Brace Yourself for Howiewood

For 13 years you've listened to Howard Stern. You've heard him mock, gripe, ridicule and sneer. You've found him gross, you've found him boring, you've even found him juvenile. But mostly he's made you laugh. You've heard him obsess about his penis and who he'd like to fuck. You've heard him rate the size of his colleague's breasts, and the general level of mendacity of everyone from the coffee boy to Kathie Lee Gifford. You've heard him spar with his wife, haggle with his father and throw himself into a Butt Bongo Fiesta. All this makes you think you know him, or at least know him well enough to be on edge. You're about to meet him.

You're driving to the train station and you turn on the radio. Today Howard's guest is Norm MacDonald, the guy who does the wicked Bob Dole impersonation on Saturday Night Live. Norm is talking about his dad--respectfully, with affection even. However, Norm does allow that his father was a bit strict. "He'd beat you, Norm?" asks Howard, Norm hesitates before he replies. In that hesitation he betrays fear or perhaps guilt. Maybe it's just exquisite comic timing. Most likely, it's a tiny lump of indignation that he must swallow before he goes along with the joke. Because he does go along, and soon Norm is yakking about how he saw his dad and mom getting it on, and how his dad spanked him, and Howard's gang goes "Ooh!" and Howard asks Norm if he was bare-bottomed when he got it, and if his father was bare-bottomed when he gave it.

Then he asks Norm about strip clubs. Norm is not much into them. He doesn't like girls pretending to like him. Howard, on the other hand, does: "Throw her $20, see her act like a pigeon." Norm discloses that he's an ass man, so much so that one day in the can at NBC he grew so captivated by the thought of a certain ass that he began, well----

"Pleasuring yourself?" submits Howard.

"Yeah," says Norm, who admits that it was, in fact, such a distracting interlude of pleasure that he left the bathroom without wiping. So there you are--leaving your car, about to board the train--remembering something that Len Blum said about Howard. Len is the writer of Howard's new film, and he's been thinking about Howard for the past two years. "Howard," he says, "is the voice of the unconscious." Which explains how he gets normally tongue-tied dental technicians to call in and talk about their experiments in lesbianism, and how once he inspired a perfectly levelheaded woman you worked with to phone up and share the intimate details of her date with Jerry Seinfeld. It's how he got Libby Pataki, wife of the governor of New York State--a Republican, for God's sake!--to allow that there might be something special in the area of marital relations waiting for her hubby the night after his election victory. In the space of ten minutes he gets Norm MacDonald to go from a discussion of his father, a paragon of Canadian rectitude, to confessions of masturbation and ass-wiping neglect.

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In some societies, when people want to open themselves to the voice of the unconscious, they build a bonfire and carve a model of a gigantic erect penis, and then they dance around it until they loosen up. In our society, the voice is on the radio, writes best-selling books and is now starring in a movie about its life.

Quite clearly 1997 is a watershed year for Howard Stern. He's at the top of one game and about to start in another.

His record on radio is unprecedented, and he's written two best-sellers. It's true that he hasn't exactly conquered television: His weekly late-night show never quite found itself, but he did do a $15 million pay-per-view special and the videotaped version of the radio show is going strong on the E! network. All this success has, of course, made him rich and famous.

His successes will be dwarfed if the movie hits. Private Parts, starring Howard Stern, based on the book Private Parts by Howard Stern, recounting the life of Howard Stern (how he conquered radio and won the love of a good woman), opened in March. The smart money says it is likely to be a hit. Smart people made it. Talented people are behind it. The script is funny and well conceived. It features radio bits to please hard-core fans and a strong personal story that should interest incidental listeners. And, from the few pieces we've seen, Howard is a persuasive actor. Sure, things could happen. The picture could get botched in postproduction, or Ebola virus could break out on Long Island and eradicate Stern's most dedicated fans. But take it from us: We've seen the map, we've seen the car, we've seen the highway. You can get there from here. Howard Stern, the King of All Media, will finally add the cinema to his domain.

Although he may not. And there's a risk in that. We know what sometimes happens when people get what they want. Al Davis wanted the Raiders in Los Angeles so much he sued the NFL. Now he's back in Oakland. Deion Sanders wanted to play both ways. He hasn't made anybody forget Jerry Rice. David Letterman was going great until he hosted the Oscars. A couple "Uma, Oprah" jokes later, he had laid an egg he still hasn't completely cleaned up. Bob Dole really wanted that Republican nomination.

We won't even touch David Caruso.

So there is a risk here, but it's a risk Stern has courted for a long time. The notion of Howard in a movie has been knocking around for five or six years, and in an industry where two seasons on Saturday Night Live can make you a leading man, the first question has to be: What took him so lone?

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"The problem was that I could never find a movie I wanted to make," Howard says. "I had meetings with every damn studio--Paramount, Universal, whatever. I was wined and dined by them all. They asked me, 'What movie do you want to make?' I said. "I don't know, do you guys have a good script?' Everything they sent me sucked. They were like Coneheads III: Howard's a garbageman and he becomes a rock star. Then the Mafia's after him, so he hides in the Catskills. Shit like that. I mean, what the fuck?"

Howard is recalling his odyssey in his office at the studio on Madison Avenue. It combines a small shrine to Private Parts (the book) with promotional paraphernalia and amateur drawings of his producer Gary Dell'Abate, the famous Baba Booey. On the radio or on E!, sitting behind his desk, behind his glasses, under his headphones, under his hair, muttering, wisecracking, mouthing off, Howard comes across as the goof-off you knew (or were) in high school. Stern isn't like that in person. He leans forward, he makes eye contact, he plays to you. He is a voluble, energetic storyteller. He is confident and smart and surefooted. He is likable. He has presence. Which is odd, for his career has been built in radio, where physical presence is irrelevant.

"People said, 'Jesus, what's the difference what the movie is? We'll make tons of money.' I said, 'Yeah, but my career will be over. It's not just about making money at this point--it's about doing something decent, too."'

The project Stern put into development with New Line was The Adventures of Fartman. This was decided when Howard guested on The Tonight Show. When Jay Leno asked him what movie When Jay Leno asked him what movie he was doing, he blurted out "Fartman." As it turned out, a screenwriter named J.F. Lawton, who had written Pretty Woman and Under Siege, saw the show and called New Line to say he'd like to write the screenplay. "New Line was floored," says Stern. "They didn't want to do Fartman--I didn't even want to do Fartman--but now there's this guy calling who they would give their left nut to work with."

Even though Lawton turned in a script that Stern liked--the opening of it appears in comic-book form in Stern's second book, Miss America--the deal with New Line collapsed in an argument over merchandising. "I've always avoided that kind of shit," Stern says. "I don't want to put out a Howard Stern T-shirt or a Fartman doll. It. smacks of desperation. It's like Rush Limbaugh. He always reminds me of a guy who thinks his career is going to end any minute, because he's selling his audience neckties! And tape recorders to record the show! At some point, your audience gets fed up."

Stern says they kicked around some terms, but, as we all know, Fartman never flew. So he hid himself in his basement and wrote Private Parts. The book is, in part, his account of how a nerdy kid from Long Island grew up to achieve astounding success, and how he found true love along the way. The story recounts how he honed his style, conquered the tough New York market at WNBC, battled with station executives and became a national celebrity. The book, of course, became a huge hit, and brought Hollywood back to his door. This time he signed with Rysher ("a new company with shitloads of money"), and two weeks later he had a screenplay.

Stern, who had script approval, hated it. "They had Richard Simmons running through my house, babysitting my kids--there was nothing to do with my life." He turned them down, and Rysher sent new screenplays, none of which pleased him.

The juggling of scripts lasted almost two years. Rysher finally told him that the company thought he was afraid to make the movie, and it was thinking of getting Jeff Goldblum to portray Stern in the film. "I said, 'Contractually, I don't know if you have that right--maybe you do--but I'm telling you, the only draw here is that people are going to see me playing me!"' At this point, some behind-the-scenes negotiations took place, and Ivan Reitman, who produced and directed Ghostbusters, Twins and Dave, became the producer of Private Parts.

To adapt Private Parts, Reitman enlisted Len Blum, who had written or co-written Meatballs, Stripes and Beethoven's 2nd for Reitman. Blum immediately plotted to secure a broad audience--namely women. If the movie was going to take off, figured Blum, he had to pack the house with more than just mail clerks. Some guys had to get their dates to go. And Stern suffered from a gender gap as wide as Newt Gingrich's. "I had to attack them through Alison."

Ah yes, Alison: Stern's wife of more than 20 years, the mother of their children, his tie to normalcy, the Beauty who does not exactly transform the Beast, but at least makes everyone think that maybe he's not so bad. Getting Alison right became a major goal of the whole creative team (which now included director Betty Thomas). Eventually they gave the part to Mary McCormack, who plays the pretty, smart and ever-so-slightly bad Justine on Murder One. "My best work has been done with women," says Stern, pointing to Thomas, his sidekick Robin Quivers, his book editor Judith Regan and the producer of his TV show, Fran Shea. "I enjoy working with women. I think most of the women in my life enjoy being around me. The idea that I'm a misogynist or a male chauvinist pig--I get that rap because I talk about sexuality from a guy's point of view. I say I'd like to have sex with a lot of young (continued on page 164)Howiewood Stern(continued from page 78) broads. I'm just being honest. I say broads because it's"--and here, oddly, he hesitates--"a highly descriptive word, and not because I hate women."

Blum worked on the first draft for six months. It opens with Howard's famous Fartman appearance on MTV. The next day, Howard finds himself on an airplane next to a beautiful woman played by Carol Alt. ("Her husband, the former New York Ranger Ron Greschner, is a fucking great guy. I want to believe that they suck in bed.") Alt greets Fartman with no small amount of revulsion. To explain himself he launches into the story of his life.

The filming, by all accounts, was a lovefest. (Mary McCormack on Howard: "He was sweet. He couldn't have been more giving." Howard on Mary: "So terrific." Executive producer Dan Goldberg on Howard: "A cool guy, a smart guy, not demanding, just cool." Howard on Betty: "She was great." Betty on Howard: "I didn't expect a person who'd come in and shake my hand and be nervous and vulnerable and awkward but warm and focused on making me feel at home." Howard on Len: "Genius." Len on Howard: "He has given his life to being a comedic artist.")

There were questions about whether Stern could act. "The question wasn't whether I could do a radio scene," says Stern, "but whether I could do an acting scene with my wife or with my general managers. Initially, the pace was way off for me. The first day, I was like, 'C'mon, c'mon, c'mon. Just set up the cameras. Try to stay with me.' I had no clue. I got in a funk. Ivan sat me down, and said, 'Listen, you're fucking carrying a $25 million picture. Now get your shit together!' It was intense. But the second day was better. By the third day, it started to click. And eventually I said we should do a sequel, and Len said, 'Ivan and I have discussed it, and here's how we see it."'

Blum, for one, is a believer. He thinks there could be a whole series of Howard Stern movies, as distinctive in their style and approach as Marx Brothers movies.

"Nothing would please me more than to do a series of Howard Stern movies," says Stern. "I can see it. It would be tremendous to have a full career like that. It was just a bitch to be making a movie while doing the radio show."

Oh yeah, the radio show. The cornerstone of the empire, the rock on which he founded his church. Yet, when a guy is 43 years old and in possession of a good-sized pile, does he look down the road and see himself waking up at three a.m. in order to rag on Baba Booey?

"I don't," admits Stern firmly. "I don't want to do it now. When I was offered my five-year deal with Infinity Broadcasting, Alison and I had a heart-to-heart. I said, 'Radio is something I always wanted to do. But I hate getting up at three a.m., and I hate the daily pressure of having to come up with something funny to say. It's like being in school. But I've worked so long to get a payday, how can I walk away from this?' Of course she agreed. What does she care? She's home doing her nails."

One thing Stern doesn't worry about is whether he can still produce an entertaining show. "Maybe this is a character flaw." he says, "but in my business it works: I am childlike. Intellectually, I'm a moron. I mean, I like Beverly Hills 90210. I think it's the best thing on television. And I read comic books. Farting is still funny to me. The radio show is set up to be fresh always. It's about opening up the newspaper. I've always maintained that this show could last for as long as I wanted it to last. But there will come a time when I say, 'Hey, I've done it long enough, I've proved everything there is to prove in radio."'

Even if Stern one day abandons radio for the movies, don't expect him to go Hollywood. "First," he notes, "I can't stand to visit Los Angeles. The limo guy picks you up at the airport and he starts in--he's writing a script, he's pitching you. It's like a bunch of psychotics. They are all running around announcing what their next projects are going to be. Each woman is more beautiful than the next, and they all think they're ugly and they're all anorexic. It's a sick mentality.

"I find the Hollywood lifestyle--which I can get right here in New York--so apart from what the rest of America is like. You can see how someone becomes a total fucking asshole on these sets and starts ranting and raving just because the fucking hot comb isn't ready."

Stern points to an item in the newspaper about Brad Pitt. "Brad Pitt is whining that his good looks are getting in the way of his getting serious acting roles. That fuck! I'm writing a Twilight Zone episode where Brad Pitt gets my fucking face, and I get his, and you see who gets laid. If he had my face, I'd like to see him get an acting career."

Stern is also bugged by Hollywood's reluctance to take risks. "I see the same goddamn movie being made over and over," he says. "Every black female is Whoopi Goldberg. I see a Whoopi Goldberg movie announced--and I think Whoopi is a tremendous talent--and I don't even pay attention to it, because it seems like the last movie.

"Moreover, I'm sick of the guys who have been around for 20 years who haven't done one damn new thing. I don't care if Billy Crystal is in a movie--I've seen it already. I've seen his entire repertoire. And Billy Crystal is also a tremendous talent. But are there no other guys besides Billy Crystal? Robin Williams is brilliant, but there have to be other people. Sharon Stone--I should give a shit about another Sharon Stone movie? Demi Moore--who gives a fuck?" There is one actor, Jim Carrey, whom Stern likes. "I also love Jean-Claude Van Damme and Steven Seagal movies, which I consider a flaw in my personality."

It's the last day of shooting and you're sitting with Len Blum in a makeshift office at the Silvercup Studios in Queens. "In show business, there are types that last," Blum says. "There's Fatty Arbuckle, Jackie Gleason, John Candy--the fat man who's light on his feet. There's the whole series of blonde bombshells. But there's never been anybody like Howard."

Maybe not exactly, but he may be an original in many of the same ways that Groucho Marx was an original. Both are New York, Jewish, witty, verbal, anarchic, sex-crazy, disdainful of the establishment. Think of proper, put-upon Margaret Dumont and you have an image of the bluenoses so outraged by Stern.

"But Groucho was always Groucho," says Blum. "He was Groucho even with his family. Howard's not Howard with his family. He has this normal life."

"You talk to my wife--it's not so normal," says Stern several weeks later. "Everything we talk about ends up on the radio. She says, 'It's not fair to me, some things should be private.' I say, 'I don't have that ability. I could promise you right now I won't talk about things on the radio, but I know I'd be lying. The material is too good."'

A subtle transformation occurs. The outgoing, entertaining Stern has gone for a walk. The Stern taking his place is serious. "It's not so normal," he says. "Especially when you see how wonderful she's been to me. You have to wonder what I could be thinking when I say some things. And I don't know what I was thinking. There's a compulsion, as soon as I hear myself say, 'Don't talk about it,' to think, Wait, this is exactly what everyone wants to hear about. And maybe it's an insecurity on my part, because maybe I want my career to be so successful that I'm placing it over someone else's emotions. That's not healthy. That's a sick fucking thing. I recognize it, but I can't stop doing it because then the show would suck.

"In the movie, the issue is resolved because she accepts it. Some women will say she's a sap. Some will understand when she says, 'Look, the guy at home is the guy I love. I'm not married to the guy on the radio, and I guess I have to deal with it.'

"I can tell you it's not a settled issue in Alison's mind. Just yesterday we were arguing. I said, 'I can't believe this, this sounds like the movie.' She said, 'Fuck the movie. We're having a real argument.' She was extremely pissed off at me, because I was on the air criticizing how she dresses. I was also saying her friends don't dress well. And she was driving in her car crying. She said, 'I'm sick of being criticized by you in front of everybody!' I said, 'Alison, I didn't mean any of that.' But maybe I did mean it. She's not buying it. My wife's not stupid--the woman graduated from Columbia. She has a master's, if that's a sign of bright. She's an intelligent woman, and she was saying, 'You're a great guy and everything, but I don't understand why I have to be ridiculed.' I said, 'Alison, we've had this discussion so many times, and I don't think there's a resolution.' That's a real prick thing to say, that it's up to her to resolve it. Then I'll catch myself saying, 'What am I doing? Here's a woman who actually loves me. How many people with any degree of fame have that in their lives? How can I be such a scumbag?' And I go and apologize. But I know it will happen again.

"We actually have a very good marriage. We talk openly and honestly about stuff. There's just this one character flaw, this radio show persona that I have.

"I wonder sometimes--which is the real guy? I think the guy on the air is the real guy. I feel most at home when I'm behind that microphone, when I'm able to say what's on my mind. In our real lives, we have to act all the time. We have to say things to our wives to calm them down, we have to say things to our kids that aren't exactly truthful. I can't walk into a room and say, 'Hey, you fucking idiot!' I'd get killed. But that's what I'm actually thinking. I think the guy off the air is the one who's frustrated, and he's the one who's playacting all the time."

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Although there was still considerable work to do after filming was completed--looping, writing little bits of stuff to connect edited bits, figuring out the soundtrack--Stern went home from the wrap party and fell into a kind of a postpartum depression.

"Part of it was, 'Could I have done something better?"' he says. "But mostly it was that this thing is suddenly over. You've just seen your whole life go before your eyes. I never spent time thinking about it before. But one day we went to this tiny radio station in the suburbs. It was the first place I worked, and it was the only actual location we used in the movie. We got there, and it was ten times smaller than I remembered."

The studio was in a bedroom on the second floor of a small house. It had a little window in it. "I was making $96 a week," he says, "at a time when most of my friends were making $12,000 a year. I would have died to make $12,000 a year. I remember being in this booth, and I would look out at the trees, and think, I am the world's shittiest disc jockey, I am such a failure.

"When we were finished shooting, I went around behind the house. I looked up at the window, and I swear I could see me staring back out. I thought, Oh my God, how lucky I am that I got out of there! I thought, You're incredibly lucky, you've become successful, this incredible woman loves you. Thank God!"

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"I don't know," he admits with a rueful grin. "I thought by the time I reached the age of 43 I would have matured in some way, but it doesn't seem to have happened. If anything I'm more confused. Maybe that's a midlife crisis. But I'm more confused than ever, and I feel like I know less about the world than ever, and it gets worse, not better. And I'm fucking three times as horny and sexually obsessed."

And then it comes. "Do you find that as you get older," he asks you, "you get hornier?"

In a heartbeat you answer. You don't answer long and you don't answer in detail, and you don't mention your parents or ass wiping, but the question has struck a chord and you respond. In that moment, the voice of the unconscious asked you a question, and you replied.

"I talk about sex from a guy's point of view. I say I'd like to have sex with a lot of broads. I'm being honest."