Mike, Gene, and I bravely yelled back, “Then break it!”
* * *
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On that very same afternoon our producer, Mike Gruskoff, said, “My friend Laddie has just become part of the new leadership at Twentieth Century Fox.”
Alan Ladd, Jr.—Laddie to his friends—was the son of the terrific forties film star Alan Ladd, who had played some memorable roles such as the lead in This Gun for Hire （1942） and the famous title role in Shane （1953）。 Laddie and Mike had been agents together and they were still good buddies.
Mike ran the script over to Laddie’s house that night and Laddie later told me that he read it twice from eleven p.m. until one in the morning. He just couldn’t put it down. He really loved it.
We all hit it off at our first meeting because the first thing Laddie said was, “You’re absolutely right. It should be made in black and white.”
I knew right then and there that I had finally met a studio chief that I could really trust.
He had a lot of faith in me. He said, “Use Stage Five at Fox; it’s enormous, it’s gorgeous, and it’s yours. And don’t worry about the money. Whatever you need to make it, you’ve got it.”
What a guy! He authorized a budget of 2.4 million dollars.
I didn’t know it then, but I had a new long-term creative home at Fox. During the filming of Young Frankenstein, Blazing Saddles became an enormous hit, and I was ardently wooed by several big studios, but my heart was now pledged to Laddie and Twentieth Century Fox because he had taken a chance on me. He had picked up Young Frankenstein without even knowing that Blazing Saddles would be a massive hit. So I later signed a three-picture deal with him at Fox. It’s many years later, and at this writing, he’s still one of my dearest friends.
But back to Young Frankenstein…
* * *
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Once again, I got Kenny Mars, who played the crazy German playwright Franz Liebkind in The Producers, to be the crazy German policeman Inspector Kemp in Young Frankenstein. Any time I needed a crazy German, I knew I could count on Kenny Mars to be there. He came up with a wonderful suggestion: He would put his character’s monocle over his black eye patch, thereby making it completely useless.
For Castle Frankenstein’s loony housekeeper, Frau Blücher, we got the truly gifted Cloris Leachman, who had won a Best Supporting Actress Oscar for her brilliant performance in Peter Bogdanovitch’s The Last Picture Show （1971）。 She could do anything, drama or comedy. She turned in one of the funniest performances of anybody in the film. I told her as a film model for her performance we decided she would be a Teutonic Judith Anderson replete with a mole on her cheek à la the cold and domineering Mrs. Danvers in Hitchcock’s Rebecca （1940）。 We added the touch that every time her name is mentioned the horses would whinny and rear up in fear in the background. There was a General Blücher who was the Prussian victor at the Battle of Waterloo, and I just liked the sound of that name. The horses whinny because Frau Blücher is ominous. Even they know how crazy she is. Someone told me, I think incorrectly, that the German word Blücher means “glue” and that when the horses heard the name Blücher they were terrified that they’d end up in a glue factory.
For Dr. Frankenstein’s attractive lab assistant, Inga, we got the beautiful and talented Teri Garr. She came up with a wonderfully unique version of a German accent. I knew Teri would be sensational when she was reading the line where Frau Blücher is removing the big steel restraints that keep the monster on the laboratory table.
Teri was supposed to come down the steps and say, “No, no, you mustn’t.”
In Teri’s audition, with great fear in her voice she said, “No, no, you mozzn’t!”
Giving it just the right Transylvanian touch.
One of my favorite scenes was Teri’s unassuming, blushing take when Gene looks at the front door of the castle and sees these incredible iron rings.
When Marty bangs them against the giant door, Gene says: “My god, what knockers!”
And Teri replies, “Vy thank you, Doctor.”
Teri’s performance was spot-on.
To complete the trio of hilarious women in Young Frankenstein, we again employed the services of the great Madeline Kahn. Gene and I wrote the role of the snooty Park Avenue socialite Elizabeth with Madeline in mind. We liked the idea that “Dr. Fronkensteen” had a fiancée that was more interested in diamond earrings than reanimated dead tissue.
It was my idea that when Elizabeth is seduced by the monster instead of screaming in terror she bursts into song, singing, “Ah, sweet mystery of life, at last I’ve found you!”