Barry Sonnenfeld, Call Your Mother: Memoirs of a Neurotic Filmmaker by Barry Sonnenfeld

 

"The formula for a successful comedy is to have an absurd situation, or an absurd character, played for reality. If the situation is funny, the scene will be funny, but only if it’s played totally real. If the cinematographer knows it’s a comedy, it will be too bright. If the film lab knows, it will be even brighter. If the wardrobe department knows, it will be colorful. If the composer thinks it’s a comedy, there’ll be slide whistles and triangles. The worst, of course, is if the actors or director decide they’re making a comedy."

After hearing Marc Maron chat with Barry Sonnenfeld on the WTF Pod, I was determined to grab myself a copy of Sonnenfeld’s autobiography. If you feel so inclined, strap yourself in for a wild ride.

I found myself guffawing on the train ride home, particularly around the author’s over-protective mother (can so relate Barry).

The narrative meanders in an entirely affable fashion as we embark on a life’s journey that includes a hilariously graphic career in porn (behind the camera) to director of photography for the Cohen Brothers’ Blood Simple and then helming such hits as Men in Black, not to mention the recent apple tv gold that is Schmigadoon (seriously if you love musicals watch this one now).

 Like most lives lived, you’ll find more than comic gold, including the perplexing story of cousin mike the child molester. I’m reviewing books that I read late last year, so a lot of the detail has skipped my increasingly lax memory ( I blame the pandemic), however the descriptions of the smell of a porn set have polluted my memory indelibly.

My only quibble is that I wanted more in terms of Sonnenfeld’s successful ( and often challenging) career. I guess that means he could pen another chapter, he’s only sixty eight after all. In the meantime, he’s a hilarious podcast guest.

5 out of 5, worst concert experience ever.