Welcome back to The Deep Dive. This is where
we take those really monumental public figures,
you know, the complex ones, we gather up all
the sources, the good, the bad, the breakthroughs,
the controversies, and we piece it all together
into structured knowledge just for you. And today,
oh boy, we've got a big one. Really huge figure.
We certainly do. We are diving deep, really deep
into someone who's still, I think, one of the
most contradictory, influential and maybe challenging
figures in 20th century entertainment. We're
talking about Jerry Lewis. Jerry Lewis. Born
Joseph Levitch, though even that's debated, as
we'll see. His career span, what, seven decades?
It's just immense. And trying to sum him up,
it's tough. Right. Because you have these two
massive nicknames he earned. On one hand, the
king of comedy. Obvious, right? But then also
the total filmmaker. And those two things, chaos
and control, they feel almost opposed, don't
they? Exactly. That's the core tension, I think.
The duality is really central to understanding
him. So that's our mission today. We need to
balance these different sides of him. We'll definitely
explore that revolutionary comedy partnership
he had with Dean Martin. That's crucial context.
Absolutely. Martin and Lewis. You can't talk
about Lewis without Martin. Then we really have
to unpack his role as this innovative director.
the auteur, the guy who actually changed how
movies got made. And, of course, we have to touch
on that whole French connection, why France saw
him as this genius. Oh, yeah, the Le Roy do crazy
thing. It's fascinating. And then, finally, we
have to get into the legacy of his charity work,
which is staggering, but also... deeply contentious.
And we can't shy away from the serious controversies
that followed him right up until he died. You
really can't. The scale of his impact, it's just
wild when you lay it out technologically, artistically,
philanthropically. I mean, this is the guy who
pioneered instant video playback on set. Video
assist. Which is still used today. They still
call it that sometimes, right? Video assist.
Right. Sometimes Jerry's noisy toy, as he called
it. Yeah. It's cemented his ability to have absolute
total control over the filmmaking process. But
at the same time. At the same time, he's running
the biggest, most successful TV charity event
ever, the MDA Telethon. Raising over $2 .6 billion
for the Muscular Dystrophy Association. An incredible
amount. But then that whole movement faced this
intense ethical criticism later on. From the
very people it was supposed to help. Yeah, from
within the disability rights community. It's
this career built on, like you said, technical
brilliance, comedic anarchy, and this almost
obsessive need for control, fierce control. That
theme control over the camera, over the narrative,
maybe over everything. That feels like the thread
we need to follow through this whole deep dive.
So let's get into it. Let's unpack this massive,
complicated legacy starting right at the beginning.
As you hinted, it's already kind of complicated.
Yeah, his origins. It's surprising how, for someone
so famous, the basic details are a bit hazy.
Even his name. We know he was born March 16,
1926, in Newark, New Jersey, into a Jewish family,
very much in the entertainment world. His dad,
Danny Lovitch, used the stage name Danny Lewis.
He was a vaudevillian. And his mom, Rachel, played
piano for War Radio, so showbiz was in the environment.
Definitely. But like you said, the records get
fuzzy immediately. Lewis himself, in his 1982
autobiography, insisted his birth name was Joseph.
But public records say otherwise. Yeah. Multiple
sources. U .S. census data from 1930, 1940. Even
a certified birth certificate lists him as Jerome.
Huh. Even where he was born. Was it Clinton Private
Hospital or Newark? Beth Israel Hospital. Different
sources say different things. It's almost like
the persona, the Jerry Lewis character, was being
workshopped from day one, or at least the narrative
around him was. It feels that way, doesn't it?
This sort of malleability right from the start.
We know he was described as a difficult kid,
kind of zany. He dropped out of high school pretty
early, ninth or tenth grade. And his first real
comedic act was something called The Record Act.
Yeah, he developed that when he was about 15.
He'd basically mime, you know, lip sync and make
faces to records playing offstage. Very physical.
That sounds like classic early Lewis, all physical
comedy. Absolutely. It was the foundation. But
he struggled at first. There's this story about
a gig in Buffalo, a burlesque house, total bomb.
Apparently, he almost gave up. Really? Yeah,
worked as an usher, a soda jerk. But then an
old friend of his dad's, Max Coleman, a veteran
comedian, basically told him, take your act to
the Catskills. Ah, the Borscht Belt, the proving
ground. Exactly. That's where he really started
honing it. Oh, and he was rejected for World
War II service, too. Something about a heart
murmur. Okay, so he's honing his act, and then
comes the partnership that changes everything.
1945, he meets Dean Martin. Right. Lewis is this,
like, chaotic, high -energy teenager. Martin
is eight years older, smooth, cool, relaxed singer.
Total opposites. Very nice. Completely. They
officially debuted as Martin and Lewis on July
25, 1946, Atlantic City, the 500 Club. And apparently...
Their first show wasn't great. It wasn't. I thought
they clicked immediately. Well, the legend goes
that Lewis kind of desperately just started messing
with Martin's singing, interrupting him, throwing
stuff, breaking plates. Yeah. Just pure zany
antics. Unscripted chaos. Totally unscripted.
And the audience went nuts. That became the formula.
So Martin's the suave street man trying to maintain
composure. While Lewis is just this force of
nature, pure anarchy erupting around him. But
what made them really different, apparently,
was how much they improvised. Ad -libbing in
that era. Yeah, big time. They'd riff off each
other, off the audience. It kept the act fresh,
unpredictable. Must have been incredible to see
live. You can imagine. And that energy just exploded,
didn't it? Across all media. Oh, absolutely.
Radio, the Martin Lewis show. Massive. stage
shows, sellouts everywhere. And then TV, the
Colgate Comedy Hour. They were rotating hosts.
Huge deal. And they hired good writers, too,
like Norman Lear. Norman Lear, Ed Simmons. Yeah,
they knew how to build a team even then. And
then came the movies. Paramount signed them up.
Started with those My Friend Irma films. Ensemble
parts, yeah. But quickly moved into their own
starring vehicles. 14 buddy comedies for Paramount.
Things like Sailor Beware, The Caddy, Hollywood
or Bust. They were massive movie stars. I remember
reading about Near Riots when they appeared in
New York. Colossal fan base. They completely
dominated the early 50s entertainment scene.
Yeah. But, well, you know how these things go.
The success itself started to cause friction.
The pressure, the different personalities. All
of that. But there were specific incidents. The
sources really point to one in particular that
hurt Martin a lot. The 1954 Look magazine cover.
Ah, the infamous photo where they cropped Martin
out? Exactly, just Lewis on the cover. For a
publicity shot that originally included both
of them, it was a huge public signal, right,
that Lewis was seen as the star, the dynamic
one. Martin was the straight man, the support.
Ouch. Even if unintentional by the magazine,
that sends a message. He's the anchor, not the
engine. Right. And while... Maybe Lewis needed
that anchor, the public, the media, maybe even
the studio. They were mesmerized by Lewis's energy.
The strain just grew and grew. Until the split.
Their final nightclub show was July 24th, 1956
at the Copacabana. Exactly 10 years, almost to
the day after their debut. Lewis later said he
was just shattered, completely unnerved to be
alone. was his phrase. Understandable. His entire
professional identity for a decade was tied to
Martin. Yeah. But then, almost immediately, something
unexpected happened. They kind of forced him
to prove he could go it alone, and it involved
Judy Garland. Judy Garland. How? Okay, so Lewis
is in Las Vegas right after the split, probably
feeling pretty lost. He gets this frantic call
from Sid Luft, Garland's husband at the time.
Judy was headlining at the Sands, but she got
sick. Strep throat. Couldn't perform. So Luft
asks Lewis to fill in. Begs him, apparently.
Lewis hadn't sung solo on stage since he was
like five years old. He agrees, but figures he'll
just do maybe 15 minutes of his usual comedy
stuff. Thought he did more. He cloned around
a bit, yeah. But then, maybe on impulse, maybe
just needing to prove something to himself, he
decides to sing. Seriously sing. Two songs. Which
ones? Rock -a -bye your baby with a Dixie melody,
a Jolson standard, and come rain or come shine.
Big, dramatic numbers. Not comedy songs. Wow.
Talk about putting yourself out there right after
the split. Totally pathetic. And the reaction
wasn't just polite applause. It was reportedly
explosive. Pandemonium. He apparently walked
off stage knowing, OK, I can do this. That must
have been a huge psychological boost. Massive.
And he ran with it. Immediately self -funded
a recording of Rockabye Your Baby. It shot up
the charts. Hit number 10. No kidding. Yep. Then
he put out an album, Jerry Lewis Just Sings.
Hit number three on the Billboard charts. Sold
over a million copies. It instantly proved his
solo bank ability. So he wasn't just the funny
man anymore. He was a recording star too. Exactly.
The Sands Hotel quickly signed him to a five
-year solo contract. For the same massive salary
they'd paid Martin and Lewis together, the solo
career was launched. And this set the stage for
his next big transformation, becoming the filmmaker.
Right. So he's proven he's a solo star, a recording
artist, a huge box office draw on his own. That
gives him incredible leverage, especially with
Paramount. Huge leverage. He started his solo
film career pretty quickly with The Delicate
Delinquent in 57. He often worked with Frank
Cashlin as director initially. Cashlin came from
animation, right? That seems like a good fit
for Lewis's style. Perfect fit. Very visual,
kinetic, almost cartoonish sensibility. But the
real power play came in 1959. Lewis signed this
new deal with Paramount. And it wasn't just big
money, though it was $10 million for 14 films
over seven years. $10 million in 1959? That's
astronomical. It really was. But the terms were
the revolutionary part. The contract gave him
essentially unlimited creative control. Unlimited.
Like Final Cut. Final Cut privilege, yeah. Which
almost nobody got back then. Directors, maybe
Hitchcock sometimes, but performers. Very rare.
And even more incredibly, he got the rights to
the films back after 30 years. He got the rights
back. In the studio system. How did he swing
that? Pure box office clout. He was a guaranteed
moneymaker, especially overseas. Paramount knew
he'd deliver profits. There's that famous quote
from the head of Paramount at the time, Barney
Balaban. What did he say? Something like, if
Jerry wants to burn down the studio, I'll give
him the match. It showed total faith in his commercial
power. This deal basically made Lewis his own
mini studio within Paramount. The total filmmaker
is born right there. Exactly. And that control
immediately led to this burst of innovation.
Paramount needed a quick film for the summer
of 1960. They rushed him. So Lewis steps up and
decides to do it all himself. This is the bellboy.
The bellboy. He produced, directed, co -wrote,
and starred. Shot it super fast down at the Font
Blue Hotel in Miami Beach. Apparently, he was
doing his live stage show at night to help finance
the filming during the day. Wow. That's dedication.
Or maybe control again. Probably both. And the
bellboy is really interesting because Lewis's
character, Stanley, is almost entirely nonverbal.
He just whistles until the very end. Which makes
filming faster, I guess. Less dialogue to worry
about. Exactly. More focus on the visual gags,
the physical comedy. But the really groundbreaking
thing he did on the bellboy was technical. This
is where video assist comes in. OK, let's break
that down. We hear the term video assist all
the time now in filmmaking, but Lewis pioneered
it back then. What exactly was it and why was
it such a big deal? So imagine you're directing
a movie in, say, 1959. You shoot a scene on film.
Then what happens? You wait for the film to be
developed. Right. You send the film cans off
to the lab. You wait 24, maybe 48 hours. You
get the dailies back, the developed footage,
and you watch it in a screening room. And if
something's wrong? A performance issue? A technical
glitch? Maybe you just don't like the shot. You
have to rebuild the set, get the actors back
in costume, try to recreate the lighting, everything.
Days later. It costs a fortune in time and money.
Okay, I see the problem. So what did Lewis' system
do? He basically rigged up a closed -circuit
video camera that was linked to the main film
camera. It recorded onto videotape simultaneously.
So the second he yelled, cut. He could watch
it back. Instantly. Instantly. On a monitor.
Right there on set, he called it Jerry's noisy
toy. He didn't have to guess if he got the shot.
He didn't have to rely solely on the cinematographer's
word. He could see it immediately. That's genius,
actually. Total control over the take, right
then and there. Total control and massive savings.
If a take wasn't right, boom, do it again right
away while everything's still set up. It streamlined
the whole process. And it totally centered the
power. with the director in this case himself
he got an award for that didn't he he did the
golden light technical achievement award it recognized
him as a genuine technical innovator not just
a comedian it was a huge deal for his total filmmaker
persona another example of that control freak
tendency manifesting in a really productive forward
-thinking way he wasn't just demanding things
he was building the tools to achieve them and
critics who got what he was doing praised that
precision Some described his visual gags as being
choreographed like ballet, having genuine grace
and finesse. He kept pushing the envelope technically
too, right? Like with the ladies' man. Oh yeah,
the ladies' man in 61. That's set. He built this
enormous multi -story dollhouse -like structure
across two huge sound stages. The front wall
was cut away so the camera could move around
and look into all these different rooms at once,
like a giant ant farm. Incredible. Creating a
whole world he could completely orchestrate.
Exactly. But I think most people agree his absolute
peak as a director and maybe as a performer exploring
deeper themes was The Nutty Professor in 1963.
Ah, Professor Julius F. Kelp and Buddy Love.
Right. The meek, awkward, buck -toothed professor
who creates a potion that turns him into this
smooth, arrogant, obnoxious, but charismatic
lounge singer, Buddy Love. And the speculation
has always been, was Buddy Love based on Dean
Martin? Or maybe Lewis himself? It's endlessly
debated. Lewis always denied the Martin connection,
but the similarities are there. But Buddy Love
could also be seen as Lewis's own Ed Unleashed,
right? The darkness behind the childlike clown
persona. The film really digs into duality, insecurity,
the dangers of wanting to be someone else. It's
way more than just a Jekyll and Hyde comedy.
It feels personal. It really does. He used that
total control to explore something quite profound
psychologically. He doubled down on the multiple
roles thing later, too, in The Family Jewels
in 65. Where he played six uncles and a bodyguard.
Yep. Literally playing almost the entire main
cast himself. Talk about total control. So he's
making these technically innovative, often psychologically
complex films. But the critical reaction, especially
in America, wasn't always great, right? That's
where the French love Jerry Lewis thing comes
from. Exactly. Mainstream American critics, people
like Pauline Kael, were often pretty brutal.
They saw it as undisciplined, self -indulgent,
just mugging for the camera. But in France. In
France, it was the complete opposite. especially
the highbrow critics, the intellectuals writing
for magazines like Cahiers du Cinema and Positif.
They revered him. They called him le roi du crazy,
the king of crazy. Yeah, but it wasn't just about
the craziness. They saw him as a true auteur,
a film author. In the same league as directors
they championed like Howard Hawks or Alfred Hitchcock.
Why? What was their argument? Why did they see
genius where Americans often saw? Well, just
Jerry Lewis being goofy. They focused on his
complete command of the medium. his mise -en
-scene, everything that goes into the frame,
the composition, the movement, the timing. They
saw his character not just as a clown, but as
this figure of almost existential innocence,
battling a chaotic world through his physical
comedy. So the total control that some Americans
saw as ego, the French saw as artistry. Precisely.
They saw the filmmaking itself, the visual language,
the rhythm, the way he used his body and the
camera as deeply personal and expressive. He
wasn't just in the films. He was the films. That
auteur theory perspective really clicked with
Lewis's approach. That makes sense. It gave him
this intellectual validation, even if folks back
home were scratching their heads. But his filmography
isn't all comedies. There's one film, a very
famous unseen film, The Day the Clown Cried.
Ah, yes. The legendary lost film from 1972. This
was a huge departure, a drama. Set in a Nazi
concentration camp. Yeah. Lewis directed it and
starred as Helmut Dork, a washed up German circus
clown who gets arrested for mocking Hitler. In
the camp, he ends up. Well, the premise is that
he's eventually used by the Nazis to entertain
Jewish children and lead them into the gas chambers.
Oh, my God. That's incredibly dark territory,
especially for 1972. Extremely dark. One of the
earliest attempts by a major American filmmaker
to deal directly with the Holocaust in narrative
film. but it was never released. Buried. Why?
Was it legal issues or did Lewis himself pull
it? It seems like a bit of both. There were definitely
financial disputes and litigation involving the
producers after filming, but Lewis himself also
became deeply unhappy with it. He later said
he was ashamed of the work, not proud of the
effort. So his own standard. His need for control
meant if it wasn't perfect, especially on such
a sensitive subject, it shouldn't be seen. That
feels very much in line with his character, doesn't
it? If he couldn't control the final product
to his satisfaction, he'd rather it just disappeared.
It remains one of film history's great what -ifs.
After that, he took a long break from filmmaking,
didn't he? For about a decade, yeah. But his
return to the screen in 1982 was pretty significant.
He starred in Martin Scorsese's The King of Comedy.
Playing Jerry Langford. The famous talk show
host stalked by Robert De Niro's character. It
was brilliant casting. Lewis playing this aloof,
controlled, slightly chilly celebrity figure.
It felt like he was drawing on his own public
persona, maybe even the buddy love persona. He
got a BAFTA nomination for it. It's like that
role perfectly bridged his filmmaking persona
with his other massive public identity, the humanitarian.
Yeah, you can't really separate. Louis the filmmaker
or Louis the comedian from Louis the Humanitarian.
It was such a huge part of his public image,
almost entirely through his work with the Muscular
Dystrophy Association, the MDA. His involvement
was incredibly longstanding and deep. He became
their honorary national chairman way back in
1956. But things really ramped up with the telethon.
The Jerry Lewis MDA Labor Day telethon. It started
in late 1966, right? Just one station in New
York initially. Yeah, but it... grew incredibly
fast, ran for 44 years with him as host. And
the numbers are just mind -boggling. Over its
run, it raised more than $2 .6 billion. Billion.
With a B. That's astronomical for any charity,
let alone one focused on a specific group of
diseases. It became this massive cultural event
every Labor Day weekend. A fixture. It broke
records constantly. First telethon to raise over
a million dollars back in 66. Went coast to coast
in 1970. Right. And later, it was even simulcast
worldwide on the Internet, starting in 98. For
years, it held the record for the most money
raised in a single event for charity. And the
telethon itself became a stage for... Well, for
Jerry being Jerry, including that incredibly
famous moment in 1976. The reunion. Yeah, you
have to mention that. Frank Sinatra was a guest,
and completely unannounced, unrehearsed, he brings
out Dean Martin. On stage. During the live telethon,
Lewis hadn't really interacted with him much
in 20 years. And Lewis was visibly stunned. Floored.
There are pictures, the footage. It's raw emotion.
They embraced. Tears. Then they started cracking
jokes like old times. Reconciling, basically,
in front of millions of people on national television.
Only Lewis could orchestrate something like that,
even if Sinatra initiated it, using his platform
for maximum personal drama alongside the charity.
Absolutely. And his commitment, his fundraising,
it got him major recognition. He was nominated
for the Nobel Peace Prize. The Film Academy gave
him the Gene Herschel Humanitarian Award in 2009.
And critically, the money did do good, right?
during his time led to actual breakthrough. Yes,
absolutely. MDA -funded research made huge strides
during those decades. They identified the genes
responsible for several forms of muscular dystrophy,
developed new treatments, improved quality of
life. The impact of that $2 .6 billion was very
real scientifically. Which makes the controversy
around the telethon even more complex because
the criticism wasn't really about the money or
the research. It was about how the money was
raised, the portrayal. By the 1990s, you started
seeing significant... pushback, mainly from disability
rights activists, people within the community
the telethon was supposed to benefit. And their
argument was? Their core argument was that the
whole approach, the tone, the imagery, it was
designed to evoke pity, not empowerment. They
pointed to the way the children, often called
Jerry's kids, were presented. The focus was often
on tragedy, on limitations, on the need for a
cure through charity. This gets into that whole
philosophical shift, doesn't it? Moving away
from the medical model of disability, seeing
the person as broken and needing fixing through
pity. Towards the social model, which says disability
is more about societal barriers and the need
for inclusion and rights and empowerment. The
activists felt Lewis was stuck in that older
pity -based model. Perpetuating stereotypes,
using language that some found demeaning. That
was the accusation. That the telethon, for all
the good it did financially, was essentially
this massive 21 -hour spectacle built on making
people feel sorry for disabled individuals rather
than respecting their agency or potential. And
Lewis's response, he wasn't one to back down
from criticism. No, he wasn't. He defended his
methods very strongly. He famously said something
like, if you don't tug at their heartstrings,
then you're on the air for nothing. Wow. So he
basically believed that evoking pity, that emotional
manipulation, was necessary to get people to
donate. The ends justify the means. That certainly
seems to be his perspective. For him, the fundraising
result trumped concerns about representation
or empowerment. It was this fundamental clash,
pity versus empowerment. And that clash eventually
led to his departure. It was definitely a major
factor. The criticism grew louder. He stopped
hosting in 2011. Somewhat abruptly. And the MDA
itself ultimately discontinued the telethon format
altogether in 2015. They cited new realities
in TV and fundraising. The era was over. It's
such a complicated legacy there. Billions raised,
real research funded, but achieved through methods
that became ethically questionable to many. Okay,
shifting gears slightly. What about his other
views? Politics, social issues? Well, early on,
he apparently took advice from JFK himself to
kind of steer clear of taking strong public political
stances. Really? JFK advised him? So the story
goes, he did support John and Robert Kennedy,
and he was definitely on the side of the civil
rights movement. There's a notable incident in
1957. What happened? He was doing a TV special,
and some Southern Network affiliates objected
to him having his friend Sammy Davis Jr. on as
a guest. Interracial friendship on screen was
still controversial. Lewis refused to back down.
He kept Sammy on the show. Good for him. Stood
his ground there. Yeah. But later in life, his
views seemed to lean more conservative, and he
wasn't shy about expressing them, sometimes causing
a stir. Like what? Well, he spoke out against
the Vietnam War back in 71. But then in 2015,
he made headlines opposing the U .S. taking in
Syrian refugees, citing security concerns. He
also praised Ronald Reagan and said Donald Trump
would make a good president because he was a
good showman. Okay, so a mix of views over time,
but then there were those infamous comments about
women in comedy. Yes, that was 1998, I believe.
In an interview, he just came out and said, I
don't like any female comedians. Just flat out.
Flat out. He went on, a woman doing comedy doesn't
offend me, but sets me back a bit. I, as a viewer,
have trouble with it. I think of her as a producing
machine that brings babies in the world. Wow.
That's incredibly misogynistic and just factually
wrong, given all the brilliant women in comedy
even then. It caused a huge backlash, understandably.
What's weird, though, is that in the same interview,
apparently almost immediately after saying that,
he started praising specific women comedians.
He called Lucille Ball, Carol Burnett, Phyllis
Diller, Whoopi Goldberg brilliant. Wait, really?
So he contradicts himself moments later. Yeah,
which makes it even stranger. It's like this
ingrained, archaic generalization popped out,
but then his actual appreciation for specific
talent kicked in. It doesn't excuse the initial
comment, obviously, but it adds this layer of
confused complexity to it. A very damaging statement
that stuck to him. But perhaps the darkest shadow,
which emerged more fully after his death, involved
allegations of sexual misconduct. Yes. In 2022,
a report came out featuring accounts from several
women, former co -stars, alleging serious incidents
back in the 1960s. Sexual assault, harassment,
verbal abuse. Who came forward? Actresses like
Karen Sharp, Hope Holliday, Anna Maria Alberghetti,
Laini Kazan. They described a pattern of behavior
on set. What kind of behavior? Karen Sharp alleged
Lewis assaulted her during a costume fitting
for the disorderly orderly. Hope Holliday claimed
that during the filming of The Ladies' Man, Lewis
quartered her in his dressing room, exposed himself,
and masturbated in front of her after she rejected
his advances. Others described unwanted sexual
propositions, groping, and intensely abusive
verbal tirades if they didn't comply. That's
horrific. And it paints a picture of that total
filmmaker control potentially spilling over into
something much uglier behind the scenes, abusing
his power. It certainly suggests a potential
dark side to that absolute authority he wielded
on set. These are serious allegations that add
another deeply disturbing layer to his legacy,
complicating the image of the zany comedian and
the dedicated humanitarian even further. It seems
like the physical comedy, the pratfalls, the
sheer energy he expended, it took a heavy toll
on his body over the years. The sources talk
about a lot of chronic health problems. Oh, definitely.
The biggest one, the one that seemed to cause
the most long -term suffering, was his back.
He had a really bad injury from a fall during
a performance. Was it doing one of his trademark
falls? Yeah, a comedic pratfall. Some sources
say it happened at the Sands Hotel in Vegas in
1965. Others say it was during an appearance
on The Andy Williams Show. Whichever it was,
the injury was severe. And that led to? Chronic,
debilitating pain. And that pain led directly
to a very long and serious addiction to the painkiller
Percodan. He was reportedly hooked on it for
13 years. 13 years! That must have impacted everything.
His work, his mood. Absolutely. He spoke later
about the hell of that addiction. It shows the
real physical price he paid for that anything
-for -a -laugh style of comedy. He did manage
to quit Percodan around 1978 and later had a
device, a neurostimulator, implanted to help
manage the ongoing back pain. But the health
issues didn't stop there. He had heart problems
too, right? Started quite young. Very young.
His first heart attack was in 1960 while filming
Cinderfella. He was only 34. 34, wow. Then he
had a second, much more serious one in 1982,
which required open -heart double bypass surgery.
And there was a third heart attack later, in
2006. So back pain, addiction, multiple heart
attacks, anything else. Yeah, the list goes on.
He battled prostate cancer. He had type 1 diabetes.
And later in life, he developed pulmonary fibrosis,
a serious lung condition. And the treatment for
that had visible effect. Yes, the treatment involved
high doses of prednisone, a steroid, which caused
significant weight gain in the late 90s and early
2000s. People noticed the change in his appearance.
It clearly slowed him down. It sounds like a
relentless series of physical struggles. And
this decline seemed to happen alongside some
major shifts and ultimately rifts in his personal
life, too. Definitely. His first marriage was
to Patti Palmer. They married young back in 1944
and had six sons together, five biological, one
adopted. But that marriage ended. They divorced
in 1983 after nearly 40 years. And Lewis himself
was pretty open about the fact that he wasn't
faithful during that marriage. He even mentioned
alleged affairs with huge names like Marilyn
Monroe and Marlene Dietrich. Okay. Then he remarried.
Yes. In 1983, the same year as the divorce, he
married Sandra Sandy Pitnick. They later adopted
a daughter, Danielle. But the relationship with
the children from his first marriage... That
became strained. Extremely strained. And this
leads to one of the most shocking and I think
revealing aspects of his final years, his will.
What did it say? When he died, the will explicitly,
by name, disinherited all six of his sons from
his first marriage and their descendants. His
entire estate went to his second wife, Sandy,
and their adopted daughter, Danielle. He completely
cut out his sons. After building this global
image as a humanitarian, especially for Jerry's
kids. Completely and deliberately cut them out.
It was a final, brutal act of control over his
legacy and his family narrative. A total rejection.
How did his sons react? Publicly, his eldest
son, Gary Lewis, who had his own music career
with Gary Lewis and the Playboys, was scathing.
He called his father a mean and evil person and
said Jerry had never shown him or his brothers
any real love or care. That's just heartbreaking.
The ultimate paradox, right? The public champion
of children privately enacting this complete
paternal abandonment. It's a stark... Deeply
uncomfortable contradiction. Lewis died on August
20, 2017. He was 91. The cause was end -stage
heart disease and peripheral artery disease.
He left behind this incredibly complex, polarizing
legacy. Absolutely. So how do we sum it up? Despite
everything, his place in comedy history seems
secure, right? Undoubtedly. He's widely seen
as one of the truly great, groundbreaking comedians
of the 20th century. His style, that blend of
manic energy, physical genius, and moments of
surprising vulnerability was hugely influential.
You can see echoes of him in so many performers
who came later. For sure. The sources mention
people like Steve Martin, Richard Pryor, Andy
Kaufman, Paul Rubens, P .B. Herman, and definitely
Jim Carrey. Carrey was very vocal about... Lewis's
influence he wrote something like Lewis would
stretch the boundaries of reality so far that
it was an act of anarchy I am because he was
high praise and his reputation as a filmmaker
is that finally getting more recognition in the
US beyond just the French critics I think it
is slowly but surely Thanks partly to those French
critics laying the groundwork, but also respected
American critics like Dave Care, calling him
one of the great American filmmakers. Richard
Brody at The New Yorker called his directing
original, inventive, profound. People are reevaluating
the films now, seeing the artistry and the control
behind the chaos. And his impact just seeps into
pop culture in weird ways, too, like The Simpsons.
Professor Frank. Totally based on Julius Kelp
from The Nutty Professor, Lewis even guest voiced
Frink's father in one episode. That's amazing.
And SpongeBob. Apparently, yeah. Steven Hillenburg,
SpongeBob's creator, cited Lewis, particularly
his performance as the bellboy Stanley, as one
inspiration for SpongeBob's innocent, optimistic,
slightly chaotic personality and even the high
-pitched voice. That's incredible. His reach
is just everywhere. He got the official honors,
too, of course. Two stars in the Hollywood Walk
of Fame. One for movies, one for TV. France gave
him their highest civilian honor, the Legion
of Honor, in 2006. And after he died, the casinos
on the Las Vegas Strip dimmed their lights and
put up coordinated tributes on their marquees,
a fitting Vegas send -off for him. So when you
pull it all together, he's this global icon,
a technical pioneer in film, a humanitarian who
raised billions and funded lifesaving research.
And simultaneously, he's this volatile autocratic
figure accused of serious abuse, someone who
alienated his own children, whose charity work
became ethically fraught. It's all part of the
same story. And maybe that central theme we identified,
control, is the key. His absolute insistence
on being the total filmmaker, having that unlimited
creative power. It seems like it mirrors the
way he operated in his personal life, doesn't
it? Leading to those demanding, sometimes destructive
relationships and culminating in that final controlling
act of the will. The need for control seems absolute,
professionally and personally. Which leaves us
with a final thought for you, the listener, to
mull over. Considering Jerry Lewis's relentless
drive for total control that fueled his technical
innovations, his directorial genius, but also
seemed to fuel the controversies and the painful
end to his family relationships, was that anarchic,
unpredictable genius we saw on screen somehow
inseparable from this fierce, pervasive need
for dominance? Could the revolutionary success
and the personal failings be two sides of the
same coin, both stemming from that absolute need
for control?