The busiest kid on the block is a mere 83
It is lunchtime, and the natty old gent in the gray suit sits down, lights up a cigar and says, in that famous foghorn voice, "I must tell you a good lie—a real good lie." It is the story of a comedian who dies backstage at the end of his act while the audience continues to applaud, thinking he is still in the giant clown's shoes they see protruding from beneath the curtain. It is a good lie, one of the best, but is there any truth to it? "All my stories are basically honest," he answers. "But from then on you're in show business."
It is as good a definition of the craft as any, and if anybody should know, it is George Burns, who started performing in 1903, not long after Teddy Roosevelt became President. "Nobody," he insists, "is older than I am." Groucho, Jack Benny, Fred Allen, Fanny Brice, Amos and Andy, and Gracie Allen, George's partner and wife for four decades: almost all the great comedians of the '30s and '40s are gone. But Burns, who is 83, is still around to enjoy the applause. His first dramatic role, in The Sunshine Boys, won him an Academy Award, and that brought him the part of the Title Character in Oh, God! in 1978. His newest movie, Just You and Me, Kid, places him opposite Brooke Shields, 14. Last week he was on location in Manhattan, where he, Art Carney and Lee Strasberg were playing senescent bank robbers in Going in Style. This fall he will be the deity once again in Oh, God II.
But to hear him tell it, film acting is not exactly work. "It's not too tough for me to act. It's much easier than what I've always done. You don't have to remember anything, to begin with. If you play Vegas you've got about an hour by yourself. You have to remember every cue, every song, every lyric. If it's no good, you can't do it again. That can't happen to a movie actor. The director says, 'Come in,' and you walk in. If you stay out in the hall, you're a bad actor. If you walk in, you're a good actor. The director says, 'Sit down,' and you sit down. It's nice to be able to sit down anyway at my age."
Putting himself down is one of George's better lies. He almost makes you believe that when he and Gracie worked together, his chief job was to see which way the wind was blowing. "I had to make sure the smoke from my cigar didn't go in her direction. That's really all I had to worry about because I knew she was good.
The biggest thing in my life was meeting Gracie. I don't think I would have made it if I hadn't met her. I'd have remained a small-time vaudeville act and, when small-time vaudeville went out, I'd have gone out with it. I might have been a cutter of ladies' dresses. But whatever it would have been, it wouldn't have been great. Gracie made it for me."