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About Oregon daily emerald. (Eugene, Or.) 1920-2012 | View Entire Issue (Sept. 29, 1982)
Eddie Murphy In 48 HrsMurphy’ plays convict Reggie Hammond who reluc tantly assists tough cop Nick Nolte in finding some cop kill ers. That's director Walter Hill in the beard. a car causes crew members to smile nervously Murphy, standing next to Walter Hill, watches as the two stunt doubles of him and Nolte run through the scene He txxis approv ingly as his look-alike launches two quick jabs into the Nolte double's face But this is not a fight th.it Hammond is destined to win. After having a garbage can bounced off his ribs, the Murphy look-alike is hoisted high overhead, and given a full bodv slam into a pile of garbage. After tlie stuntmen finish, Murphy will take the place of the dou ble to enable Hill to get close up shots of Murphy in the scene. Hill turns to Murphy, "So. w hat do you think of your first fight scene?" Murphy shrugs He's a little apprehensive about going before the cameras to take a pummeling, so lie tries to joke. "It's okay, but do I have to lx* thrown in the gathagi'3 " It's a rhetorical question Murphy walks across the street, reach to film the scene, as the crew members gather to watch Murphy in action. During his work on the film, he has earned tlx*ir respect as a professional, and purlieu larly from the film's director Walter Hill Hill, of course, had even, reason to worry about working w ith someone who had never done a film before But lx* had seen Mur phy on television and sensed his potential On Sutunitn Night Utv. Eddie was clearly a conus Ik performer, but one who lent himself to doing acting." Hill says, I didn't want to hire a come dian, I wanted an actor. But at the same time, f wanted someone who would lx* spontaneous and bring something conxdic to the part." Hill thinks his gamble paid oti And lx* believes that Murphv s doing a dram.uic role for his first movie will pay off tor Murphy as well "To me," says Hill, It s an indication of his intelligence not to run r>ft and do MetUhtills •> for his debut film It's good to take on a different kind of problem and lx* perceived in a different kind of context" It's a strategy that obviously didn't escape Murphy, either He had been offered many films, but decided to sit back, take his time and analyze all the offers without rushing to any one picture. "Rather than do a comedy, which was what everyone was expecting,” says Murphy. "1 thought I'd do a serious movie. 1 doubt if I'll ever do anything that has this much seriousness again This is a great expe Hence, but my heart is in (he yuks.” Murphy, like many a young comic before him, refined his skills at that great comic breeding ground of American society known as high school. His childhood was not without the little traumas that art* a part of growing up Murphy's parents were divoueil when he was three and his father, Charles, a New York policeman, died w hen Murphy was 1- After Eddie's mother Lillian remarried, his step father Vernon Lynch moved the family from Brooklyn to Roosevelt, Long Island, a predominantly black middleclass suburb, where Murphy grew up with his two brothers. It was Roosevelt High School where Murphy came into his own. Aside from the run-of-the-mill practical jokes, such as calling in bomb scares, spraying mace in the hallways, or giving wedgies (ripping oui someone’s underwear from the rear) to unsuspecting classmates, Murphy mastered the ait of the devastating New York putdown, known as ranking. "1 was able to rank on people real gixxl” says Murphy. “And whenever there was a talent show, I was always selected to be the emcee “See, the kids at Roosevelt had this real short attention span. If you weren't any gixxi in the first two or three seconds of your act, they heckled you. They needed someone who could keep control, so Ld rank them, l ike, Hey, your mother's got a wooden leg with a kick stand.' That would shut them up. Eventually 1 started doing impressions and stuff, but my act was basically all putdowns” At 16 Murphy started doing talent shows, wangled his way onto some cable TV shows and was even finding steady work at one Long Island comedy club. Armed with self confidence and the rudimentary beginnings of an act, Murphy was on his way. “By this time, I was performing three, four times a week. And my report card was showing tt” But still, Murphy was pocketing more money than he ever had and this enticed him further. The (Ion# Show was in its heyday at this time and many comedy clubs would advertise Gong Show Nights, an anything-goes assort ment of potluck comedians who vied for a $50 cash prize. “Whenever 1 needed money, 1 would scan the papers for a bar hold ing a Gong Show Night It was easy money, no problem. "Eating Boogers — that was my killing routine. Then, Butterflies Landing on S-t. Classy stuff. And Farts. Farts was a killer. You could always count on Farts. I'd be driving to a club, figuring out my set. I'd think, I'll do Eating Boogers, Butterflies and Farts — Killer set.” He was travelling more and more and when he was finally graduated from high school, Murphy attended Nassau Community College for all of two weeks. But Eddie knew that his future wasn’t to be found in the hallways of a bock palace. "If you want to be a performer," he says, "and you are going to school, 1 think you're wasting your time” “I wasn't concerned about his future," says Eddie's mother Lil lian. “Although he wasn’t keeping his grades up, 1 knew he would end up doing something where he wouldn't have to get his hands dirty” Murphy found himself in his comedy. By the time he was 18, Murphy was touring the country, playing nightclubs. “I had gone fust Eating Boogers. and had a classy link- act." vivs Murphy The comedian was performing .« a Ft Lauderdale night club during tire summer of 1980 when BcJi 'Sachs, Murphy's manager, summoned him to New York and sent him to audition for wh.il was to be a new and improved version of Sufunin Night Luc The entire cast had left, and NBC was starting over, from scratch "1 submitted Eddie." savs Boh \Yachs, "and through a series of very gruc'ss'me. long hard interviews and auditions. Eddie got the port." It tiHik si\ auditions during a one month period beftire Murphy received the word that he had been hired. Murphv remembers well the resistance t\ had initially before trying out for the show 1 really didn't want to he on noSatttnluy Night Lite l wanted to be a stand-up comic. 1 mean, l was 19. travelling all over the place, making like fstxi a week, while my friends were all working in department stores. My life w as perfect.’’ That life changed when lie became a feature player, a sort of second stringer who did bit parts in sketches, during the 1980-81 season But what was thought to he a blessing almost turned out to he the kiss of death during that disastrous season, w hich almost saw the show destroyed. After Lome Michaels, the show s original producer, left along with the rest of the charter member irregulars, NBC, with much hoopla, promoted Jean Doumanian, the associate producer, to the top spot Doumanian ux>k control and hired a new cast, new staff, new writers and gave the show a new look, namely failure. Once the crown jewel of late night comedy, the Doumanian reign was like a sit ing of paste pearls SatunUn Night live earned universally negative reviews and the ratings began to take a nose dive For the 1981 82 season, Doumanian was ingloriously put out to pasture, as were all hut two of the original cast. The survivors were Eddie Murphy and Joe Piscopo. With Dick Ebersol, the NBC pro gram executive who was in charge of the show's original launch in 19"S, appointed to the helm, SNI. made slow, but steady improve ments last season. One reason was the spotlighting of the talents of Murphy, who was allowed to cast off his feature status. He became a full-fledged cast member and given almost total freedom. He now writes his own material, is allowed to regularly introduce off-beat characters, and is pulling in a reported $-t,S0() a show. Murphy was upset at being held back his initial year with the show. "They said 1 was ttx> young and 1 wouldn't know how to handle success. That was Jean. She told me, We don't want another Freddie Prinze on our hands. " Yet Murphy refuses to lay blame with Doumanian for the show's eventual collapse. "Jean meant well. She just had no comedic background. You have to blame the network. 1 mean, if I was driving down the street with Stevie Wonder and said, 'Stevie, you drive,' you can’t blame Stevie if we crash. You have to blame me.” As for Murphy’s long term goals, don't look for any crashes in his future, although the Freddie Prinze syndrome is something that he thinks about, even jokes about. “In the true tradition of young celebrity, 1 think I'll die in a plane crash. "No, look, I’m not dying no time soon. I want to be the first guy to ever be successful at an early age and not croak and not kill himself. That’s my plan. Stay successful and not die. I'm 21 years old, 1 don’t see myself puttering out. Or 1 hope not, anyway.” Looking to the future, Murphy hopes to do a feature film that he is writing called I’m Gonna Get You, Sucker, a sendup of black exploitation films. He should have plenty of time to finish writing it. Murphy plans to leave Saturday' Night Hie at the end of its cur rent season and take a much deserved rest. After all, last season’s edition ended on May 22. Two days later Murphy was in San Fran cisco filming 48 HRS.' exterior street scenes with Nick Nolte. He’s been working ever since. Now, on a Los Angeles street corner taken over by movie people, Murphy is about to fight. Director Walter Hill gives the orders. “Places. Roll ’em.” All goes well, with Murphy ducking and rolling with the punches. The crowd grows larger as the scene unfolds. The climac tic moment has arrived. The stuntman places one hand between Murphy's legs and the other on his back, lifting him high into the air to slam him into the pile of trash. The director yells, "Cut.” As Murphy is hoisted overhead, there’s a smile on his face as wide as a tunnel. “Let’s try it again, ” says Hill. Murphy runs through his paces a second time, on the receiving end of the fast and furious blows. He is picked up and without a hitch is slammed down hard into the pile of garbage. Hill kxiks pleased. “That’s a keeper,” he says. The crowd, which has grown to nearly concert size, breaks into a round of spontaneous applause, while Murphy, in the pile of trash, looks around, puzzled, then gets up slowly, slightly disoriented. Bouyed by the mixture of attention and relief that the scene is completed, Murphy pulls himself together and starts walking methodically to the stunt double, his mood growing more lively with each step. Finally, Murphy is standing face to face with the massive stuntman. He looks him in the eye. “I kicked your butt, sucker,” says Mutphy. They both break out laughing, and Eddie Murphy walks to the street corner and readies himself for the next scene.
