Mel Brooks’ story is that of the US and Jews and American Jewish comedy. He was born on the kitchen table of a tenement in Brooklyn a century ago in the same month Marilyn Monroe made her own entrance on the opposite coast. The son of European immigrants, Brooks was brought up by his mother after his father died when Melvin was just two years old. He was a small, sickly child and the youngest of four brothers, perhaps an explanation for an almost pathological desire for attention. In the words of his colleague Larry Gelbart: “Mel thought when he got slapped in the ass by the doctor who delivered him that was applause, and he has not stopped performing since.”
In his youth, Brooks’ preferred method of making a noise was playing the drums and he was actually taught the instrument by Buddy Rich. Neither could possibly have known at the time that they would both go on to have seismic effects on the two great American artforms: comedy and jazz. That youth, like so many others, was interrupted by Adolf Hitler. The teenage Brooks joined the army and participated in the Battle of the Bulge. If one is looking to understand the artist’s fearlessness or his utter commitment to mocking Nazis for the remainder of his days, those war years provide ample explanation. It may also explain his assertion that “comedy is the opposite of death”.
