Playboy Interview: Billy Crystal

If you could poll some of the characters in Billy Crystal's repertoire for a joint assessment of their creator, the response might be something like this: "Tonight, friends, someone absolutely mahvelous and unbelieeewuble--and we mean that--Mr. I Hate When That Happens, Mr. Forget About It, Mr. Don't Get Me Started: Billy Crystal! Can you dig it?"

We dig him, too--and we mean that--even though these days, with his movie career exploding, introductions of Crystal can no longer be limited to Las Vegas--style windups. His recent success in films such as "Running Scared," "The Princess Bride" and "Throw Momma from the Train" proves there's a lot more to the 39-year-old actor/comedian than a rubbery face and an uncanny knack for mimicry.

Of course, Crystal has had plenty of time to tune his ear. He broke into comedy at the age of five, in his parents' living room, doing shtick for relatives. Showbiz ran in his blood, or at least trickled there. Crystal's mother used to perform in shows at the local synagogue and one year did the voice of Minnie Mouse for a Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade. His uncle Milt ran the Commodore and Decca record labels and introduced "Rock Around the Clock" to the world; his dad managed the Commodore music store and produced jazz concerts in Manhattan. With such connections, it's no surprise that one of Crystal's early fans (and baby sitters) was Billie Holiday: She called him "Mister Billy." But like many New York kids of the Fifties, Crystal spent much of his wonder years watching the tube (Ernie Kovacs, Sid Caesar, Jonathan Winters and, later, Bill Cosby), following the Yankees and nurturing dreams of playing professional baseball.

Crystal did become a hot shortstop in high school but decided he was too short for the big leagues (he's 5'7") and went to college instead. While he was there, he met his future wife, Janice, and worried about the draft, until his lottery number came up 354--high enough for an exemption. Immediately, he called two friends and formed an improvisational comedy troupe named 3's Company. It proved a successful East Coast act--but not so financially rewarding that Crystal didn't have to support his wife and new baby on extra income from substitute teaching.

But the group's managers wanted Billy to try his act alone; Billy agreed. Soon, 3's Company was defunct. By 1975, he was working New York's Catch a Rising Star as a solo act when the creators of a new comedy show set to air late Saturday nights on NBC approached him to join the cast on a semiregular basis. Despite weeks of rehearsal, an argument erupted opening night over the duration and placement of Crystal's bit and resulted in his being cut from the first broadcast of "Saturday Night Live." The emotional repercussions of watching the careers of such "S.N.L." comedians as John Belushi, Chevy Chase and Dan Aykroyd skyrocket, after having just missed that same showcase, plagued Crystal for years.

Desolate, he joined Howard Cosell on his "Saturday Night Live"--a prime-time variety show that proved a resounding flop. As a stand-up comic, he was also opening concerts for Susan Anton, Neil Sedaka, Melissa Manchester and Billy Joel; during the day, he led a Mr. Mom life on Long Island, caring for his daughter while Janice worked. In 1976, Crystal moved the family to Los Angeles (he had been promised an ABC contract that didn't work out) and appeared as Rob Reiner's best friend in one episode of "All in the Family." In 1977, he took the role as the gay son, Jodie, on the wacky soap-opera send-up "Soap." His movie debut was as the first pregnant man in Joan Rivers' unsuccessful "Rabbit Test." In 1982, he debuted "The Billy Crystal Comedy Hour" on NBC and introduced his infamous Fernando's Hideaway. But the "Comedy Hour" was canceled after five shows. He appeared as a mime caterer in pal Reiner's "This Is Spinal Tap," and in several HBO comedy specials, and put in some memorable turns on both "The Tonight Show" and "Late Night with David Letterman." Crystal was emerging as a rare and versatile humorist who could field an impressive array of characters, remain topical and, in the tradition of the great comic actors, occasionally bring a lump to the throats of his audiences.

Then, ten years after being dumped from "Saturday Night Live," Crystal got his chance to "stop saying 'What if " and was invited to join the show's cast, now under a new producer. That season, Crystal dominated the show with characters such as the fatuous Fernando, Ricky the Vietnam vet, Willie the masochist and a startlingly real portrayal of Rooster Willoughby, an ancient black ballplayer. His impressions of Sammy Davis Jr., talk-show host Joe Franklin, Prince and other blacks and Jews drew wild acclaim. But when Lorne Michaels, "S.N.L.'s" original producer, returned for the 11th season, Billy and the rest of the cast didn't. So Crystal made "Running Scared," cut down his touring commitments and hasn't looked back.

We asked Contributing Editor David Rensin to catch up with Crystal just before he began work on his next film project, "Memories of Me," which he co-wrote. We wanted to find out from the man who knows that it is better "to look good than to feel good" how he has handled the change-over from TV comedian to full-time movie star, from one career high to another. Says Rensin:

"When I rang Billy's doorbell, he greeted me wearing blue jeans, a sweat shirt and the beard from 'Running Scared.' I asked to use the bathroom. Billy's eyes widened. 'Oh, please. Yes. Use the bathroom,' he said almost too graciously. He pointed toward a door in the foyer. 'It's right there.'

"His eagerness to please should have alerted me. The door handle seemed oddly familiar. Closing it, I suddenly heard a static-voiced pilot radio for take-off instructions. A porthole to my right showed a sky full of clouds. A red sign flashed: Return to den. Return to den. A warning on the toilet seat advised against putting puppies or Playmate centerfolds into the head. Other signs were in an unfamiliar language.

"Billy was waiting with a satisfied grin. 'It cost about $1000, plus the labor to install,' he said. 'It's from an Arab airliner. Everything's in Arabic and English. My designer located the junk parts somewhere in the Mojave Desert. I even used the same carpeting.' In fact, he rejected only the idea of including hydraulic lifts beneath the toilet for genuine airborne effects. He apparently wasn't willing to put up with the inevitable near misses.

"Such inspired flights of imagination have been Billy's ticket into America's funny bone. He is renowned for his visual humor and spontaneity. For example, he never hesitated to make a point by using a character voice, and suddenly I'd be in the room with Sammy Davis Jr. or Dopey the dwarf. Yet it was also clear that while he is enduringly fond of his characters, Billy has pretty much left the old faces behind for new ones--including, significantly, his own. He doesn't just want to be remembered for acting like someone else.

"Billy best epitomizes what is meant by the Yiddish word mensch. We were immediately comfortable together. He is compassionate and kind--and his showbiz stories are great. He is the perfect bridge between the Catskills and the Comedy Store.

"One thing surprised me. During our sessions, he'd stray from the comic vein and bare an underside not covered in his press clippings. Revealed was the residue of ancient injuries and years of feeling screwed by circumstance, fate and his own optimism. Of course, one major sticking point was his having been dumped from the original 'Saturday Night Live'; another was further in the past.

"However, that first morning on his sun-drenched front patio--after the bathroom episode broke the ice--Billy seemed in fine form. He was confident and energetic and radiated a good tan.

"Just as we got started, the tape slipped through the deck-chair cushions. I searched for a secure perch, with no luck. After I'd fumbled around for a bit, Billy decided to help and offered to hold the machine."

[Q] Playboy: You want to hold the tape recorder?

[A] Crystal: It's OK.

[Q] Playboy: Are you sure? You won't be able to move around.

[A] Crystal: Am I sure? Look, a Jewish Playboy interviewer and a Jewish interviewee! "Are you sure you want to hold this? You sure you want to talk today?" "No, I'm fine. I'll sit. I'll be in the shade. It'll be good." "Are you sure you want to talk about something that personal?" "No, it's fine." "You want to eat something?" "No, no. I'm here to interview...."

[Q] Playboy: Let's settle this once and for all: Do Jews make the best comics?

[A] Crystal: There's a great deal of laughter and joy in that heritage. And let's face it, our holidays are not the best. There's a whole day set aside to say just how miserable you are. It's "Shut the light off and don't eat today. You did terrible things, but next year, you'll be better." Hanukkah is also great--because it's eight days long. And you don't have to go to school on Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur, which, in the Fifties, meant world-series time. I'd want to watch, because the Yankees were always in it. What else? Oh, yeah. Girls thought we were great catches.

[Q] Playboy: Really?

[A] Crystal: Sure. Date a Jewish guy. Look in every show-business magazine: You see some beautiful actress with a Dr. Abraham Phlegm. Like Mary Tyler Moore's husband. Who could be WASPier and prettier than she? And Victoria Principal married Dr. Harry Glassman. See, sooner or later, they come around to our way of thinking--that it's not so bad to boil all the flavor out of the meat.

[Q] Playboy: Who are your three funniest Jews?

[A] Crystal: Mel Brooks is the top two--even though Spaceballs made me a little depressed. Rob Reiner and I were talking about this. We know that, one on one, there's no one funnier than Mel. So to do a Star Wars take-off ten years later? I know he'll be mad that I said this, but I felt bad. He's right at the top, and it hurts to not see him stretching. Even if he fails. But I love the guy. He was responsible for my wanting to be a comedian.

[Q] Playboy: Were you a funny kid?

[A] Crystal: I've always been very comfortable on stage. In elementary school plays, I'd go off book and start improvising while some bewildered little kid with a flower face was saying [high voice], "Who is he? I thought the ginger man was supposed to come out now." At home, I used to perform for my relatives in the living room. When they came to visit, I'd put on their hats and coats and imitate them. I still imitate them. I'd stand on the coffee table and do my impressions. If they liked the act, they gave me dimes and I put them on my forehead. The show was over when my forehead was full. [Tries sticking a few dimes to forehead, fails] Nah. California. It's too dry. In New York, there's humidity. They stick. [Wets a few dimes; they stick] See? Thank you very much. If they stay there, I think I'll do the rest of the interview like this. If I'm funny, maybe I'll make some more money.

[Q] Playboy: We'll see. Let's back up. These days, stand-up comedy has become big business--if comics aren't on TV, they're in the clubs; if they're not in the clubs, they're on cable. Not long ago, someone said that once there were 200 comedians and only six were funny, and that nowadays, there are 2000 of them and, still, only six are funny.

[A] Crystal: That's accurate. Look, I think it's great that there are more comedians, because it says we recognize how important it is to laugh, that we need these people. But these days, a lot of people are saying nothing.

[Q] Playboy: For example?

[A] Crystal: We've got the yellers. They scream. We've got the comics who hold up puppets and strangle them on stage. Others pull balloons out of their pants. Very few people being themselves. It's like Berlin in the Thirties. It's Dada art. Everything's high-tech. Recently, I worked with a guy in Toronto; I think his name was Putz. No, Schmuck. Charley Schmuck. He made a gigantic baseball glove and wore it on stage. Then he threw these enormous Nerf balls covered with Velcro into the audience. Then he had the audience throw the balls back and he'd run across the stage and catch them in his big glove. It was kind of silly and goony. I remember wondering what makes a person go out as a baseball glove instead of wanting to talk about things. It's a funny idea, but maybe that's what the critics mean. Everyone comes on stage as someone else, some character, not himself. I may do a character, but I come on as me, and throughout the show I'm talking for myself. These days, audiences leave the performance with nothing. But they had a good time while they were there.

[Q] Playboy: Why don't they demand more?

[A] Crystal: Because this is the generation that grew up on Star Wars and thinks RoboCop is the greatest movie ever. We have a three-minute mentality--sometimes less than that. Because of the fucking cable box, our attention span is horrible. We sit there like junkies. It's a pretty shitty world where we've got a disease that's gonna kill who knows how many millions of people. All we're hearing about is death, death, death. Shooting on the freeways. [Smiles] You know, it's a two-shot minimum now to get onto the San Diego freeway.

[Q] Playboy: Cute. So in light of what you've just said--that there are a million funnymen running around, most of whom are really saying nothing--where does that leave you?

[A] Crystal: I've been a stand-up comic for a long time, and a good one. But a stand-up is different things to different people. To me, it's a man or a woman who goes out in front of people emotionally naked and talks about real things. It's not the guy who says, "Hey, my wife ... she put my thing in the toaster." That stuff is boring to me. And I cringe when I see it, though there are guys who do it very well. I'm not putting that down. This is just my taste.

It's the difference between a comic and a comedian. A comedian says things that are really human. And a comic comes out and pulls down his pants and says, "Look, I got a rubber duck here!" That's why I love Lily Tomlin, Richard Pryor and Albert Brooks. Their stuff is about something. When I start feeling like I'm a comic is when I stop doing it.

[Q] Playboy: What about other comedians who've made the jump from clubs to movies? Steve Martin, for instance.

[A] Crystal: Here's a guy who, at the height of his comic career, just boldly quit doing stand-up. Just went off and did a strange movie like Pennies from Heaven, with not a lot of laughs, and he taught himself how to tap-dance. I'll go with him right to the wall if he's trying something different. Who thought a guy with an arrow through his head could do the quality and the intelligence of the work he did in Roxanne? Even if he's goonier in the next film, it will be on Steve's terms.

[Q] Playboy: Robin Williams, with whom you've worked, is another example. How do you rate him?

[A] Crystal: Explosive. Picasso. [Pauses] I wish I were closer to him. We talk, we kid, but I don't really know him. For some reason, I'd like us to be really friendly. He's opinionated, has great self-focus, knows who he is--not unlike Burns or Benny. And lately he's been getting reckless--which makes his show more dangerous. Which is great.

[Q] Playboy: Is it tough keeping up with Robin on stage?

[A] Crystal: His mind is, like, "Get outa the way. Get him outa the way!" Even though he wants you to be there. It's like being in the ring with Sugar Ray Leonard at his peak. He's got you in the corner and he's bop-a-da, bop-a-da, bop-a-da. Sometimes you don't know whether he's working with you or against you.

[Q] Playboy: Do you get jealous of other comics?

[A] Crystal: I was jealous of Freddie Prinze, because he made it big so suddenly. But I understand why. There's a difference between a star and a superstar--a look in the eye. A little something that's off, and Freddie had that. When he went on stage, it was boom! It's very similar to what's happened to Eddie Murphy. Both are products of television. Freddie could hear, could imitate anything. Not a lot of guts and soul but a talent that was extraordinarily electric. I remember feeling jealous years ago when things weren't so good for me. That was hard. And I still go through bouts. Jealousy is a terrible emotion, because you create your own. It's very, very destructive. It's a bad drug, jealousy. Eats people up. Jealousy is the crack of comics.

[Q] Playboy: You mentioned Eddie Murphy. Does he impress you?

[A] Crystal: I don't think he's a good comedian.

[Q] Playboy: Seriously?

[A] Crystal: I think he's a wonderful actor and a fine sketch player and characterizer, but I, who love comedians, have a tough time sitting there hearing, "Norton, let me shove my dick in your ass." I mean, come on. I don't even think it's funny. Rob Reiner and I saw him perform in Los Angeles. It was weird. Some guy yelled out, "Buckwheat!" The audience was restless, because they loved not only Eddie, of course, but his characters. Eddie didn't want to do any of them. So he yelled back, "Suck my cock!" The audience laughed. So Eddie turned to the audience and said, "That's all I say to hecklers. Suck my cock." At which point Rob turned to me and said, "Oh, a contributor!" I think it's gonna be exciting to see what Eddie will be like as he gets older, and what roles he chooses to play. We'll see how truly versatile he can be.

[Q] Playboy: You sound skeptical.

[A] Crystal: When he came back and hosted Saturday Night Live during my season, it was an uncomfortable week--one of the two times I got really mad that year. He walks to the beat of his own drum section. He would come very late to rehearsals or not at all. And never apologize. He took a heavyweight-champion approach with us. But we weren't young schmucks there. Chris Guest, me, Marty Short and the rest of the cast were treated ... not great. Nobody was really happy about his attitude.

[Q] Playboy: We'll get back to your experiences with Saturday Night Live, but let's finish this. How about Pee-wee Herman?

[A] Crystal: He used to annoy me. Now I think he's neat. He's found a place for himself, and you've got to admire his children's show. He devoted his energy to it--instead of Pee-wee's Next Movie.

[Q] Playboy: Gallagher?

[A] Crystal: You're setting me up. [Laughs] I give him a lot of credit, because he's very productive, but crawling on the floor in vegetable juice--what is that? Albert Brooks called me once and said, "Billy, I want to form a thing called The Friends of Comedy. We'll get you, Rob [Reiner], people we respect. We'll be the new Friars Club. All we need is a building." Then he said, "I already know what the agenda of the first meeting will be." I said [patiently], "What, Albert?" He said, "We decide who gets to kill Gallagher."

[Q] Playboy: Stand-up comedy is a field that's pretty much dominated by men. How are the women faring?

[A] Crystal: Comedy is perceived as a man's place, just as it would be weird to see a woman play major-league baseball. It's tougher for a woman to be accepted as a stand-up by audiences.

[Q] Playboy: Why?

[A] Crystal: [Construction-worker voice] Because they don't have a big penis! They can't grab their dicks on stage. They can't talk about fucking their wives and how their wives don't wanna fuck them. They can't talk about their balls or how they farted last night. Can't talk about the great piece of ass they saw. Can't talk about beavers and bearded clams.... [Pauses] Hey, that was funny, wasn't it?

[Q] Playboy: Here's a couple of dimes.

[A] Crystal: Thanks. [Pauses, seriously] But women comics have to be classy. Otherwise, they don't have a chance.

[Q] Playboy: A chance for what? Must they talk about sex organs?

[A] Crystal: I'd like to see a woman stand-up do that. But I don't know if the audience would accept her talking about those things. A man says, "So, I'm fucking this chick and her legs keep flying up over her head. I said, 'Schmuck! Take off your panty hose!'" Right? That's what a guy would do. Is a woman stand-up gonna say, "So, the guy's fucking me ..."? Wouldn't you be uncomfortable in the audience? [Pauses] I don't know. Maybe it's already happened and I've just missed it.

[Q] Playboy: Which women comics impress you?

[A] Crystal: Roseanne Barr, because she's got an honest character and an edge. She's a throwback to W. C. Fields, an annoying character, a whiny thing, but funny. She's clever. Another, Margaret Smith, does a female Steven Wright sort of thing.

But when women come out playing instruments or doing their version of the screamer. I get nervous.

[Q] Playboy: Being a screamer hasn't hurt Sam Kinison much, has it?

[A] Crystal: No, because Kinison has something to say, both outrageous and funny, within the yelling. It's not a gimmick. He screams his lungs out because that's what he really believes. He's saying that something is wrong.

[Q] Playboy: With what?

[A] Crystal: Well, for example, when he tells an audience that he's pissed off at the Ethiopians--[yells like Kinison] "Why don't you move to where the food is?"--he's touching that one little chord in those selfish people who won't give anything or are skeptical and almost afraid to get involved. You know them: When the kid comes around on Halloween with the UNICEF can, they go, "Oh, here's a Milky Way. I'm not giving you a nickel. Get outa here." The way Sam touches on those things is great. I couldn't get away with it.

[Q] Playboy: Why not?

[A] Crystal: Coming from me, it would seem like a sarcastic cheap shot. Coming from him, it seems OK. I think of that stuff; I just don't say it. I have one of the grossest minds around. I can do very bizarre things. It's just not what I choose to give an audience.

[Q] Playboy: Give us a peek at your more bizarre side.

[A] Crystal: When Chris Guest and I did those "I hate it when that happens" skits as Willy and Frankie on Saturday Night Live, we were talking about meat thermometers in your ear and putting your tongue in a self-threading movie projector. Vivid images of self-mutilation.

[Q] Playboy: What about something we haven't seen on Saturday Night Live?

[A] Crystal: Well, when I hosted The Tonight Show recently, I got into trouble for saying that I was getting tired of watching the news and every night seeing a map of Reagan's colon. I said, "Now they're selling them on Sunset Boulevard next to the stars' homes. You know, they sent the same camera up there that they used to explore the Titanic, because both are 75-year-old wrecks. Anyway, they shove this thing up his ass, and who's in there? Geraldo Rivera announcing 'the mystery of Reagan's colon!' " I could see the veins on [Tonight Show producer] Fred DeCor-dova's neck standing out. Of course, Fred's lived in Reagan's colon. He took a condo there.

Anyway, the show got upset about it. Must have been a call from the White House, where, by the way, they've got their new Reagan computer: no memory, no colon.

[Q] Playboy: When you guest host The Tonight Show, is it true that there are certain items on Johnny Carson's desk that you're not supposed to touch?

[A] Crystal: They let me. I opened the cigarette case to do a little Sammy Davis Jr. with Paul Shaffer. They let me run the foot panel. But I wasn't allowed to change the backdrop. There were also a couple of bits I wanted to do that they said no to. I wanted a black Cabbage Patch doll with hair that stood straight up to give to Don King. It would have been a funny sight gag.

[Q] Playboy: You said Mel Brooks was your number-one--no, your number-one and -two--comedian. Didn't you also become close to the family of Brooks's old partner, Carl Reiner?

[A] Crystal: Yeah. Ten years ago, Penny Marshall invited me to Rob Reiner's 30th birthday party at his father, Carl's, house. I freaked. We'd just moved to Los Angeles. Rob and I were just becoming friends then. I'd never met Carl, but I'd worn out his and Mel Brooks's record The 2000 Year Old Man. At the house, I open the front door and a goat comes running out of the kitchen. The goat's scared to death--pellets are flying out of his ass. He's like this slot machine that's always paying off--ba-bi-da, ba-bi-da--dropping his little bombs. Rob is hysterical, saying, "Look what I got for my birthday!" This is my introduction to Carl Reiner's house. But Carl's not there. And I'm stiff as a board. I am like a starched shirt. It's horrible. I can't relax. To my wife, Janice, I'm saying, "Where is he? What's he gonna think of me?" Ten minutes later, the doorbell rings and here's this guy with his arms filled with Chinese-food cartons, wearing ripped jeans and a stupid hat. Carl. He was a regular guy. He'd brought everyone kazoos and toys. It was so refreshing.

[Q] Playboy: Rob has since become your best friend. What was the moment that clinched it for you?

[A] Crystal: One day, while sitting right here, he was feeling miserable and I was feeling miserable. And we talked to each other for three hours about our symptoms and how our depressions manifested themselves. We went on and on and on. He said his headaches felt like rubber bands across the forehead, that he'd get them for hours and weeks at a time. And I said, "Did you ever get the one where your ear hurt?" And it was like two neurotics' trusting each other.

When I get real uptight, I have the most amazing headache, which I can only describe as the Buddy Rich Band tuning up in my skull. And when Rob sees that look on my face, he says, "Buddy Rich?" Once, I was sitting in traffic in Chicago with Greg Hines. It was rush hour. We were cold and miserable. When we finally discovered what was blocking traffic, it was the Buddy Rich Band bus! Can you believe it? I ran to the hotel and called Rob immediately.

[Q] Playboy: By the way, what did Carl think of you?

[A] Crystal: We got along fine. But an amazing thing happened at the party. Albert Brooks had bought Rob some books. One was Stunts and Games. And Albert said, "Let me read you some of these things." At first he read some real ones. Then he started making them up and reading them as if they were in the book. "This one's called National Football League. Get 30 of your friends together, have them donate $5,000,000 each to buy black people who can run and hit." Or "Kennedy Assassination. Pretend you see smoke coming only from the Texas Book Depository, ignoring the man with the rifle in the tree standing next to you." I'd probably never seen anyone funnier in my whole life. In fact, it was so funny that he had to leave immediately afterward. It was like a performance. I felt sad that Albert couldn't be a person; he had to leave.

[Q] Playboy: Are your peers often funnier in private?

[A] Crystal: Yeah. We had a funny night a couple of months ago at a party at Teri Garr's. It was Steve Martin and me and Marty [Short], our wives, Carol Kane, Diane Keaton. It was guys-vs.-gals Trivial Pursuit. Steve was acting like a chauvinist game player. [As Martin] "Come on, girls, can't shake the dice? What's the matter? Your tits in the way?" And then, when they would confer about a question, he'd go, "Isn't that just like cats talking?" I like when a guy is naturally funny, without the make-up and the tie and the jacket. The times I attended P.T.A. meetings where Mel Brooks's son and my daughter Jennifer went to school were ridiculous. People magazine would have loved to cover the meetings. I had to keep pinching myself to believe I was really there.

[Q] Playboy: Do you do shtick, too?

[A] Crystal: No. I get tight. I lie on the ropes. I play rope-a-dope. I'll throw a hard one only when I see the opening. I'm getting better about it now.

[Q] Playboy: Where and when does the comic muse strike?

[A] Crystal: Sometimes I carry on when I'm alone in the car and do a lot of writing there. People pass me on the street, wondering, Who's he talking to? My wife and I were driving to Florida once, and out of nowhere I started singing Penny Lane in a raspy woman's voice. That became Penny Lane, a transvestite piano-bar character. [Gravelly, sexy voice] "Hi, welcome to the Flaming Parrot ... I'm Penny Lane." I did a whole scene, flew back to New York that night, went into the office the next day and wrote it up for Saturday Night Live.

[Q] Playboy: Do you get any great ideas in the make-up chair?

[A] Crystal: Tons. Different stages of make-up change one's whole face. We were taking the Sammy make-up off one night. Everything was gone except the big nose. I had a stocking cap on. Suddenly, I was Lou Goldman, weatherman. I did him on Saturday Night Live [Lou's crusty, aging Jewish voice]: "The weather for Thursday is 'Don't be a big shot, take a jacket!' " When I took off the Miracle Max make-up--for my character in The Princess Bride--I became totally bald. Then I was Dopey, the dwarf, at 90, at an NYU Film School class, being interviewed. [High-pitched, sweet and shy ancient-dwarf voice] "The only problem I ever had at Walt's was I wanted a thumb very badly, because I had trouble picking up spoons and dimes. And Walt said, 'Get out.' I was a big star. I was getting more fan mail than any of the other dwarfs. So I called my agent and said, 'Irv. I don't trust this guy. I want a no-erase clause.' " Dopey is my favorite character of all time.

[Q] Playboy: Do you ever wear any of the make-up home--just for fun?

[A] Crystal: When I was making Running Scared, I wore a scar home, with horrible results. Now I just take home my mental scars. Another time, I was on the road playing the m.c. in Cabaret. I wore his Kewpie-doll make-up home and my kids freaked out. [Pauses] Did you know that [silent-screen star] Pola Negri fucked Hitler and Charlie Chaplin, and Rudolph Valentino? Did you know that?

[Q] Playboy: Uh, no.

[A] Crystal: Isn't that amazing? Imagine this woman sitting at home when World War Two breaks out and there's this guy in the paper that she fucked behind a bookstore in Berlin. And all she can say is [old woman's voice] "Jesus Christ! Honey, remember that guy I told you about? Look! Hitler! He's running the war! Lookit! The arm thing! I fucked him once." It's gotta be weird.

[Q] Playboy: How does your wife react when you do this--slip in and out of characters during a normal conversation?

[A] Crystal: She laughs. And then she goes, "Hello in there? Can I talk to you, please? Is Billy in there? Nice to see you, Buddy Young, but Billy and I have to balance the checkbook." Or she'll just stare at me, like, "Schmuck? It's me. What are you doing this for?"

[Q] Playboy: Let's talk about your most famous character, Fernando. Once and forever: Was he or was he not based on the late Mr. Lamas?

[A] Crystal: I'll tell you a funny story. I met Sean Penn in a New York restaurant. He was on the phone; I was going to the bathroom. But when he saw me, he hung up and said, "You know when the song [You Look Mahvelous] came out and you mentioned Madonna?" And I thought, Oh, Jesus, don't hit me. But he said, "I loved it." Then he told me, "I lost $1000 on you, man." And I said, "What do you mean?" Apparently, a friend of his had said I was really doing Fernando Lamas. But Sean had said, "That ain't Fernando Lamas, that's something different." The point is that Sean was hearing the actor. He knew that the character was not an imitation. My Fernando is a distorted caricature. I said, "You're both right. The idea for Fernando came from Lamas, but it's not him." He said he'd get half his money back.

[Q] Playboy: But you got trouble from Lamas' widow, Esther Williams.

[A] Crystal: That was stupid. I met her at Night of 100 Stars after I took off my Fernando make-up and she couldn't have been nicer. She said that she loved the way I did the character, thought it was terrific. Then I met her son, Lorenzo Lamas, who said his dad loved boxing--so I should talk about boxing. Esther even wanted me to do a movie with her that she owned the rights to, The Mirror Cracked. Bottom line: She loved what I'd done. Next time I heard about any of this was when I opened up People and saw the story.

[Q] Playboy: She objected to the "frequency and the unrelenting constancy" of your use of Fernando, who was, after all, based on her husband---

[A] Crystal: Her dead husband. It was a little heavy-handed. If Esther had called me and said, "I'm uncomfortable with this," I would have made some adjustments. I wasn't even doing Fernando frequently. Everybody else was doing it more than I was! In fact, when my single came out, disc jockeys were taking my track and putting their own words to it. So mine wasn't getting played as much as ones by guys thinking they were funny. I did not abuse the character.

[Q] Playboy: Didn't Fernando's popularity start to get in the way of your career?

[A] Crystal: One day, I took a clicker counter with me--just an off-the-cuff idea--to see how many people would say "You look mahvelous" to me. I got up to about 170. It got ridiculous. The far-reaching effects first hit me when Ted Kennedy said it to me. Whoopi Goldberg, Robin and I had lunch with him to talk about Comic Relief. I walked in, he said [imitates Kennedy], "You look mar-ver-lous." Then Henry Kissinger said it at the Statue of Liberty. He said [imitates Kissinger], "Here's my son. He wants to be a comedian. He loves you and ... you are marvelous." Then there's Janice's grandmother Pauline. I think she's 86. She still says it. You know, I'm sick to death of it now.

[Q] Playboy: Obviously, it stopped being fun.

[A] Crystal: I'll tell you about one time I heard it that was funny: I'm in the catacombs--the ones outside Rome--five stories below ground, being led by a guide with a torch. A small group of people. Right before you leave, they have one spot where there are bones behind glass. A skeleton is all laid out. The guide says, "Who knows where they're from." And from the darkness, some guy says, in a Brooklyn accent, "They don't look so marvelous, do they, Billy?"

[Q] Playboy: What's your best guess at the reason for Fernando's enormous appeal?

[A] Crystal: All of the "Hideaways" were improvised; I think people knew I was winging it. Doing him was dangerous, and people sensed that. It was nice. I don't miss him anymore, though.

[Q] Playboy: Why, then, the album, the video, the Pepsi commercial and the book titled Absolutely Mahvelous? You certainly cashed in.

[A] Crystal: You've got to. I didn't want to call the book that, but the publisher insisted. I wanted Don't Get Me Started, the same as my HBO special. I would have been happy with The Color Crystal, lacocca II or Elvis, Priscilla and Me. I fought them. I almost pulled out of the project because of the title. I said, "Enough, enough!"

[Q] Playboy: It was Saturday Night Live that brought Fernando into most living rooms. Although your experiences with that show were for the most part--excuse us--mahvelous, they let you get away without signing you up for a second season. Why?

[A] Crystal: A couple of reasons. Dick Eber-sol, our producer, quit. Martin Short had declined to return. Chris Guest, too. Harry Shearer had been fired. I could have done another season if we'd gone after people like Andrea Martin and Eugene Levy; and if they'd done it, Marty and Chris would also have done a few shows. We were talking about a rotating company. I was ripe for it. I loved being in New York. In fact, when I was in Los Angeles, testing for Running Scared, the negotiations for Lorne Michaels [the original producer of Saturday Night Live] to return to Saturday Night Live had broken down and I got a call from [NBC's head of programing] Brandon Tartikoff saying, "How would you feel about becoming permanent host of Saturday Night Live? We'll call it Saturday Night Live with Billy Crystal."

[Q] Playboy: Didn't that prospect excite you?

[A] Crystal: I would have done it. I immediately started thinking about staffing and material. But, but, but ... this was on a Tuesday in April. I tested for Running Scared on Thursday. So I told Brandon, "If you're serious, we have to talk right away, because the movie will start shooting in September and I know I have it. The test is just a formality." The next day, NBC called back and said that Saturday Night Live with Billy Crystal wasn't exactly what they meant. Then I found out that Michaels was returning and had announced that he didn't want anybody back from the year before. He wanted to sink or swim with his own people, no matter how good Marty and I, in particular, had been.

[Q] Playboy: Were there some personal problems between you and Michaels?

[A] Crystal: I hadn't spoken to him in years. I'd seen him at a party and he came over and said hi, but I said, "Lorne, I'd love to talk to you for six minutes, but I can't." It was a joke.

[Q] Playboy: Based on---

[A] Crystal: The fact that I'd been scheduled to do the very first Saturday Night Live and was bumped--Lorne had me in the last spot and wanted me to cut a six-minute routine down to two minutes, which I couldn't do.

[Q] Playboy: That was a tough moment, wasn't it?

[A] Crystal: It hurt. It bothered me for years. The people on the show were doing the kind of work I'd dreamed of doing. After that, I watched the original performers go on to fame and fortune. Then I watched Robin Williams happen huge. All these friends of mine--on and on. Meanwhile, I'm on Soap, thinking, Jesus, I've got a half-page scene this week. There was four years of that. It was suffocating, even though people said, "You're getting a lot of money. You should be happy. You're on a hit show." But for a long time, I had, not a chip on my shoulder, but I was ... moody.

[Q] Playboy: How did you get involved in Saturday Night Live's debut season?

[A] Crystal: Lorne had met me at the Catch a Rising Star comedy club in New York. I'd been doing stand-up on my own for about a year. He told me about the show and I almost didn't believe him, because my image of a producer was, of course, a guy with gray hair and a cigar and a satin jacket with tour dates on the back. But he struck me as--I hate this word--hip. And confident. I also knew who John Belushi was, because of [the stage show] National Lampoon's Lemmings, and I'd heard Chevy Chase's and Gilda Radner's names.

Eventually, Chevy came to see me, along with the head writer and the director. Pretty soon, I felt like a big part of this project. We talked about my making six appearances the first season and being the first noncelebrity guest host. It was an enormous break. My first daughter was a year old; I'd just broken off with my comedy group; I'd been substitute teaching....

[Q] Playboy: Were you considered as a fulltime Not Ready for Prime Time Player?

[A] Crystal: I'd had a meeting with Lorne, told him I thought maybe I should be one of them, because I could write and do characters, too. But he said, "You're better doing what you're doing. No one will emerge from this group."

[Q] Playboy: He didn't quite get that right.

[A] Crystal: Yeah. I think he probably had his group set and didn't want to put anyone else in it. It was a producer's way of saying no. In fact, he made it sound like my not being involved in the chaos would be better for me; I'd have my freedom. So, after months of all this, he blocked out the show and put me on at five to one A.M.--last in the rundown, first to be cut. I told him I couldn't do the piece he'd requested in two minutes, that he should throw out something that hadn't worked in rehearsal. When I came in the next day, my manager and agent were fighting with Lorne. I offered to trim the piece to five minutes. I was waiting in the hallway when my manager came out and said, "That's it. We're leaving."

[Q] Playboy: How did you feel then?

[A] Crystal: Lost. Totally lost. I'd had almost no say in the final decision. I remember packing my stuff, walking out and Gilda running after me. I was crying. I couldn't believe it. Richard Belzer was doing the warm-up; I was walking out. I went home and called everyone. It was horrible. "What did you do? What did you say? Did you get fired?" That kind of stuff. Then I watched "Live from New York...." And I went, "That's it. I fucking blew it."

As rough as that first show was, I could tell it was going to take shape and work. After that, even when I got good reactions from something else like Soap, I was looking over my shoulder at Saturday Night Live and going, "Shit!" I was very bitter and sad. I was out of sorts with myself for more than a decade. And whenever I socialized with the cast members, I'd hear about it. My firing was all Belushi talked about eight years later.

[Q] Playboy: If you had done the first Saturday Night Live, how do you think your life would have changed?

[A] Crystal: I don't like to indulge in what-if, but OK: Three weeks later, I come back to do another show. It doesn't go quite as well as the first, but it's good. Four weeks later, I'm back and they're saying, "Wow. We didn't know you could do characters." I go, "Yeah, it's what I started with." Five weeks later, they fire Chevy. [Smiles] They hire me. Ten years later, I'm in the Betty Ford Center.

[Q] Playboy: But the truth is, you did go back after ten years.

[A] Crystal: All I really wanted to do was show people what I could do. I'd been hearing "Is he the guy from Soap?" for ten years. I was apprehensive, maybe a little desperate, certainly driven to testing myself--relentlessly so. I knew there was a lot on the line and that if, for whatever reason, I didn't happen from this show, there would be no excuse afterward.

[Q] Playboy: And if the exposure eventually led to movie deals, all the better, right?

[A] Crystal: I would not have gone back if I hadn't thought it might lead to that. I needed a place to do my thing. My first two HBO shows were huge hits, but they were only once every three years and for just a few million people. For all its faults--with all that's been said about Saturday Night Live's first decade--it was still the place to be seen.

[Q] Playboy: Obviously, it worked.

[A] Crystal: [Laughs] Yeah, well, you should see the offers I get now. The first thing that came in after Running Scared was Cops R Us. Even the title was terrible. The number of bad scripts is frightening. I get buddy movies, gimmick pictures, a black ghost in a white man's body....

But films are what I want to do. I just know that I've come a long way and I don't want to fuck it up.

[Q] Playboy: You haven't toured as a stand-up for more than a year. Why?

[A] Crystal: I didn't feel that I was saying anything new. So I'm waiting for that inspiration to be different. I'm into something else that makes me happier. Right now, I really want to be seen as great in Throw Momma from the Train. Then I want to direct my own film. [Smiles] Of course, now that I'm doing something else, I'm having pangs about not performing.

[Q] Playboy: Why don't you?

[A] Crystal: I could go to the Improv tonight and hit on one line and feel, Hey, I've got it again! But going through the newspapers or my life to think of funny things is not a top priority now. I don't feel the pressure of "My God! I've got to get out there on stage or they're going to forget me." That's a big step for me. I don't want to use the word workaholic, but most of my career has felt like I've been running this Ironman triathlon. I've made a lot of adjustments and I'm now thought of as a creative person who can do lots of things. I'm no longer thought of as "the fag from Soap." And in the past three years, I've proved that to myself. So this is the longest time I've ever stepped back; and, coincidentally, it also feels like the most successful of my phases.

[Q] Playboy: So something can replace the feeling you get from stand-up.

[A] Crystal: Yeah. There's an éclair that they make at Victor Banish on Third Street that's close.

[Q] Playboy: Seriously--if you went back on the stage, what would your show be like?

[A] Crystal: Something more theatrical; a Broadway show similar to Lily Tomlin's The Search for Signs of Intelligent Life in the Universe. I wouldn't have to worry about smelling booze and smoke in the audience, and the people would listen to what I wanted to talk about.

[Q] Playboy: Which is?

[A] Crystal: Once, Lenny Bruce did nothing but impressions. Or "Make me a malted. Poof. You're a malted." That was in his fucking act. But people forget. If you hear the early albums, you ask, "What's the big deal?" Then you notice the adjustments in his material, how he began talking about the Kennedy assassination on stage. I need that kind of change right now. There's something going on inside me that's similar--and that's going to have to come out on stage.

[Q] Playboy: Political concerns?

[A] Crystal: Yeah, things bother me: 1400 porpoises dead on the East Coast; tampon inserters and medical waste and bandages from AIDS victims washing ashore. The oceans are polluted with disease. I like sushi--so I'm a dead man in five years. We're killing ourselves, and it frightens me. [Pauses; laughs] What I must sound like! This is turning into the Oscar Levant interview.

[Q] Playboy: Have you ever thought that maybe some of your insecurity and anxiety stem from your being Jewish? Jews do worry a lot.

[A] Crystal: Funny. [Hands the interviewer a dime, sings] "It's just the Jew in my soul...." [Pauses] I don't know what it is. I think that that feeling I had for ten years--from the time I got bumped from Saturday Night Live until I finally went back on--stayed with me. Maybe it's residue from Rabbit Test, the movie bomb I was first in. It's all of that bad tumor stuff that I just want to get out of my system. I'm trying to drop that burden. I've done a good deal of that by not touring this year.

[Q] Playboy: Your social concerns go back to Comic Relief '86--your benefit for the homeless. Intended as a one-shot deal, it's now an annual event, isn't it?

[A] Crystal: I'm more involved in Comic Relief than I ever thought I'd be involved in anything, besides my family. But I really like doing it. I really get off on going to shelters and knowing that homeless people are better off than when I visited them the first time.

[Q] Playboy: The show also gave you the chance to perform with your comedy forefathers. Was that a dream come true?

[A] Crystal: Yeah. No egos, conflicts or jealousies. At the first Comic Relief, I sat in the wings and watched Sid Caesar do a mime piece. I was like a kid on his first date--so nervous. I wanted to run up to him and say all these schmucky, gushy fan things. When I did, he said, "I think you're wonderful." All I could respond with was "You're the greatest." My book is dedicated to him.

[Q] Playboy: And now you're in the mainstream while they fade away. Does that make you uncomfortable?

[A] Crystal: A friend of mine since sixth grade, Dr. David Sherman, put it best. He said, "You're the people who are going to make us laugh in the next 30 years." OK. Let's go. Let's get it on. It's time. What makes me uncomfortable is that I'm terrified of that day when I'll have to wear the Sansa-belt pants. I imagine myself as this little man chewing on a cigar, reading the Hollywood Reporter. It's scary to think that someday, I may have to guest on Love Boat because there's nothing else out there.

[Q] Playboy: Have you had any confrontations with cantankerous old-timers who are unwilling to step aside?

[A] Crystal: Yeah. Buddy Hackett. We met on a plane. Buddy'd had a couple of drinks, I guess. He said that I should come and spend a couple of days at his house to learn about the business. "Richard Pryor did it," he told me. "They all come to study. You'll come and study with me. ..."

[Q] Playboy: How does Sammy Davis Jr. feel about your rendition of him?

[A] Crystal: I was at his house once, after seeing him and Sinatra perform, and he told me he didn't like it, that I was doing the old Sammy Davis Jr. And in the next breath--and it was really sweet--Sammy gave me a huge ring and a medallion. [As Sammy] "So, when you do it, have something of mine."

[Q] Playboy: Getting back to your movie career, you mentioned your movie bomb, Rabbit Test--which was about a man who got pregnant. What was your impression of your director, Joan Rivers?

[A] Crystal: She was living in this incredible Bel-Air mansion. A butler, a maid, very English. It didn't seem like a comic's home. We talked, made jokes about a baby coming out of a guy's ass. Somehow, it just didn't fit in with "Would you like some more wine, sir?" But she was funny, charming, though at the time there was a different Joan in there.

[Q] Playboy: In what way?

[A] Crystal: Not as caustic. Not as physically put together. Not as flamboyant, styled. I haven't spoken with Joan in eight or nine years. She's mad at me, because People quoted me as having said something like, "I like the movie, but mistakes were made." I think she took offense that I would rap the movie in any way in public. I don't even remember saying that. Of course, I don't remember her mentioning the movie in her Playboy Interview, either.

[Q] Playboy: What did you think of her now-failed talk show?

[A] Crystal: I saw only little bits and pieces. I can't take her as a steady diet. Why put somebody on the spot and go, "Who are you sleeping with? Was it good? Tell me your first sexual ..."? It's catty and yatty and yeech. And she applauds like a seal! Throw her a herring and put a ball on her nose and let's call it a day!

[Q] Playboy: Was the failure of Rabbit Test on your mind when you did Running Scared?

[A] Crystal: It was a bit like getting beaned and having to get back into the batter's box. I was nervous. I thought, Oh, shit. What if this one goes belly up? Will I have ruined all the work that I've been busting my ass for the past nine years? Will my momentum be killed? It certainly would have affected me emotionally. But from the moment Gregory Hines was cast opposite me and we got to know each other, I knew that things would be OK.

[Q] Playboy: Your chemistry with Hines was evident on screen. What was your best offscreen moment?

[A] Crystal: OK. It's six A.M. We're in an elevator in Chicago after an excruciating night of shooting stunts, and Gregory says, "I haven't danced in five months." We're heading for the 12th floor of this building. He's wearing sneakers and starts tap-dancing on the wood floor of the elevator, dancing to the Muzak. Someone gets on at the fifth floor. He's still dancing. Someone gets on at the eighth floor, same thing. We get to the 12th floor, the doors open up and he finishes with a zoop da-da diiii-up, doop-doop! Then, "You wanna get some breakfast?"

[Q] Playboy: In your new film, Throw Momma from the Train, you share the bill with Danny DeVito. He also directed. Is it easy taking orders from a guy shorter than you?

[A] Crystal: [Laughs] It made me feel like a power forward. Look, I'm a short guy, too. Danny is a multitalented man whom people are really gonna find out more about. In many ways, Danny's career is just beginning. I feel that way about myself. Still, with all his credits, the first thing people say is "Boy, he's a short guy!"

[Q] Playboy: We were just having a little fun at his expense.

[A] Crystal: See? A little fun. You'd have a lot of fun with Gene Hackman.

[Q] Playboy: With good scripts tough to come by, how about your own ideas for movies?

[A] Crystal: I've written a script that draws heavily on my past. In fact, it's about the two worst years of my life, after my father died of a heart attack when I was 15. It's called Here Comes Mr. Sleep. It opens with a scene exactly as it really happened--a funeral. There's a leathery-skinned black clarinetist playing a wailing blues. The camera is tight on him, then pulls around to a man in a coffin, then to a kid sitting next to his mother and his heavy-set aunt, who says, "He's only sleeping." The kid says, "Good. I'm gonna wake him up. Let's get the fuck out of here!"

What's terrible is that, in real life, my dad and I had an argument the night before he died. So I never had the chance to say "I'm sorry." Suddenly, God throws me a bogga-bogga!

[Q] Playboy: Was it a struggle to write about something that personal?

[A] Crystal: For a while, every time I tried, it was too painful. I worry sometimes about creating from pain, about being self-indulgent. But I realized I had to go through with it to get it out of my fucking system.

[Q] Playboy: Did your father's death make you think about your own mortality?

[A] Crystal: I think about it constantly. Every time there's a little flutter in my heart, to this day, I'm afraid. When I tuck my two girls in at night or when I go on the road, it's hard for me to say good night to them, because I never know. And that's terrible. That I don't like. But it also made me live better for each moment, because one can't live afraid. I went through those periods. I mean, it sounds like a Hallmark card, but we're here for such a short time and I get mad at myself sometimes for working so much--like my dad--and not living more.

[Q] Playboy: Isn't one of your characters a homage to your father?

[A] Crystal: Face. The old black jazz musician who says, "Can you dig it? I knew that you could."

[Q] Playboy: What relationship did your father have to black musicians?

[A] Crystal: My dad managed the Commodore Record store at 42nd and Lexington. On Fridays and Saturdays, he held these great, great jazz concerts called The Sessions in a building on Second Avenue, next to the Fillmore. His love for those men and their music had a very big influence on me. My house smelled from bourbon and cigarettes a lot. And those guys--their attitude; their hipness; the way they dressed; the way they never wore anything real tight. It was cool. You know? And today, I feel I'm at my best when there's a jazz to what I'm saying.

[Q] Playboy: After your father died, who did you turn to for advice on such things as, say, girls? Your older brothers?

[A] Crystal: No. They were away. I pretty much turned to your magazine. [Laughs] I wasn't dating much in those days. Your Playmates and I were a real item every month.

[Q] Playboy: You also liked sports. Didn't you want to play pro baseball at one time?

[A] Crystal: Yeah. I may be small, but I could play. When I was a kid, our back yard was almost a replica of Yankee Stadium--a short right field, deep left center--and my older brother Joel invented a game with a shuttlecock from a badminton set and a little bat. It was like stickball. We even had seasons. We had an old-timers' day where we walked like old people for three innings.

[Q] Playboy: Did you ever get to meet any of your Yankee heroes?

[A] Crystal: Yeah. The first time I went to Yankee Stadium, we went into the clubhouse before the game and I met Casey Stengel. I was eight years old. I said to him, "Casey, who's pitching?" He said, "You are, kid! Suit up!" Someone took my program and came out with Mickey Mantle's signature on it. I've kept it all these years, never knowing whether Mantle had really signed it or not.

[Q] Playboy: Did you ever find out?

[A] Crystal: Twenty years later, I was on the Dinah Shore Show with Mickey Mantle as a guest and I took along the program. I said, "Mickey, did you sign this 20 years ago?" He said, "I sure did. I don't sign like that anymore, but that is mine, definitely." I asked him to sign it again, and he did.

[Q] Playboy: And then you wound up doing the preshow with him for the 1985 All-Star Game. Didn't he say something to you on that occasion that made you cry?

[A] Crystal: Yeah. It was overwhelming. In the show, we're on the field in Cooperstown, where they supposedly invented baseball, and I'm saying my good nights. And Mantle comes into the background and says, "Will you stop talking and play some catch?" Throws me a glove and then the ball. I catch it. He says, "Nice catch, kid." Suddenly, I was this blond kid in the weeds in the middle of Iowa, you know? The Natural in slow motion. I looked at the camera and said, "I love when that happens."

[Q] Playboy: Are there any sports figures you don't care for?

[A] Crystal: Reggie Jackson. I was working a Playboy Club one New Year's Eve and Janice and I were sitting alone in an upstairs room, waiting to get paid. We'd just smoked a joint. Reggie, who was playing for Oakland at the time, walked in. He was wearing a black cowboy hat. I said, "Happy New Year, Reggie." He said, "Fuck you." I was depressed for months.

[Q] Playboy: Have you seen him since?

[A] Crystal: A couple of times. I never bring it up. He might say the same thing. [Pauses] Look, I respect him as a ballplayer, but I also saw him tell two autograph-seeking kids in Milwaukee to go fuck themselves.

[Q] Playboy: You had a memorable evening with Muhammad Ali, didn't you?

[A] Crystal: Yeah, at the Los Angeles Forum when he retired in 1980. He was in the audience, of course. There were 20,000 people. And I closed the show, though I was by far the least of the names. I took an imitation of Ali I had been doing and made it into a nine-minute piece called Fifteen Rounds, where I played Ali through 15 different stages of his life--punctuated by boxing-ring bells.

[Q] Playboy: What was it like?

[A] Crystal: The young Ali was wide-eyed, bushy-tailed, handsome and ready for the world. [Young Ali voice] "I'm the greatest thing of all time! Sonny Liston's a big bear. Floyd Patterson's a washerwoman. I'm predicting the rounds. I'm colorful." The next Ali was lower-voiced but still strong. It's 1967. [Ali voice] "I will not step forward; I will not cross the line. I'm a Muslim. I will not fight in this war. I ain't got no quarrel against the Viet Cong. I'm ready to die."

And that's [pounds his fists together] why I love that guy. What he did gets lost in the symbols of the war, the protests. We tend to think of only the era's music. But the most famous man in the world said, "I don't believe in this war." To me, that was huge. Here was the heavyweight champion saying no, no, no. And Lyndon Johnson and Richard Nixon were saying yes, yes, yes. [Ali again] "I will not go in the war. If you're going to shoot me, shoot me."

Then Ali gets older and he comes back after a broken jaw, and I do him with his jaws clenched. [Clenched-jaws Ali] "I'm coming back. It's never too late to start all over again." And although his jaws were wired shut, he still sounded so pretty. Still had that luster. When he loses to Leon Spinks, I play him as a very old, beaten man. A tired man. But then the spark comes back and he starts ranting and raving, and you see the hints of the younger guy we met in the beginning, and it's very stirring. [Old Ali] "Nobody's ever come back. I want to be champ for the third time. Nobody's ever done that before; but then again, no one's ever done anything like me. And you can be whatever you want to be, no matter what you is in life, no matter what color, no matter what religion; even if things is bad, it's never too late to start all over again. Listen to me, 'cause I am the greatest of all time!"

[Q] Playboy: How did Ali react?

[A] Crystal: Ali is standing there with tears coming out of his eyes. It's probably the greatest moment I'll ever know on stage. I'm lost. I'm out there. The voice is nowhere--it's not even close to Ali. I'm just screaming--I love this guy--I'm screaming to 20,000 people and they stand up before I'm done.

Afterward, I went backstage. Richard Pryor and Chevy Chase met me there. Both were crying. Then I went back into this room and Ali was there. All these people around him. And he just parted everybody, like the Red Sea, and he came over and he just lifted me up by my elbows, like you do to a little kid. He held me so tight to him and said, "Little brother, you made my life better than it was."

It was like--whoof! When does that happen, ever? I don't know many other comedians who will have that moment, you know? I know I'm sounding cocky. But it's important stuff. It makes up for that left-out feeling I've talked about. It's better than telling any joke. I know I've touched someone more than any six minutes in a stand-up spot could.

[Q] Playboy: So can we safely say you're feeling better about yourself these days?

[A] Crystal: I'm OK. I like me. OK, there are some things I could rewrite. Seriously, they say you live two lives--the life you learn with and the life you live thereafter. Until I was 35, it was all dress rehearsal.

[Q] Playboy: Do you still think there's a sword out there hanging over you, threatening to ruin everything again?

[A] Crystal: [Laughs] Are you kidding me? It's always there. The sword comes with the territory. It's one of the horrors of being in the business. It's worse for Jews, because we think it's gonna cut our penis again. It's that "Let's have another b'ris for your career. Cut off the last picture."

[Q] Playboy: Maybe you'd better explain what a b'ris is.

[A] Crystal: A circumcision ritual. Just another excuse for Jewish families to eat. And that's the first thing I remember. When I was eight days old and they cut my penis and I was screaming in agony, I know I heard my Uncle Max say [ethnic accent], "Let's eat."

[Q] Playboy: Any thoughts about how you'll be remembered?

[A] Crystal: I had a dream about this. Connie Chung is doing a newscast about my death and they show a clip from Soap. Suddenly, the lid comes off my casket and my cadaver runs down to the television station--walks right onto the set during air time--and says, "Didn't you ever see my other characters? The old black ballplayer? Ricky, the Vietnam vet? Buddy Young, Jr.?" But then I see the headline, "The 'you look Mahvelous' Man is Dead." [Fernando accent] "Remember, it's better to look good than to feel good." [Wild-eyed] God. What a horror. My obituary is probably already written that way. I know it!

Turn off the tape. It's over: Why go on?

[Q] Playboy: Because we want you to take a stab at summing up Billy Crystal.

[A] Crystal: Yeah, but I don't want to sound like a schmuck. [Pauses] How about just: "Dopey--with the Buddy Rich Band happening in his head."

[Q] Playboy: You can hand back the tape recorder now.

[A] Crystal: [Touches his forehead] OK, but I'm keeping the dimes.

"It's a bad drug, jealousy. Eats people up.Jealousy is the crack of comics."