I'm Not Dead... Yet! (35 page)

Then late in 1992, Burt Reynolds called. Burt liked the way I directed him in
Modern Love
, so he asked me if I’d be interested in directing an episode of his hit sitcom,
Evening Shade
.

When I was young and in a musical, my dream job was to be the conductor, surrounded by all of the gorgeous music. As an actor, I dreamed about being a camera operator and learned from some of the best. When I was a baseball player, even though I was always brought in to pitch, I wanted to be the catcher and be involved in every pitch in the game. Now I had an opportunity to direct prime-time network television, and an all-star cast including three wonderful stage and film actors I had worked with in the past: Charles Durning
(Die Laughing),
Ossie Davis
(Harry and Son)
and Hal Holbrook
(Our Town)
. Working with these actors and Elizabeth Ashley, Marilu Henner and Michael Jeter was a dream. We respected one another because we all had been working in the business for decades.

Burt had a reputation with his executive producers, the Bloodworth-Thomasons, and show runners as being hard to handle and ‘impossible to direct.’
But if you understood Burt and the position he was in, you would see that his occasional ‘outrageous’ behavior wasn’t necessarily uncalled for. The truth is, Burt Reynolds was a complete pro as long as you discussed your thoughts with an understanding of what an actor must do in order to follow the directions given. So for me, the job was a perfect fit. I was always honest with Burt and he respected me for it.

Burt Reynolds is one of the all-time great men in our business. I love him. He is as kind and giving and loyal as anyone I’ve ever met. And because of Burt, I have number one shows on my resume.

Directing television became a dream job
. I had overcome open-heart surgery and proved to my community, but more importantly, to myself, that life can move forward in a glorious way after such a life altering operation.

As a matter of fact, this was a high point in my life. I was able to be creative but because it was TV, I was able to have a home life. I wasn’t on the road with a film working horrendous hours; I could have breakfast with my family, go to work, Karla could stop by for lunch, and then I would go home in time to watch the sunset with Karla, Lyric and Zephyr. It was a gift from the Entertainment Gods.

I was still passionate about teaching, not only because I loved it, but because of the stability factor for my family. In the fall of 1993, the former provost at the University of South Carolina, Arthur K. Smith, who was now the first non-Mormon President at the University of Utah, contacted me. He wanted to beef up the arts and asked me if I would be interested in teaching at The University of Utah.

The answer was a quick ‘Yes.’

Salt Lake City, from my first glimpse at a map, was a 90-minute flight from L.A. in case I needed to get some work done and then fly home. We found a dream home 35 minutes up the mountain from the airport in Park City where hot air balloons took off in the back yard. It was magical; whimsical. Should we buy it? I could commute... I wasn’t working every week as a TV director, and we could all live in this fairy-tale of a place—and learn how to ski, too! It was tempting. Karla and I had giddy conversations about our next adventure. (Everything to us was an adventure.)

But then, like everyone in L.A., on January 17, 1994 we were suddenly awakened at 4:30 a.m. Our home in Tarzana was only six miles from the epicenter of the Northridge Earthquake. The most violent shocks were measured less than a mile away from our house. Guess what? It was time for a new friggin’ adventure. That was a mean earthquake. It had a personality; a bad one.

Off we went to our dream house. Karla and I talked about uprooting the family but we didn’t discuss any medical concerns. It had been more than nine years since my heart surgery, and my bovine valve had lasted a long time—when would it need to be replaced? I had no symptoms, and I seemed to have plenty of energy, whatever the altitude. Life was good. Oh, so good.

We settled in Park City, I taught at the University of Utah and did a few directing jobs in Los Angeles.

What a perfect situation, I thought. Little did I know that because Burt Reynolds took a chance on me, I would soon be flying back and forth from Burbank to Salt Lake City as much as a pilot for Southwest Airlines.

I was hired by the talented people
at Wind Dancer Productions. They made working on the sitcom
Thunder Alley
(starring Ed Asner and Haley Joel Osment) a great experience. Matt Williams, Carmen Finestra and David McFadzean were the producer-writing dream-team in my TV career. They are magnificent men with extraordinary talent and very secure in their own skin. I directed a complete season for them.

Karla and I were still living in Park City because of my affiliation with the University of Utah. The consequence and irony of (success) my directing career taking over our lives and schedules, yet fitting teaching and directing into the same equation had become… difficult, but
doable
. Yes; I still made/forced it all to work.

It was great for my students (that fact being so very important to me) because not only was their professor up-to-date with what was happening on sets in L.A., but I could get students at the U. of U. to visit Hollywood sets, take tours of Panavision, and get them into places and see things they normally would not be allowed to soak up back in Salt Lake City. (I owe a lifetime of thanks to the good people at Panavision, especially going back to the Robert Gottschalk era when I was allowed to learn and ‘play’ with every new and old piece of equipment on a weekly basis at the ‘Old Panavision’ in Tarzana.)

My directing career skyrocketed in the 90s—I became one of the most sought after TV directors in the business. From the top 20 to the number one rated show on the air, if it was funny, I directed it. I never had a day off. Even on weekends I would be prepping for the next week’s show, which is professional—which is why I kept getting more and more work. Funny is serious business.

‘The Funny’ means everything to me. Without ‘the funny’ life is… tough. I don’t expect people to live like me, but through the hardest times, when I see ‘the funny’—I survive. I also think ‘the funny’ is what keeps Karla and me so in tune with one another. If I take something too seriously, all Karla has to do is make fun of me and suddenly I see what a jerk I’m being—and abruptly, everything is funny and I stop being an ass. The pressure valve is released and the laughs are contagious. Comedy: what a great elixir for an open-heart patient.

But with every medicine comes a side effect.

Because I was good at my job, I began directing 24/7. I was very ‘old school.’ In other words, I believed a show had to be worthy of being broadcast to millions of people. It was not my job just to get a show in the can, or to merely shoot the show. I had to find every bit of funny available and exploit it honestly. To me, my job description was the same as the men and women who taught me my craft: it must be your best effort—
or don’t do it
. I loved the process of finding funny bits that weren’t on the page. I adored taking care of the actors, and at the same time, because I was a writer and the son of a writer, nothing was ever at the expense of the writer or the script.