Playboy Interview: David Spade

David Spade is driving through Beverly Hills, sitting high above the traffic in his Toyota Land Cruiser, heading for his favorite sushi bar. As he slows for a yellow light, a Mercedes darts in front of him to take first position in the lane. Spade immediately jabs the horn.

"Yeah, I've got a little road rage," admits the waifish 34-year-old comedian and actor who, with his blond surfer locks and casual threads could easily be mistaken for the older brother of the pop group Hanson. "A couple weeks ago there was this dipshit in a Montero, a little phony 4x4, who pulled up the side of a freeway on-ramp and jammed in front of me. I hate that he didn't pay the penance of waiting in the line. So I beeped. A friendly beep. Could have been a 'hello' beep. But he flipped me off and then tossed his cigarette out the sunroof." It landed on the Land Cruiser's hood and burned a hole. "I lost my mind," says Spade. "Not that I would have done anything, anyway."

That was not always the case. Despite his laid-back demeanor, Spade was once an angry guy. As a kid, he was an undersized brainiac bullied by siblings and classmates. "When you're tiny, you can't fight back," he recalls. But it turned out he could only take so much. "Eventually I went shithouse and broke everything in my room," he says. "I was a feisty little fucker. My dad used to say, 'You kick a little dog too long, one day he's going to bite you.'

"But around ten years ago I decided I couldn't do that to myself anymore. Now I'm Mr. Even Keel. The only times it comes out is when I'm driving and some dipshit tries to take advantage of me, and when I chew through my bite plates during the night."

And, of course, when he's onstage, and he can channel his aggravation into sarcasm. Arguably one of the most sarcastic members of the Saturday Night Live cast (he spent six seasons on the show), he has now become one of the most sardonic stars in prime time as Dennis Finch, the office manager with an attitude on Just Shoot Me. It's turned out to be a profitable talent. Spade has also done commercials as well as ten feature films, including Tommy Boy and Black Sheep with Chris Farley. In his latest movie, Spade moves boldly into new territory--this time he finally gets the girl.

In Lost and Found, he's a down-on-his-luck restaurant owner who has to kidnap co-star Sophie Marceau's dog and then put up a bogus $10,000 reward for its return just to keep the woman of his dreams in his life. Spade, who co-wrote the film, had to convince studio suits that his having a little romance with the laughs was not beyond reason and that his audience would accept it.

Test audiences confirmed Spade's instinct, and the film will be released soon. "I'm not making that big a jump. Maybe an inch sideways," he explains. "The most important thing is that this movie reflects my sense of humor. I'm finally saying lines that I think are funny."

David Spade has not always had things his way. He was born on July 22, 1964 in Birmingham, Michigan, to Judy, now a writer, and Wayne (also known as Sam and Peewee). The family moved to Arizona when Spade was four, and his dad split soon after, leaving his three sons to wait for his erratic visits and eccentric gifts. When Spade's mother then married a doctor (who later committed suicide), the family moved to the copper-mining town of Casa Grande. That's where Spade developed self-protective sarcasm to compensate for being bullied and for being too uncool for school.

In 1985 Spade left Arizona State University to become a comedian. He moved to Los Angeles, auditioned at the Improv and got a regular spot because, in a stand-up world populated with Seinfelds, Reisers and Belzers, "they didn't have one of me." That led to a role in Police Academy 4, TV work and finally a showcase on HBO's 13th Annual Young Comedians Show hosted by Dennis Miller. In 1990 Miller persuaded Saturday Night Live creator Lorne Michaels to consider Spade for the show. During his run Spade developed such memorable characters as the insouciant flight attendant from Total Bastard Airlines who can't wait to bid his passengers "Buh bye," a Gap girl (in Gap drag) and the haughty receptionist who asks even Jesus Christ, "And you are?" As himself on Hollywood Minute, Spade also put the overhyped and self-important on notice with his dead-on disembowelments--and more than once received angry phone calls from his victims.

During this time, Spade formed lasting friendships with Chris Rock and Adam Sandler--his office mates on SNL--and with Norm Macdonald and Dennis Miller. But the deepest bond was with Chris Farley. They made two hit films together and were discussing a third when Farley died of a drug overdose in December 1997. Spade was so devastated--though not entirely surprised--that he couldn't go to the funeral, preferring to grieve in private.

Spade also remains private about his life. He maintains homes in Beverly Hills and Arizona, is single and, in addition to his movie and sitcom work, is developing an animated series based on his relationship with his father.

We asked Contributing Editor David Rensin to meet with the flyweight funnyman while Spade filmed Lost and Found.

"We met on the movie set, which was a run-down antique mall in Long Beach. Spade was about to rehearse a scene in which he takes Sophie Marceau's purloined pup to a dog whisperer (played by Jon Lovitz), hoping he'll find a way to make it disgorge a diamond wedding ring it might have swallowed. 'Are you sure this guy is a certified dog whisperer?' Spade says to his assistant. Later, during a break, Spade worries aloud to the dog. 'How come every day you act like you don't know me?'

"In many ways, Spade is not easy to know. To be sure, he's always ready to grab hold of an idea and see what kind of humor he can wring out of it. But in our interview he was often low-key and thoughtful, even earnest. For a funny guy he takes things seriously, is constantly on the lookout for the surprise payoff and is careful not to bite off more than he can chew, careerwise. It's clear that he really misses Farley and needs a new friend with whom he can be himself.

"On our last day together, Spade invited me to go house hunting. At one Beverly Hills mansion, he paid particular attention to the driveway, which he rated high for skate-boarding and basketball. Before we left, the real estate agent tried to get his reaction to the property. 'Nice,' said Spade, if you don't mind that it looks like a Spanish prison.'"

[Q]Playboy: We last saw you on HBO's 13th Annual Young Comedians Show in 1989. Anything come of it?

[A]Spade: Oh, nice way to start the interview [smiles]. They almost didn't take me because I actually was a young comedian. Those things usually feature guys like Paul Reiser who have been around for years.

[Q]Playboy: Things didn't work out too badly for him--or for you. Saturday Night Live, stand-up, movies, commercials, Just Shoot Me. Would you change anything?

[A]Spade: I always wanted to be taller, but now that would hurt me. I've based my whole persona, comedically, on being a little squirrelly, a little fruity, 130 pounds, 5'7" with clogs and my hair blow-dried. If I were tall and studly I don't think it would be as funny. I've got to play to my strengths, which are, of course, my weaknesses.

[Q]Playboy: How does that affect your dating routine?

[A]Spade: When I was in high school I was like Lucas meets Powder. The girls would say, "You're my best friend. I'm going to go fuck my boyfriend real quick, but be here when I get back, because I want to tell you about all our problems." I was the buddy, waiting for things to turn the corner.

[Q]Playboy: Your success must have helped you in that regard. Who do you date now, models and actresses?

[A]Spade: [Chuckles] I've been accused of that. There are also rumors that I'm gay and, worst of all, not funny. So if people want to say I've been seen with pretty women, I think I can handle it. I'll take that hit.

The model thing is really kind of a scam. The only thing worse than me saying I was a nerd in high school is hearing supermodels on Leno going, "I'm a total goofball. You should see me at home. I'm like a big geek." Oh yeah? Well, now you're a $5 million-a-year supermodel. Please don't ruin the sex appeal. Don't act surprised that your tits are falling out of a dress that took you three weeks to pick out.

Of course, any woman in America over 5'3" who isn't a complete hog is labeled a model. It used to be that you could date a cute girl. Now, if she's just semipretty, you're suddenly a modelfucker. But this is Los Angeles. The only choices are actresses and models. End of argument.

[Q]Playboy: Who wants to argue?

[A]Spade: It's not as much of a victory as it was in the old days. It's like the guys who date Elizabeth Taylor now. They can tell their buddies they're dating her, but what's the big deal? She's no longer the hottest girl on the planet. Someone will always marry Christie Brinkley in a second, just to say, "Christie Brinkley, guys. High five!" Forget that it's 15 or 20 years later. Not that she's bad--it's just not while the iron is hot.

[Q]Playboy: You're a little cynical about the Los Angeles dating scene?

[A]Spade: Here's the problem: A pretty girl's complaint in life is that everyone wants to fuck her. And in Hollywood that's pretty much true. But I don't like that complaint because it falls into the No Shit? category, along with Who Cares? and It Could Be Worse. It's a given, like in a proof in math. So go on from there.

[Q]Playboy: You were a math whiz in grade school, so we should probably believe you.

[A]Spade: I was--and already on my way to being a big idiot. They wanted me to skip a grade, but my mom said I was too short. In the second grade I was doing fourth-grade reading and math. My best friend in grade school was Vietnamese, a math whiz like me. No one else knew what we were talking about.

[Q]Playboy: Why were you so interested in numbers?

[A]Spade: I wasn't. I was just good at it, so I kept doing it.

[Q]Playboy: You were also a spelling champ and a chess champ--

[A]Spade: My stepdad was into me being smart. I saw the attention you get when you're smart. I'll take any attention, even if it's weird. Back then you don't know what's going to work. Trouble is, fourth-grade girls aren't into the smart guys with coin collections--they're into anything else. And I think that sticks today.

[Q]Playboy: Did you ever show a date your coin collection?

[A]Spade: Oh yeah. She was hot. She came all the way from Casa Grande, the little mining town where I grew up, to Scottsdale, where I'd moved. I had her upstairs. I was almost 14 and she was 12 and even had some boobage. I was like, "You ready for this, baby? I've got four and a half inches of solid steel"--and then I pulled out a roll of 1943 pennies. She was like, "Mmm, yes. Could I use those for a while?" Actually, she wanted to make out and I wanted to show her some Mercury dimes. I just didn't get it.

[Q]Playboy: You're still single. How tough has it been to find someone?

[A]Spade: When you live somewhere between New York and L.A, and you're nice to women, you probably have a chance. That's a quality they look for. Here, it works against you. You can be creative, have a good job, money, be fun to be with, have a nice place to live, offer security, be good to kids, and the woman says, "Well, I'm pretty, so we're exactly even. Besides, you're single. I don't like that. Why aren't you taken?" If you're married, mean to women, don't have a job and play in a band, you're ideal. You have the upper hand. You'll nab huge. I like how some girls pretend they want a nice guy. "Well, my last 26 boyfriends have been losers, but I'm really looking for a good guy. Someone like John Ratzenberger on Cheers is my ideal man."

I say, "Really? You're not looking that hard, are you? With 26 strikes in a row, I think I'm starting to see a pattern."

"But you're too nice. You're too good to me."

I want to say, "Honey, just give me time. Don't worry your pretty little head about that. I'll be your worst nightmare." That's when I feel sick of it all. I just want to get away, move out to the boonies, miles from anybody, settle down with a cute girl, snuggle up in front of a fire and say stuff to her like "Scream all you want, sugar, ain't no one going to hear you."

[Q]Playboy: What's your most attractive quality? What do you want women to notice about you first?

[A]Spade: I'm God's teacher. No, I'm easy to be around. Light, fun, good time. Keep it lively. Don't get too heavy too fast. That's the entire upside, but it's a pretty good draw.

[Q]Playboy: As long as we are discussing women, perhaps you can answer a question that we're sure is on every man's mind: What is it with women and their dogs?

[A]Spade: The theory is that dogs are the easiest to love and to get love from. Unlike guys, dogs don't complain, they don't have a life of their own, they don't look at other dogs that much. They rely 100 percent on the woman for food, shelter, happiness and love. It's pretty controlling to own a pet.

[Q]Playboy: Does it excite you when you go to a woman's place after a date and she brings out the pooper-scooper?

[A]Spade: I went on a date in New York. We got home and we were drunk, and the girl said, "Let me walk my dog real fast, then we'll retire to the bedroom." We went out and the dog took a big old Stanley Steamer. She put a glove on and picked up this big old Marathon Bar, then carried it around while she said, "I thought we could do some tie-up stuff." I said, "Could you throw that Lincoln Log away before we start talking dirty?" She carried it around in a plastic glove like the guys at Subway who make your sandwiches. I'm thinking, Honey, you really have to lose the turd before you start your dialogue. And then the dog watched us have sex. He just sat there staring at us, like, "You're hurting her!" She said, "Believe me, he's not hurting me that bad."

[Q]Playboy: Originally you weren't part of the Just Shoot Me cast, nor were you eager to join. Why?

[A]Spade: I was cautious about whatever I did after Saturday Night Live. Unlike jumping on a sitcom first thing out, I spent six years in a place where I had some say in formulating my persona. Most people don't have that. People go, "I can't believe Leonardo DiCaprio was on Growing Pains." It's easy to believe. At one point he was like every other dipshit: He took what he could get. I got used to being able to throw in my two cents. I'd built up my own tiny image on Saturday Night Live and I didn't want it to be stripped away in two weeks on a show that wasn't funny. Just Shoot Me was funny, but I had to be careful.

[Q]Playboy: What convinced you to sign on?

[A]Spade: My manager. He thought it would be good for me and at the same time help bring in some of the younger audience, to put the show across the board demographically. But I didn't think the first script they wrote me into was effective. I was just a secretary, answering phones, saying something funny here and there. The plan was that by show three or four they'd introduce me all the way and have a story about me. I said, "There's no way. I can't wait that long. We've got to do it from the get-go." My problem is, my crowd has the attention span of a firefly. If I'm not introduced fully and don't get some laughs, after two episodes they'll just turn away and say, "Spade's not funny anymore. What's next?"

[Q]Playboy: Who is your audience?

[A]Spade: After years of research, I figured out my demographic is semiretarded four-to seven-year-olds. No, I think it's whatever Saturday Night Live's crowd is. Anyone from ten to 50, or older.

[Q]Playboy: How much input do you have on Just Shoot Me?

[A]Spade: Enough. Now the hardest part is memorizing my lines. At the beginning I tried to come up with a ton of jokes. Then I realized I'd better relax. With each show I trusted them more and they trusted me. We met halfway, and now we're in a pretty good groove.

[Q]Playboy: So please tell us the truth: Is Finch gay?

[A]Spade: I'm glad you brought that up. No. But sometimes they try to fag me up on the show and I have to put my foot down. He's got these fruity little traits that come out every week, and they try to whiz them by me. Last year I collected ceramic cats. I play the harp. I have a cat named Spartacus that I've taken to a cat show. But when I get too faggy, they have me make out with a chick. There was a whole episode built around me making out with my boss' babysitter. In fact, Finch is on the prowl 24-7, so I think they give him these fruity characteristics just because he thinks he's so cool and it's funny to watch the bottom drop out.

[Q]Playboy: What does Just Shoot Me have to say to America?

[A]Spade: I'll tell you what it says to me: It's a teaching tool. Even the Finches of the world can get laid if they have enough chloroform and Rohypnol [smiles]. I like that the show reflects the reality of a backbiting workplace where people fuck each other over but are still friends at the end of the day. Everyone snipes. Everyone's out for themselves, not the team. We're always bailing when someone's in trouble, and placing the blame elsewhere.

[Q]playboy: What other TV show would you like to cross-promote and appear on as Finch?

[A]Spade: How about just letting me cross-pollinate with Josie Bissett from Melrose Place? I might do The X-Files this year, for real. But other than that, for fake, I can't think of even one.

[Q]Playboy: You're an X-Files fan?

[A]Spade: I talked to David Duchovny about us flip-flopping shows. We might do that just for fun, since he's in LA now. He got them to move his show, so I'm trying to get them to move my show, too.

[Q]Playboy: To where?

[A]Spade: From shooting in the San Fernando Valley, over the hill to the Westside. I'm burning out on the Coldwater Canyon drive. But I'll probably wait a couple years to see if I have any clout.

[Q]Playboy: You might not yet have clout, but you have fame. Have the paparazzi been a problem for you?

[A]Spade: Once I took my brother and buddies to Maui for a week. Suddenly I showed up in Star magazine, in a telephoto shot, on the beach. I knew then that all bets were off. It was kill or be killed.

[Q]Playboy: Is that the worst of it?

[A]Spade: Why isn't anyone around when I'm making out with Gena Lee Nolin at Burger King? Meanwhile, at the hotel in Maui a bunch of people kept checking us out like we were walking through a mall. "Hey, hey, Mr. Spade. Yeah, I'm going to go ahead and get a picture of you and my son, then one of you and my daughter. Then we'll get a three-shot." No one wants to hear that I'm on vacation. People walk up with their camcorders, filming while they talk to you: "Dude! I can't believe you're here, man. I'm on my honeymoon. Say something." So I'll say, "What about your poor bride who puts up with a jackass who would walk up to me with a video camera without telling me first." He goes, "Yeaah, Spade." They like that, even though I'm mad.

[Q]Playboy: You have a big teenage contingent, too.

[A]Spade: I think it's because I'm as tall as a 13-year-old. They write me a lot. The letters are always funny and some are superdirty, something you don't expect from a teenager.

[Q]Playboy: How do you handle the girls who invite you to their proms?

[A]Spade: I've called a few. When I shared an office at Saturday Night Live with Sandler, Rock and Farley, we'd all get boxes of fan mail, and we'd read the letters. They always included a phone number. It was like, "Call me. I work at Tater Junction from 12 to 4, then at 5 I have Pilates, but I'll be home from 6 to 7:30." It's kind of presumptuous. I'd call and go, "Is Crystal home from her Pilates class yet?"

"Yes, but I'm not sure where she is at the moment. Who's this?"

"It's David Spade. Tell her I got her letter. I thought it was very nice. Appreciate her writing and, yes, I'll try to smile more."

They always shit. The next letter is, "Oh my God! I can't believe it! My stupid mom didn't get me! I was out front on my bike! Call again, here are my times! I told everyone at school you called!"

We'd just take turns. Farley would do it, too: "Hey, Bob Fredericksen from Gallager Tetanoni. Say, is there a Sarah at this address?"

"Yes, that's my daughter."

"Well, can you put her on? She just won a new pup tent courtesy of--" He'd just fuck with them. Once they figure out it's you, it's really fun.

[Q]Playboy: Do you guys crank-call one another?

[A]Spade: That's one thing I miss about Farley, his phone messages. [Imitating Farley] "Dave Spade, how are ya? Uh, listen, I'm workin' sales down here in Fond du Lac, and, uh, you know 68 percent of the country needs new lawn equipment. The other, uh, whatever percent makes up a hundred, don't. And sir, we have an exciting offer--"

[Q]Playboy: It's been almost a year and a half since your best friend died. How are you handling it?

[A]Spade: There's only a handful of people who know me back and forth, and because of Saturday Night Live and Tommy Boy and Black Sheep--films are 24-hour-a-day experiences--we knew each other like that. We'd talk about everything, and it was always safe. I totally miss that shorthand.

[Q]Playboy: Instead of going to Farley's funeral, you wrote a tribute to him in Rolling Stone. Why?

[A]Spade: It was an easier way to answer all the requests to say something. I got more than 100 calls for interviews. To do them would have been self-serving. What does it help to give some talk show a four-minute piece that's forgotten the next day? They just want to ask you those fake questions: "Did you see it coming? Was it bad when he died?" The fake concern is always so gross. I didn't want to seem like I was capitalizing on it. For me it was best to talk it out with Sandler and Rock, the guys who were in the trenches. Also, my mom knew Chris really well, and she knew his mom.

There are a lot of people around me who I could comfortably talk to about everything without taking the chance of saying the wrong thing in public.

[Q]Playboy: Did you do the right thing?

[A]Spade: Yeah. Going to the funeral would have been too hard. So much grief and emotion. I couldn't go through that. Just talking to Sandler on the phone I'd well up thinking about all three of us. To actually see all those people, to be in Wisconsin where everything would remind me of Farley--I'd have been overcome. I was too fragile. I didn't want to deal with it. It was kind of selfish, but who cares?

[Q]Playboy: Not long after, another SNL cast member died.

[A]Spade: When Phil Hartman died I just pretended it hadn't happened. I didn't even know how to deal with that. It came too quickly on the heels of Farley, and it surprised me how numb I got. I deflected it like Teflon.

[Q]Playboy: You didn't go to that memorial either.

[A]Spade: We were shooting the show that night. I actually would have gone, and it wouldn't have blown my mind like Farley's funeral would have. We spent six years together, and Phil was a great guy, he was always cool to me when lots of people at Saturday Night Live weren't.

[Q]Playboy: The fact that you loved him aside, what was the hardest thing about being around Farley?

[A]Spade: His intensity. I didn't want to bum him out by not partying as hard, so after a while I learned to steer clear. It's fun to be in that world, to bop around and say hi and have a beer, but you don't want to be there all night. I'd done it enough in high school to remember it was horrifying. Some of the idiot people he was around got on my nerves. Half the time he partied with fans he'd meet at a bar because they were the only ones who would stay up until four A.M. on a workday. I much preferred hanging with Chris alone.

[Q]Playboy: How was that different?

[A]Spade: He didn't put on a show; or if he did it was just for me. I still want to call him if I hear something funny, or something that would piss him off, or if I see a girl I know he would die for, or a script that would be great for us to do.

[Q]Playboy: Did you have a movie planned together before he died?

[A]Spade: We'd started thinking about a new one. One night I ran into him at the Mondrian Hotel bar. He was doing an interview and he had some guy with him. He saw me, and we talked. We hadn't seen each other for about two months. He said, "Nobody cares about anything but Tommy Boy. They don't talk about Beverly Hills Ninja or anything else. We've got to get back to doing something like Tommy Boy." We batted around ideas. One was a new twist on the Hardy Boys, a comedic detective adventure.

[Q]Playboy: Was he right about Tommy Boy?

[A]Spade: Yes. It's the most proud I've been of anything, and people want to talk about it all the time. It hit on all levels. It was basically about me and Chris being friends. It let us be funny the way we're funny. It was cut together well. It had heart, it was goofy, unexpected. And we were in control.

[Q]Playboy: What did you admire about Farley?

[A]Spade: Lots of things. Of our group--Rock, Sandler, me, Chris--we all knew Farley was the funniest. He had so many different levels and ways of being funny that we didn't. Farley was always bigger and goofier and funnier and more committed than any of us. He got the bigger payoff.

[Q]Playboy: There's a much-published picture of you, Farley, Sandler and Rock taken backstage at Rock's Universal Amphitheater show in 1997, a few months before Farley died. Can you stand to look at it?

[A]Spade: Yeah. It makes me feel great and sad. The night was a total blast. It was one of the last times the four of us were together, because it's hard to get us in the same room at the same time. It's great that we all did well and remained friends. What are the chances of that in this business? It's tough to look at that picture, knowing it was just about over for Farley. If I or one of the others had died, it might have been even weirder. Farley was the one we thought something might happen to--like a guy walking through heavy traffic. It was nerve-racking. Like he was playing Frogger with his life.

[Q]Playboy: What could you do to bug Farley?

[A]Spade: Hint that he couldn't beat up someone. Once, at Saturday Night Live, he wrestled Jay Mohr and Jay pinned him. Farley got caught off guard, and that flipped him out. Till the day he died I'd go, "Remember when Jay Mohr pinned you by the elbow?"

"That motherfucker! I'll kill that fuck!"

I'd go, "That was ugly. It was in front of chicks and everyone at work."

"Fuck you, dude. I wasn't even paying attention. He's a pussy!" Then I'd turn to Mohr and say, "Jay, remember when you pinned Farley?" and Chris would snap. I'd have to say, "What are you, a sucker? You know I only say this to get you mad." And because we were so close, he loved it when I ripped him.

[Q]Playboy: Did you ever try to intervene in his problems?

[A]Spade: I'm not being callous, but I knew I was helpless. I tried to give him the old "It's not worth it" and "Come on, you shouldn't be partying so much." He would always sit and listen to the lectures. He would nod and agree: "I know. You're right." I thought I was so smart and that I'd articulated my case well. Then he'd turn around and do whatever he wanted. I realize he played me. But then I'd see guest hosts do it, pull Chris aside to talk to him. He liked the attention. A host would go, "Let's talk. Let's go to dinner, just me and you, and talk." He was like, "Yeah, maybe we should." Then he'd tell me, "I had dinner with so-and-so last night." I'd go, "I know. I'm sorry I'm not a fucking druggie, maybe I could have gone." He'd say, "It's not just 'cause of that!"

Sometimes I made fun of Chris because he'd constantly sniff around the hosts to see if they had any similar problems so they could hang together.

"Are you scared to be in the ocean?"

"Not really."

"Oh. Then, are you scared of gangs, or of being shot?"

"Well, I guess."

"Me too! Let's go to lunch at Houlihan's."

[Q]Playboy: Was he that insecure?

[A]Spade: The irony is that all these hosts wanted to hang out with him anyway. They didn't need to have problems in common. They just wanted to be around him. Always. There was something about him that was so fun to watch, and he was so crazy and goofy and really likable. He was the guy to watch, the guy to like. I see our old films and I watch him and not me. What does that say? Everybody I'd run into on the street, famous or not, would go, "What's Chris Farley like?" He didn't need all that other crap to hide behind. It was easy to like Chris.

[Q]Playboy: And what is it that you hide behind?

[A]Spade: Fame is the only rap I have. In high school and in college I wasn't tall enough or good-looking enough to stand out. I was too embarrassed and too smart to think that anything I could say to anyone, particularly a girl, wouldn't be seen through. I thought there was nothing I could say that wouldn't sound stupid. So I didn't even try. If it didn't walk into my lap I wouldn't get it. But fame is the best icebreaker, because people already know you. In a bar, women usually think you're a psycho until you prove otherwise. But if they've seen you on Letterman, they've already decided if they like you or not.

[Q]Playboy: How do you feel about Saturday Night Live now?

[A]Spade: My first three years were the hardest. Even in my fifth year, Sandler and Farley were doing great and I went nine shows without being the lead in a sketch. My fifth year. Nine shows. Is that horrible? Five years and I still didn't have enough pull. That was hard.

[Q]Playboy: What was the problem?

[A]Spade: When I was there, being able to do impressions was a big way to get on the air. If someone in the news looked like Sandler, say Macho Camacho, Sandler would do it. If the person looked like Rob Schneider, say K.D. Lang, Schneider would do it. If the person looked like me, Dana Carvey would do it. I could do impressions--Tom Petty, Michael J. Fox, Jeff Foxworthy, but basically the show already had one of me. That's how you got ahead. I was more a personality, like a Bill Murray. In a sketch I'm always a little bit of David Spade. I don't disappear into characters.

When the elections came around in 1992, Dana was famous for doing George Bush. Phil Hartman was Clinton. I saw this Ross Perot guy on CNN; it was the first time I'd heard of him. He had a funny accent and I thought he'd be fun to do. I called one of the writers and said, "Hey, if this guy does better, let's write me something. Then I can debate Bush and get in the middle." But I didn't hear back from the writer, and two weeks later they wrote in Perot and gave it to Dana. The problem was that he couldn't do it because he had to be Bush. They said, "We'll figure something out." Then they told me, "We're going to have a prime-time political special. You're going to be in it. You're going to get an extra chunk of money. You're doing Perot."

I put on the Perot makeup and we did a three-shot of me, Dana and Phil walking out for a debate. Then Dana did his speech, as Bush, and when they got to Perot, they had me walk away. Then Dana got into the Perot makeup, came in and did the rest of the closeups. After 45 minutes of bald cap and Perot makeup, I was just there to walk in for the wide shot. It was so humiliating.

[Q]Playboy: You didn't know that before the taping?

[A]Spade: I got a whiff of it the day before, and I was like, "That is fucking horrifying." I tried to get out of it but I couldn't. Team player. I told Dana and he said, "That's horrible. I can't believe they're doing that to you."

[Q]Playboy: Couldn't he have said no?

[A]Spade: I guess so, but you know what? I can't blame him. When you get the chance, you want to be funny. He scored his ass off with it. My Perot was pretty good, but I couldn't do it better than Dana could.

[Q]Playboy: Which is your best character?

[A]Spade: I never really had the confidence to do wigs or disappear into a character, but "Gap Girl" with Sara Gilbert was one of my favorite sketches. "Buh-bye" was always funny to me. "Karl with a K," where I worked at the video store--I did that one or two times.

[Q]Playboy: How would you describe what you do best?

[A]Spade: I know how other people describe it. I've had meetings where someone has said, "We want to do a movie with you, and we want you to write it." I'd think, Great, a chance to be dry and clever and do material where no one can predict the payoff. Then they'd say, "Yeah, you'll be an asshole and a dick and cut everybody down."

[Q]Playboy: They want the "Hollywood Minute."

[A]Spade: Right. But on the "Hollywood Minute," instead of a straight cut-down, the fun was finding a different way to say it: "Billy Ray Cyrus, Letterman, Madonna, all the people who will be around next year, take one step forward. Not so fast, Billy Ray."

[Q]Playboy: That segment defined your voice. Why did you give it up?

[A]Spade: It was more fun when I was a nobody, an all-American-looking kid on TV blindsiding major celebrities. After I did a commercial and Tommy Boy, I was suddenly one of them. It wasn't as interesting.

[Q]Playboy: Why did you resurrect the "Hollywood Minute" last year when you hosted Saturday Night Live?

[A]Spade: I didn't want to But my manager said, "I think it's a mistake. People love it." I said, "If it tanks I'll come off as a dick. I'd rather have the applause they give to the 'Hollywood Minute' and not do it." He said, "If you're such a pussy about it, get a little puppet to do it." He was half-kidding but I went, "That would be funny. Then I wouldn't have to take the heat. I could just blame it on the puppet."

[Q]Playboy: And then you dissed Eddie Murphy again. Last time you called him "a falling star" and he reamed you out on the phone.

[A]Spade: Yeah, but this time I stick up for Eddie Murphy. I say, "Eddie Murphy and I are friends." The puppet says, "That's not what I heard." [Pauses] It worked out fine and I realized after three years that if Eddie Murphy and I weren't friends by then, we probably were never going to be friends.

[Q]Playboy: Chris Rock says the best comics have a distinctive move to the basket. What's Sandler's?

[A]Spade: He's prolific. He writes fast, he writes a lot, and he writes it pretty funny. His secret weapon might be his albums. He carpet bombs by putting out an album once a year, kind of behind the scenes so no one really knows about it except this huge underground audience that plays them over and over. The albums are like appetizers, a little chum, until the movie comes out. It keeps everyone excited.

[Q]Playboy: What about Rock?

[A]Spade: His newfound confidence. He's bright and articulate, and you don't see that in a lot of comics, black or white. He can dissect what's funny about something really fast and put a joke together. He forms an opinion right away and commits to it, whereas it takes me a while to figure out the finest angle.

[Q]Playboy: Explain Norm Macdonald.

[A]Spade: He's a Canadian farm boy from Quebec. Something went wrong with Norm early on. He's one of the few fun ones to watch. I also like Colin Quinn, because the only guy who could replace Norm was another funny guy.

[Q]Playboy: What's your move?

[A]Spade: Pretty quick on the feet. Not threatening. Kind of an Everyman. Work hard at it, try to make it look like I don't. Try to be consistently funny every time I'm seen. That's the hard part.

[Q]Playboy: What was different about Saturday Night Live when you went back to be a guest host?

[A]Spade: The show has been pretty funny. They're also getting away with being much filthier than I thought they could be. Before I hosted I watched to see what I'd be getting into; they were doing things we could never have done when I was part of the cast. Cheri Oteri and Chris Kattan humping on the couch, Chris jacking off a champagne bottle and spewing foam all over her, and then Cheri rubbing it onto her chest. I felt shocked, like an old grandma: "Ooh, I'm a little flush! Rah-ther!" And what about the commercial parody about the car you can fuck? Come on!

[Q]Playboy: Lorne takes each week's host to dinner on Tuesday night. How was the meal?

[A]Spade: I said, "Who's coming? Let's get Will, let's get Cheri." He said, "Would you mind just us? We'll catch up. I haven't seen you in a while." Just me and Lorne, for the first time since I'd been there. I said, "Yeah, sure." We went to Orso, chatted about the old cast and what's going on, and his movie stuff, the show and NBC. He has insight on a lot of things and he gave me some fatherly advice, like "What are you doing with your money?" It was cool. He was fun. He knows I'm not the crafty type, sneaking around, spilling secrets, trying to hurt people. He realizes I'm pretty much face value, so we had a nice, fun talk.

[Q]Playboy: Was Lorne Michaels a father figure for you?

[A]Spade: A lot of my life I just wanted a dad, so in a way Lorne was. He's a guy I would naturally look to for advice, especially since he knows everything about show business. Plus, he's funny. He's very dry. He gets all the jokes, which is nice. He fell into my sense of humor. It took a couple years, but once we jibed, he really got what I do. That helped me.

[Q]Playboy: Let's talk about your real father. Why are you developing Peewee, an animated prime-time sitcom named after him?

[A]Spade: Television is full of shows about good dads trying to save the day. This is a realistic version of the ne'er-do-well father who split. His grown son is in show business and the father pops up just to reap the benefits. He's a screw-off dad, irresponsible, a little selfish, with a bit of an absent conscience--like he had when he boogied in the first place. But he's back and now they're just two buddies having fun. The kid turns into more of the father and takes care of the son, who's the father. The kid is levelheaded; the dad is still a screwup partyer. They try to mend their relationship. I'm co-producing it with Drake Sather, who, by the way, was on the Young Comedians Show with me.

[Q]Playboy: How closely is it based on your life?

[A]Spade: I'm the youngest of three boys, and after moving us to Arizona from Michigan, my dad split when I was five. He freaked out and bailed. Too much pressure. Three kids and a mortgage, and he wasn't even 30 years old. Suddenly my mom had to have two jobs: working as a department store sales clerk during the day and then doing other work at night. Plus she had to take care of three rugrats. Once a year he'd show up and give me a two-color Nerf football for Christmas--he spoiled me--and a spin in his dune buggy, then he was gone again, thinking he was my hero. In truth it was fun. We'd go, "Hey, Mom, he's got a dune buggy. You suck. All you do is make us do homework and take care of us when we have the measles. He's a party." My dad would take me to bars for dinner. He'd feed me happy hour food. I'd go, "I don't like chicken wings. I feel sick. I'm only five." He'd go, "Hey, put a wrench on it. Everything will be fine. Let's go! It's almost seven, eat up!"

[Q]Playboy: Are you angry with him?

[A]Spade: I was, You only get one dad, so I always tried to make him want to be a better one. I missed out. My brothers and I had no one to teach us to play football or baseball. It was kind of a drag.

But now we talk all the time. He's a good guy. Now that I can deal with it and we're buddies, it's fun. But when I was 13 or 14 I tried to talk to my dad about it and he said, "Hey, what was I going to do? You were out there pooping in your diapers. What a drag! You think I want to come home to that every night?"

"No, but you're supposed to. Do you think I wanted to sit there with no dad?"

"You guys were a handful. We'd go hit the cathouses, me and my buddy."

"You were out there scamming while you were married?"

"Hey dude, I was seeing double and feeling single." He's always had these ridiculous little sayings. He told me, "Marriage is the only game two can play and both can lose." Or, "The fucking you're getting ain't worth the fucking you're getting." All these sad, negative, pessimistic sayings.

[Q]Playboy: Not something you wanted to hear?

[A]Spade: Not really.

[Q]Playboy: Did he actually come back and take advantage of your success?

[A]Spade: Not nearly as much as this goofy animated show will imply. It's just a great premise. Imaging me walking out to get the paper at seven A.M. and an animated Mickey Rourke is dropping of my dad: "Later, Mickey! We gotta work on that temper. Hey, Davey, what's going on, buddy? He's a good kid, Rourke. Oh, by the way, I pinched 500 from your wallet. I'll fill in the blanks later." Peewee always wants money: "I'll follow you to the ATM." My dad's not really taking advantage of show business, but he follows it. We get along great. Luckily my life is better now.

[Q]Playboy: What was life like with your mother?

[A]Spade: We were selfish brats and my mom was a champ. She had no social life, but when she would date some freak we'd vote on him. He'd leave and she'd go, "OK, how did you like that one?" We actually wanted her to marry the icecream man. She was stupid to let us in on the vote. "The guy with the Otter Pops, Mom!" Then she married Howard Hyde, someone solid, hardworking, responsible, not great-looking. She said, "I just want someone who takes care of the kids, who's got a good head, who's a smart guy." That was my first lesson in looking past the physical stuff; you just want someone who's cool.

[Q]Playboy: Did you vote on your stepdad?

[A]Spade: I don't remember. He did win us over after a while. He was a doctor--and a little kooky, but we didn't really know that.

[Q]Playboy: He committed suicide in 1986.

[A]Spade: Yeah. He had been through the Vietnam war as a medic. It must have been rough to see that kind of stuff every day. He was a little tweaked. Howard moved us to Casa Grande, a little copper-mining town outside Phoenix where everyone had two kids and made $10,000 a year. He was a doctor at the hospital. It was a scary little town, all minorities except for a handful of white people. I lived in fear from the time I was eight until I was 12. There were fights and stare-downs and we were followed. You were never comfortable. There's not a lot more to say.

[Q]Playboy: Then let's change the subject. How easy was it to slip into the role of a leading man in your new movie, Lost and Found?

[A]Spade: In the ten movies I've done, I've never had a girlfriend, never had a date, never had anything. Someone who works for all the studios must keep track of that because when I suggested a comedy in which I get the girl they were like, "Whoa, whoa, whoa!" I didn't realize they were such sticklers. I thought they might have trouble with me doing Shakespeare in the Park, but not a comedy with a girl in the same shot as me. I wasn't looking to make any great leap, just to inch over slowly, do what I do in a comedy--be semi-biting--with a little romance.

[Q]Playboy: Did that make you cynical about the movie business?

[A]Spade: I think it's too late for that.

[Q]Playboy: What made you think you could pull it off?

[A]Spade: I didn't. But I thought it was worth a try even though I knew that Hollywood is so one-dimensional that they can imagine only what they've seen before. I'd done a few movies that opened well. So I thought everyone knew Farley was great--but one or two people might say, "Hey, Spade's at least 50 percent of that." But no one did. All the arrows pointed to Chris, and that was kind of a bummer to deal with. I realized I had to write one for myself. It was either that or keep reading scripts that were all so mass appeal-directed that they weren't funny.

[Q]Playboy: Is romantic comedy tougher to write?

[A]Spade: It's trickier because everything isn't for the laugh. You have to get a feel for the movie. The big mistake comedians make in romantic comedy is to just have the girl sit there and laugh while they do their act in every scene.

[Q]Playboy: Were you tempted to write sex scenes?

[A]Spade: There's a little kissing. I didn't want to make it cringe time for the audience, like, "Here, I'll write myself a pretty girl to make out with."

[Q]Playboy: Yet your co-star, Sophie Marceau, easily fits the description.

[A]Spade: The movie is about both of us. She's not there just to tell the audience (continued on page 155)David Spade (continued from page 68) how cute I am. Sophie is beautiful and really smart, she's well educated and well traveled, she's responsible, she's mature. She's not a flaky LA chick.

[Q]Playboy: Let's talk about the kissing scenes.

[A]Spade: It was the first time I'd ever kissed anybody on-screen. I was also nervous because I didn't know what kind of kiss we'd do. I didn't know if we should kiss in rehearsal, or just talk about it. I worried that she might kiss differently; she's French. Is that just a term or is that really the way everyone kisses over there? Plus, she's done it a million times. I think the last guy she made out with was Mel Gibson, so I knew I was such a huge step down that she might tear a hamstring.

[Q]Playboy: So what did you do?

[A]Spade: I said, "When we kiss, what do we do?" She said, "Oh, just do it. Whatever happens. Don't think about it." I thought, That's even worse--I know I'm going to do it wrong somehow. In rehearsal we were walking through blocking and I said, "I'm going to be here, then I'll probably step up around here. Then I do this line and you'll come over to--" I was going to say, "kiss me," when she grabbed me by the face and kissed me. It shocked me and aroused my nether regions. I didn't know if I was a good kisser. I've been told that, but I'm not sure if it was bullshit.

The scene was on the last day of shooting at the Hollywood Bowl. We had to keep doing takes. She'd be really nice in the kiss and then, once they said "Cut," she'd say, "I didn't like it; let's do it again." I was so self-conscious kissing her in front of the whole crew. They were going, "This is how you kiss a girl? You freak. You're doing it all wrong. No one kisses like that." Just tilting heads and bonking into each other. She kept saying, "Just kiss me. Take your time and don't rush it." Finally, I just decided to go for it. I grabbed her face, because that's probably what I would have done if I hadn't thought about it beforehand. I felt the passion. Then the director said, "Hey, don't block her face, she's the star."

[Q]Playboy: Had she seen any of your earlier work?

[A]Spade: She hadn't seen all of Tommy Boy. She kept saying, "Oh, I've been meaning to watch it with my three-year-old."

[Q]Playboy: What bugs you most about moviemaking?

[A]Spade: You have no contact with the outside world. On Lost and Found I worked 16 hours door to door. By the time I got home it was too late to call anyone, meet up, have dinner. I took off my makeup and crashed and before I had time to think, I was up and at it again.

Sometimes I think I'm in the wrong business, but it's too late now. I don't like bright lights. I don't like makeup--putting it on or taking it off. The only good thing about it is that I gain a pound because the makeup bulks up my head. I don't like getting up in the cock-a-doodle dark. And I don't like being on location. Aside from the movie, there's no upside for me. I fight every step of the way and it's really a losing battle. My hair is another scandal. I go, "Don't yank it out! Don't!" They really can't make any usable hairstyle with all my restrictions; I basically let them run a wide-toothed comb through it. In Tommy Boy I would not let anyone touch me, and they said, "You're going to look like shit in this movie." I said, "Well, let's just hope it's funny."

[Q]Playboy: Any more ailments you'd like to get out of the way while we're feeling sorry for you?

[A]Spade: I hurt my neck in high school doing standing backflips in a talent show. During a rehearsal my feet missed and I landed face first on the stage. I didn't put my hands out. I knocked four teeth loose and jammed my jaw and upper palate. I was pouring blood. I cranked all my teeth to where they should be and just held them. It was so traumatic that it still fucks up my jaw. Now, I can't fly first class because of it.

[Q]Playboy: Seriously?

[A]Spade: The seats are too nice. They're too gooshy and big. My back has to have something hard behind it. Straight up and down. In coach you sit with your feet on the ground straight up and down. They're shitty seats but perfect for me.

[Q]Playboy: In coach at least you're mingling with your fans.

[A]Spade: I sign barf bags all day. People say, "What are you doing back here?" I don't even get into it. I just say, "I like to be with the people." I don't mention my ailment. Then it starts with, "I don't want to bother you, but--" By the time it's out of their mouths it's too late.

[Q]Playboy: Is it true that most comedians are cheap, petty and disagreeable and had miserable childhoods that are the wellspring of their humor?

[A]Spade: Sounds about right. [Smiles] No. I don't buy that we're all sad clowns inside. I'm pretty normal. I just do it for fun. That's true. I like it because it's happy. It makes me laugh. Who hasn't had a crazy past? Everyone's got their bullshit sob story.

[Q]Playboy: Will you at least admit that most comics are jealous?

[A]Spade: Oh, yeah. When I see someone funny I sometimes get jealous. I go, "Fuck, he did it right." Most never do. Fred Wolf, my buddy who wrote Tommy Boy, said he saw a new guy at some open-mike night do two jokes--and he got superpissed because they were funny. The guy said, "I moved out to Los Angeles from Chicago and I overpacked. I brought a bunch of Mexicans." Fred goes, "Oh fuck, that better have been a fluke." But the next joke was, "I wrestled in high school but I wasn't any good. I'd usually just give up after I came." Fred went, "Fucker! He knows what he's doing." Fred's reaction was, "Give me that joke!" You wish you'd thought of it. On the other hand, it's nice to know someone out there thinks the way you do. Sandler, Rock, Farley and me, we're all in the same place. I also like stuff that isn't tried-and-true funny. Already certified. But it can be a problem. At a movie test screening, the execs want to yank any joke that isn't the norm or doesn't kill. You go, "Guys, when is the next wave of comedy coming? You have to give them something they don't know about and let it seep in, and see if they buy it. Like Stripes or Bill Murray singing Star Wars. You don't know why it's funny until later."

[Q]Playboy: It has to percolate into the mass consciousness.

[A]Spade: That's the toughest argument I have. The stuff that makes you and your buddies laugh will eventually make someone else laugh. I'm a true believer in that. And when it works it's the biggest score. But you get into trouble when you're a laugh whore, always going for the gut laugh. A gut laugh comes almost for sure from something you've seen a version of before. With something new it takes a second before you go, "Oh, I like that. That's the joke? That's great."

[Q]Playboy: Are there certain jokes you can't make? Are there routines that are off-limits?

[A]Spade: Comedy killers: Gay jokes. Ethnic jokes. AIDS jokes. Lady Di jokes. Recent tragedies are tough to get away with. Jon-Benet's another one that's a tough sell. I say, "She's cute, but average. She's talented. Not a stunner. She's not that hot without the makeup." Even my mom laughed, but she told me she hated to. Then I go on about Jon-Benet's mom exhuming her body. "The rumor is that the police had to exhume her body last year because her mom wanted to change her outfit. She was having second thoughts about the sequined hat and wanted to try the red one."

[Q]Playboy: That's tough stuff.

[A]Spade: But I'm making fun of the parents, not saying anything bad about the innocent kid. Another one that would be a tough sell is that the Olsen twins are just this side of fuckable. I saw them on TV the other day. Ooh la la. Put them together and they're legal.

[Q]Playboy: A lot of your material comes from real life. Where are you when you get your best ideas?

[A]Spade: In the shower, driving, or right before I go to sleep. All places where my mind wanders. A lot of it is in the inflection and the delivery, so if I'm driving, instead of trying to write it down, I call my house and leave the joke on my phone machine, call again and listen, and keep working on it.

[Q]Playboy: This seems like a nice place to stop. Is there anything you want to say to your fans, particularly those who've just discovered you?

[A]Spade: Yeah, I'm 12 years into this. Where were you?

My dad would take me to bars for dinner. He'd feed me happy hour food. I'd go, "I don't like chicken wings. I feel sick. I'm only five."