I said, “If it’s Cary Grant—I’m not in!”
That is the story I tell onstage and it really garners big laughs, but the truth is in real life our conversations were a lot more in-depth. Cary told me about his struggles with the studios, he wanted to be doing more important serious films and not just light comedies. But the studios system wouldn’t allow it as long as the light comedies were making them big money. I remember seeing a few of his serious films and we talked about Penny Serenade （1941） and None but the Lonely Heart （1944）。 I told him they were both wonderful and his performances in them were incredibly moving. He really appreciated the compliment and explained that unfortunately neither film did that well at the box office. So unless he could raise his own money, he was stuck with what the studio offered him. He was intelligent, sensitive, and I really treasured his company and friendship.