Page 3 - Tales the Maggid Never Told Me

Alternate Hollywood

The actor pouted. “Like what, for instance?”
“All right. The scene we’re doing right now. It’s Hannah’s
wedding, and her father rejected you in favor of the son of that
dishonest dealer in shabbes candles. You’re putting on a brave
front, right? And when the musicians come in, you give the
fiddler money and yell what?”
“‘It’s time to have a narghila!’ I know my lines.”
The veteran film-maker shook his head sadly. “No, that’s not
quite right, Bernie. Yossele does not want to drown his sorrows in
hashish. He wants to dance. It’s ‘hava nagila.’”
“So what? So my grandparents came from a different part of
Europe than you’re used to hearing. You’re not giving me a hard
time just because of my accent, are you?”
“No, it’s not just that. Yesterday, in the scene where the
Polish Catholic servant knocks over the pot of borscht, you were
supposed to show real anger, really tell him off.”
Bernie frowned. “Well, didn’t I? I thought I did a good job of
scaring old Shlep ‘n’ Borchet. It looked like his eyes were going to
pop out of his head when I got through screaming at him.”
“Yeah, you screamed at that old bohunk, all right. But you
didn’t talk with your hands. You just balled up your fists as if you
were about to slug him.”
“So? That’s realistic, isn’t it?”
“Perhaps; but it’s not Jewish enough.” There, thought B. J.
I’ve said it. Now to let him go through his number.
“Not Jewish enough! What the hell do you mean by that? You
goddamn cracker: what do you know about being Jewish?”
Cochran raised his hands in the universal gesture of placation.
“Now don’t go flying off the handle, son. You’ve done a pretty good
job in action-adventure films like ‘Accountants Overboard’ and
‘Moyels in Love’, where physical comedy and a good tailor got you a
big following, and the best plastic surgeon in town gave you the kind
of profile fifty million Jewish teen-age girls swoon over. But
something in your past is interfering with this film, and it’s got to be
straightened out.”
Bernie looked around furtively. The stuffing had gone out of him.
“What? What about my past, B. J.?”

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