I first met Penny Marshall in London, while I was traveling with my childhood friend Carrie Fisher. She and Penny had become friends; Carrie was dating Paul Simon, and Penny was dating Art Garfunkel. We hit it off pretty fast. Im a sucker for a sharp, funny woman, but Penny was different. She put on this sort of lazy Bronx voice (think Laverne) that didnt suggest she was funny—and then a zinger would come flying. I remember when she said something funny, she knew it; instead of laughing with you, shed give you a sweet, unassuming smile.
We stayed friends, and got into a little trouble here and there. She found this crazy, giant house in the Outpost Estates the developer had built for himself, and I went with her to look at it. The place was empty, without a stick of furniture. Every room had an amazing view of the Los Angeles below. I opened a cabinet on the lower level, and found two boxes stuffed with raging anti-Semitic pamphlets from the 1930s. Im Jewish; I showed it to her, and she said I could take it home. We both laughed.
My friend Griffin Dunne later hooked me up with this adorable and funny girl named Arleen Sorkin. We hit it off, and soon started living together. She was an actress, and could see that my goal of being a film producer might take a while to achieve. One day she told me that I would make a great manager. “Who would I manage?” I asked. “Well, me,” Arleen replied. “Julia Sweeney at the Groundlings—and Penny Marshall. She needs a manager, and she loves you.” It was an insane idea, but Julia said yes. So I had two clients.
Then I went to Paramount to see Penny, who was shooting one of the last episodes of Laverne & Shirley. I sat her down and, with a slight tremble in my voice, told her that with the show ending, I thought she might need a manager—and I wanted the job. She looked at me like I had asked her to pass the cornflakes, and quickly said sure—then suggested that I use her office at Paramount. I could cry right now, thinking back to that moment. She not only said yes to a kid with zero experience, without even thinking about it; she also gave me my first real “Hollywood” office, complete with phone lines and Xerox machines. She wasnt my third client—she was my angel.
We had our first meeting at her house. My immediate thought was that after the show ended, itd be a big-ass climb up El Capitan to get anyone to see her as anything other than Laverne. So we needed to come up with a temporary alternative. She had directed a few episodes of her show, and clearly had the right stuff; Penny always knew how to find the laugh, and she also knew how to build warm and loving characters.
So we put out the word that she was looking for something to direct. Truth be told, there wasnt exactly a stampede to her door . . . except one day, she got a call from someone at Fox asking if she wanted to take over on a film where the producer and director had parted ways after about two weeks of shooting. The film was called Jumpin Jack Flash. Penny wasnt comfortable starting her first feature with almost no prep—but my take was, holy monkeys, this will be like getting paid to go to college. If the film doesnt work, you cant be blamed, because everyone will know it wasnt really your film. But if its a success, youll get most of the credit. She did it, and indeed it was a great experience—even though the movie wasnt a hit.
About a year later, I was invited to Harrison Fords house in Wyoming. (Its possible that I invited myself.) He had promised to show me how to fly fish for trout. When I arrived, he threw a script at me and demanded that I give him my opinion on it. So I went out to his beautiful, scenic porch, sat on a couch swing, and read the script—which was called Big, written by Gary Ross and Anne Spielberg. Scribbled on the back were the names of six or seven directors, clearly the ones Harrison would choose if he agreed to do the film. Of course, Penny wasnt there. I kept reading, getting more and more excited—I loved that script, and all I could think of was that Penny should direct the movie. The good news was that one of her closest friends was the producer of the project, James Brooks.
So I told Harrison the truth—that this was a terrific script, but not really for him. And when I got back to L.A., I ran over to Pennys house and said: “BIG! You have to call Jim and have him send you Big.” I explained that Harrison had the script, but in my humble opinion, he would eventually turn it down—and when that happened, she should be ready to pounce. After lots of Hollywood-style back-and-forth, in the end, Penny got the gig.
It was insanely obvious that Tom Hanks should get the first offer to star in the film. But Tom mysteriously turned down both the film and Penny—a real head-scratcher for me. Then Penny went and did a crazy-ass thing: she met Robert De Niro at a party in New York City, and told him that he should play the lead in Big.
The casting scrum went on for weeks. While everyone plotted to nix the De Niro thing, Penny was in New York, auditioning young actors to play the movies young sidekick, Billy. I would watch the tapes at the end of the day, and developed a serious case of dandruff from scratching my head so much. It was like watching the guy from Taxi Driver talking to his best 13-year-old buddy. But this is the thing: Penny had a vision, and she was probably right. I can promise you that if De Niro actually had ended up in Big, it would have been funny and loaded with heart.
Alas, the studio low-balled De Niro, and his agent dropped out. Cut to another offer to Hanks . . . which he accepted!
One of my favorite memories was visiting the set of that movie, and watching the expressions on the faces of the cast and crew when Penny explained what she wanted next. It looked and sounded like Lavernes daughter had become a big Hollywood director. In the end, she did an awesome job; the film was a big success and showed that a woman director could (of course) direct a big hit. In those days, that was a big deal.
Penny went on to direct a very soulful and beautiful film called Awakenings. In the meantime, I got a call from a friend of ours at Time magazine in D.C., Lissa August—who said: “Have you seen this little half-hour documentary on PBS called A League of Their Own?” “Nope,” I said, “but I can get it.” So I contacted the filmmakers, and they sent me a VHS copy. Lissa was right: it was a great idea. It was a family movie, and Penny loved everything family; she endlessly talked about growing up in the Bronx with her brother and sister and eccentric mother, who taught tap-dancing in her studio. Penny loved her family; what I will remember the most about her is that her house became a place where one could go to feel like you were with family. She was friends with all kinds of interesting people. She taught me to finally be a producer, and a better person. We will all miss her.
Oh—and she really did drink milk mixed with Pepsi.
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Get Vanity Fairs HWD NewsletterSign up for essential industry and award news from Hollywood.Charles WesslerCharles Wessler is the producer of a dozen very funny movies, including Dumb and Dumber, Theres Something About Mary, and Green Book, currently in theaters.
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