Judd: The work can really bring out the worst side of you when you feel like someone else is ruining it. I can completely lose my mind.
Albert: But you’re supposed to. If you’re in a position where an argument can win, you’re supposed to argue. I mean, I’ve lost only a few arguments. That was the good thing about writing and directing my own movies. For Lost in America, they were telling me, “He doesn’t have enough stupid jobs before he decides to go back to New York. Put in more jobs.” And I said, “When you have a man in a crossing guard outfit, there’s no other stupid job.” They said, “Just try some.” So that was easy, because I was able to say, “Here’s one: Find someone who looks like me and you film it. If it works, we’ll put it in.” That argument I can win.
Judd: How does it feel for you that these movies that were painful at the time and didn’t make that much money are now classics?
Albert: It’s cool, but it’s not an active feeling. You don’t get up in the morning going, “My movie’s still here—fuck you.” That’s not a joyous daily feeling. I mean, as I told you, there’s no line at the bank for being ahead of your time.
Judd: How did you find the process working on This Is 40?
Albert: I liked it with you, because of the rehearsal. I like the idea of what the father was going to be. People ask me all the time about improv, and I tell them improv is just the final icing. You need a structure. It’s like, if you’re going to commit suicide, you need the building to jump out of.
Judd: Which comedians made the biggest impression on you when you were starting out?
Albert: The biggest influence was Jack Benny. Because of his minimalism. And the way he got laughs. He was at the center of a storm, he let his players do the work, and just by being there made it funny. That was mind-boggling to me.
Judd: Were you around him at all?
Albert: I knew him a little. He was very sweet to me once. I did a bit on The Tonight Show, early on, this bit Alberto and His Elephant Bimbo. I was a European elephant trainer. I came out and I was dressed up with a whip, and I was distraught because the elephant never arrived, and I said, “Look, the show must go on. The Tonight Show, all they could get me was this frog, so I will do my best.” So I took a live frog and put it through all these elephant tricks. Every time he did a trick I threw peanuts at him. And the last trick, I said, “I call this trick ‘Find the nut, boy!’ ” I gave the peanut to somebody on the stage. I walked over and gave it to Doc Severinsen. “The elephant will find the peanut!” I took this frog. I threw this black huge cloth over him, the one I said I used to blindfold the elephant, and this black rag started hopping all over the place till it eventually hopped over to Doc Severinsen. It actually found him. I didn’t know what the hell the frog was going to do. So after the bit I sit down at the panel, and Jack Benny was on. There was always that last two minutes where Johnny was asking people, “Thank you for coming—what do you have coming up?” And during the last commercial Jack Benny leaned over to Johnny Carson and said, “When we get back, ask me where I’m going to be, will you?” So they came back. Johnny said, “I want to thank Albert. Jack, where are you going to be performing?” And Jack Benny said, “Never mind about me—this is the funniest kid I’ve ever seen!” And it was this profound thing. Like, Oh, that’s how you lead your life. Be generous and you can be the best person who ever lived.
Judd: When I used to do stand-up in the late eighties at the Improv, you’d always hear, “Albert might be coming in, Albert might be coming in.” I don’t think you ever came in. Ever. Why did people think you were coming in?
Albert: Because I’d ask the guy to say that. Paid him forty bucks a week.
Judd: So you thought about jumping onstage but—
Albert: I did once. I even got a heckler. It was like I picked the wrong night. “Who are you?” I talk to a lot of friends now who tell me I would enjoy doing this again, because it’s different, and people would appreciate it. It’s a nice thing, because it’s so in the moment. That’s the lure.
Judd: Do you miss that part of your career?
Albert: I get it from the occasional talk show. The other thing would be to go do a stand-up special, something in front of a large audience. That’s what you’re really talking about. If I do Letterman, and it goes well, it’s a fun feeling, when I’m leaving. And I get back to the hotel—and I’m the same person. There was nothing more exciting in the early years than when Johnny Carson was still in New York. You’d go there and do a Johnny Carson show. You travel alone. And the show would be great. And then you go out by yourself and you have a meal and you go back to the hotel and you watch it. And then you’d go to bed and then you wake up at three-thirty and picture all your friends watching it in Los Angeles. That doesn’t work anymore, because people don’t watch shows like that. You can do a Letterman and somebody will catch it months later. “Hey, I saw that thing.” “It was two years ago.”
Judd: What do you feel there’s left to write about?
Albert: The subject of dying and getting old never gets old.
Judd: It’s shocking as you realize: Are we all going to have these horrible things happen to us?
Albert: Well, aren’t we? I mean, this getting-old stuff is something. I sound like Bob Hope. I think I envy my dog, because my dog is sixteen and she’s limping and she’s still living, but she doesn’t look at me like she knows. She’s not thinking what I’m thinking. It’s a cruel trick, that we all know the ending.
Judd: Are you religious at all?
Albert: It’s funny, I don’t believe in the images of what God is, a thing or a person. I do wonder often the reason the sea horse is here, or a tree, or why I’m here, and so I don’t know if I’m religious. But it’s interesting when you’re part of a group—the Jews, to be exact—that the world has had such problems with. It has really nothing to do with religion. That’s why, if my kids didn’t want to go to temple, I used to say, “Let me explain something to you: If Hitler came back, he’s not going to ask if you went to temple. You’re already on the train. So you might as well know who you are and why they’re going to take you.”
Judd: What do you get out of temple?
Albert: I went to a memorial service and brought my kids and we thought about my dad and my mom, and the rabbi gave kind of a cool sermon, and you’re sitting in a room with everyone who would have to go on the same train. So there’s a bit of community there.
Judd: That’s dark.
Albert: But it’s true. Here’s what we know. We know meditation is healthy. Everybody says it slows your heart rate and everything, and the basis of religion seems to be that when you pray…I don’t know what people who are religious think when they pray, but it’s very close to what meditation is. It’s sort of ritualistic, it’s habit, it’s like exercising, so you might be able to get something out of that. I’m sure some people enjoy thinking it’s out of their hands. There’s all these people who think it’s “meant to be.” But I don’t buy that.
Judd: I’d love to buy it, though. I wish I could.
Albert: I don’t buy it, but I love it.
Judd: It would make the day so much easier.
Albert: Look, only a few people get to die peacefully in their sleep after a wonderful life. So that’s like not making the football team. There’s lots of things you don’t get to have. That’s probably one of them. Thank God, I consider myself lucky that I live after anesthetic. Can you imagine those days? “Sit down. Tuesday, we’re taking off your arm.”