I thought hed live forever. Maybe because he should have. Or maybebecause wherever and whenever I encounteredMike Nichols, this genius elf was always the most the alive person in the room his wit at the ready, his eyes dancing with wicked mischief. Of course, you feel Nicholsineffable spirit in his award-winning work: an Oscar for directing The Graduate, a Tony (one of nine) for Monty Pythons Spamalot, an Emmy for Angels in America, a Grammy for Best Comedy Album with his partner Elaine May. (Yup, hesan EGOT.) Hes won them all, including my own special award for his film acting debut in 1997s The Designated Mourner. Dont know it? Rent it. Stream it. Thank me later.
Mike was his own ever-in-progress work of art. One day at lunch at Manhattans Four Seasons, he schooled me in the questionable pleasures of drinking a Bull Shot a mix of vodka, Tabasco, Worcestershire and three ounces of beef bouillon. I know, it looks like piss, Mike said, grinning demonically. Drink up.His intelligence could be intimidating. His knowledge extended to a world beyond the usual Broadway/Hollywood axis. The son of Russian-Jewish immigrants who settled in Germany until his family fled the Nazis and came to New York, Mike (born Mikhail Igor Peschkowsky) was a third cousin twice removed of Albert Einststein. Clearly, brains ran in the family.
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Though Nichols was known for his buoyant touch with romantic comedy Barefoot in the Park and The Odd Couple on stage, Working Girl and The Birdcage on filmhe could be trenchant, even harsh, on the topics of sex (Carnal Knowledge, Closer) and politics (Primary Colors, Charlie Wilsons War).In private conversation about those subjects, hed go even further. Once, washing our hands in the restroom at New York restaurant, Mike offered a dissertation on Hillary Clinton that could only be called poetically foul-mouthed. It was followed, of course, by the Nichols laugh, a great roar that you couldnt help sharing. Mike didnt lord his smarts over you. He made you feel that you were as intelligent as he was, a true fantasy.
With Mike Nichols, in art and life, it was all about the timing. His gift as a director came in shaping performances, in teaching actors how to add impact to a line by underplaying it. My favorite experience with Mike came in 2005 when I hosted a tribute to his work at the Brooklyn Academy of Music. Before the interview there was a screening of The Graduate, arguably the film that his fans hold closest to heart. Mike and I sat in the back, and for two hours he talked me through every scene, whispering asides sometimes obscene, always insightful about what transpired on set the day each scene was filmed. It seems he and Anne Bancroft, as the infamous Mrs. Robinson, conspired to get just the right humiliated reaction out of Dustin Hoffman in the sex scenes. Onstage, Nichols took questions from young actors in the audience. Many were his students at the New Actors Workshop, eager to cheer their teacher and challenge him as well. They were playing with him. He loved it.
It was a night to remember, just like any time spent with Mike Nichols. The loss is surelyimmeasurable to former ABC news anchor Diane Sawyer, his wife of 26 years, and to his children, Daisy, Max and Jenny, and four grandchildren. The rest of us have the legacy of his work. Having won hismost recent Tony award for directing Death of a Salesman withPhilip Seymour Hoffman the star of his last film, 2007s Charlie Wilsons War Mike was prepping a production of Terence McNallys play Master Class for HBO with his favorite actress, Meryl Streep. He went out with his boots on, in the flush of creativity. Impeccable timing, as always. Cheers, Mike. The next round of Bull Shots are on me.
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