The only clue to motorists inching their way along US 1 that Thursday morning was the parking lot jammed with cars, white moving vans, and lunch wagons.
Few seemed to notice anything unusual however, although inside day was being transformed into glittering night at the Limelight Disco in Hallandale.
It was the first day of filming "Hardly Working", the $3 million production which extensively utilizes local actors and technicians.
At the entrance, nervous extras sipped orange juice and tried to preserve their makeup. Wearing tight-fitting satin pants, disco bags, high heels and iridescent eye shadow, they waited for the filming to begin.
Inside, thousands of colored lights flashed, reflecting off the mirrored walls and ceiling.
From the center of the stainless steel dance floor emanated a familiar voice. Standing next to one of two panavision cameras, the director and star of "Hardly Working", Jerry Lewis, joked with news team from Channel 4.
The impression that there were some extraordinary individuals present was punctuated by the assistant director, Hal Bell, as he announced over a bullhorn, "Will the owner of an orange Eldorado please move it? You are blocking the driveway."
Every 10 or 15 minutes the noise level rose to the point that Lewis, or one of his assistants, would stop in mid-sentence and politely (and sometimes not so politely) ask for silence.
Over a 14-hour period it became easy to understand why "quiet on the set" is so essential, and yet so difficult to attain.
With vast amounts of equipment to move between scenes, managing the crowds of extras and visitors on an indoor set with limited space is a trying experience.
Lewis feels that the public should have the opportunity to watch a film being made, and considering the extra work and headaches that this "open set" policy entailed, he and his crew should be applauded for their efforts.
Every scene required extensive preparations and Lewis personally conferred with up to a dozen technicians before announcing that he was ready for a take. Lewis then passed the word to the assistant director and the sudden silence seemed alien. The make-up woman readied Lewis and his co-star in the scene, Rick O'Feldman.
The cameras rolled and before the first line came out, an overlooked telephone rang irreverently. Everyone stiffened, but Lewis broke the tension with, "Someone answer it. Maybe it's a reservation for tonight!"
The crowd laughed and they tried it again. This time O'Feldman blew his lines, reversing the names of the characters. Lewis slowly turned his head and faced the actor in a poor attempt at seriousness and said, "I'm Bo, you're Chuck!"
One more take and Lewis hurried over to a monitor to view the videotape that was simultaneously made, a technique that Lewis invented. Everyone waited while the scene was played back and moments later Lewis yelled, "Print it!"
This went on all day, interrupted only briefly by a birthday cake for Scott Lewis, Jerry's son. A piece of cake and a toast and back to "Hardly Working".
Lewis, his hair greased back, emerged from his trailer in a white three piece suit for the next scene. The crowd roared and applauded, and as the wolf whistles faded out, Lewis explained to the disco dancers what he wanted in the scene.
The assistant director's bullhorn carried a request for the extras to start smoking. The music started, and Lewis became Bo Hooper, a bumbling disc jockey magically transformed into John Travolta.
"Humanity-that's the key word. Without that you're screwed."
The filming continued until 10 p.m., a typical day according to the crew. The result of 14 hours of hard work?... only a few minutes of actual film.
Jerry Lewis has brought the best of filmmaking to South Florida. Combining his exceptional technical ability (he holds 13 separate union cards), with warmth and humanity, he has legitimized persistent claims that Florida is on the verge of a filmmaking boom.
From his production headquarters at Palm-Aire, Lewis put together a team that he feels is as good as any crew in Hollywood. Considering the way he treats his crew, it is not surprising that Lewis commands total respect and loyalty.
Because of his acting, directing and technical experience, he can relate to anyone on the set, regardless of his function. Whether it be a wristwatch, champagne and cake, a cocktail party or a sincere "well done", Lewis continually shows his appreciation for a cooperative crew.
"Hardly Working" is a straightforward comedy with a message. Bo Hooper (Lewis), is a suddenly out-of-work circus clown trying to find a niche in the straight world. His sister Claire (Susan Oliver) exhausts her connections as Hooper loses one job after another, each ending in disaster as his bumbling comedic nature emerges.
This succession of divergent employment results in a multitude of sets, several of which are rather elaborate. One of these was the complete circus created for the scenes in which Claire and the children visit Bo doing what he does best-entertaining the crowd under the Big Top.
From a distance, it appeared to be a typical circus. Band music, applause and laughter emanate from the large red and white striped tent. An elephant bellows and at the entrance the smell of hay is in the air.
Inside, it is quite a different story. The "crowd" is concentrated in about a third of the tent, the rest being crowded with lights, equipment and a large truck with a camera boom mounted on its bed.
Policemen stationed at the tent's two entrances have their hands full trying to differentiate between the two hundred extras and curios passers-by.
The heat is intense and some of the crew appear drained. Cameramen fight a continuous battle to keep dust and hay off the cameras. Many of the extras that fill the bleachers are slowly fanning themselves.
The walkie-talkies on the belts of crewmembers broadcast instructions that are barely audible over the whine of a powerful vacuum cleaner being used to pick up confetti scattered on the center ring's carpet.
Lewis is standing next to his tall director's chair, his clown's make-up contrasting sharply with his dark blue shirt and slacks. He lights a cigarette, and refers to his notes. An ever present Muscular Dystrophy jug hangs from the back of the chair, stuffed with dollar bills.
As on many other days, Lewis has arranged for a group of children stricken with the disease to spend a day on the set, their wheelchairs positioned to give them a front row view of the action.
"If the director beats the crew, they'll beat him in other ways."
Cissy Graham, daughter of Florida Governor Robert Graham, is in make-up preparing for her upcoming scene, while outside her mother Adele is on an elephant's back, posing for press photographers.
Evidence of phenomenal energy that Lewis projects is everywhere. Caricatures of Jerry Lewis are displayed on T-shirts, button, and stickers that are pasted on cameras and equipment.
His self-assurance and confident manner have a steadying influence on and give direction to a very complex operation. Lewis is a director that knows precisely what he wants and can convey those desires to the crew effectively.
Apparently sensing the toll that the building hours in the tent are taking, Lewis takes a few breaths from a circus balloon and, in a helium-induced Donald Duck voice, gives instructions to the crew.
Everyone breaks up and they seem charged with fresh energy, the heat temporarily forgotten.
Film is a very penetrating force, and the atmosphere and attitude that went into the making of that baby will determine whether it runs and plays like a normal child or if it's crippled."
Later that afternoon, a lion tamer is rehearsing, putting his cats on stools while crewmen set up for the scene. Lewis, slipping unnoticed into the cage with a whip and chair, shouts, "Hey Pergola!" Director of Photography, James Pergola, looks over in surprise as the lions roar at Lewis. In a display of mock bravado, Lewis faces a lion and with a crack of the whip, barks a steely, "Cool it!" Apparently unimpressed, the lion roars again, taking a swipe at the chair. Lewis scurries out of the cage amid a chorus of cheers and applause.
Later, the extras are briefed on how they are to flow as they mill around the bleachers looking for seats. After a few rehearsals, they are ready to try it.
On Lewis' direction, the band starts up, and as the cameras roll, he joins the cheering crowd.
Whether the script calls for him to deliver the mail, spin records or cook in a Japanese restaurant, Lewis' natural affinity for the outrageous insures a continual flow of spontaneous incidents that leave the crew wiping their eyes and trying to be serious again.
It had been a particularly hectic day at Northridge Shopping Center. The day had involved scenes filmed from a helicopter, a SWAT team on the roof of a Pulix supermarket, and letting five hundred rabbits loose in the parking lot.
The sun was about to drop below the buildings, challenging the filmmakers to finish the last scene of the day before losing their light. An actor was having trouble with his lines and adding to the pressure was the frequent announcement from the sound man that the noise level from the passing airplanes was too great to work with.
After several aborted takes, with the crew becoming increasingly anxious, Lewis stopped pacing and shouted, "What is this, World War 2 around here?" The discharge of tension could be felt and as the laughter died out, there was a lull in the air traffic, the actor got his lines out and Lewis called a wrap for the day.
During the filming of the gas station sequence, someone lowered a rope that had been blocking off the entrance to the gas pumps.
Lewis, in green coveralls, stood beside the car talking to Deanna Lund, while the crew was setting up.
A Volkswagen drove in the station and pulled up to the other set of pumps, its driver oblivious to the semi-circle of cameras and lights around the rigged car, not to mention a very familiar-looking attendant.
After a few awkward moments, while the driver waited for service and the crew stared in disbelief, the man got out and asked a technician if he could get some gas.
Told what was going on, he returned to his car and, after a brief glance, shook his head and backed out of the station.
"I didn't know I was really prepared to go back into the film business."
Occasionally during the filming at the gas station, fans in passing cars would shout Lewis' name. Lewis would sometimes turn and wave.
When a chorus of young voices calling "Jerry! Jerry!" attracted his attention, Lewis looked up. Seeing a school bus full of wildly waving children stopped at a red light, he ran out to the bus. Touching as many outstretched hands as he could, he touched the lives of them all.
Lewis' antics on the set have a much deeper purpose than just making the crew laugh. A sensitive man who has been on both sides of the camera for years, Lewis recognizes when a crew needs that extra attention, and knows what can happen if a director ignores the situation.
Lewis' philosophy reflects that concern for the state of mind of his crew.
"I know every one of my crew by name. As a director, you must come with a positive point of view. Humanity-that's the key word. Without that you're screwed. There is no such thing as a bad crew, only a bad director. The human condition demands one thing-give me, and I'll give you. Beat me, and I'll beat you. If the director beats his crew, they'll beat him in other ways."
"There is an atmosphere of fear, pressure and uncertainty and its up there on that goddamn screen. An audience may not know that what is on the screen is tension, but they know that it's uncomfortable."
"Film is a very penetrating force, and the atmosphere and attitude that went into making of that baby will determine whether it runs and plays like a normal child or if it's crippled."
Considering Lewis' style of filmmaking, it would appear that he has a healthy child in the offing. Igo Kantor, executive in charge of production and an industry heavyweight, says that a fifteen-minute preview of "hardly Working" to be shown at the Cannes Film Festival will determine whether the film will be released in Europe prior to a general release in the United States.
Neophyte film producer Joseph Ford Proctor has shown wisdom beyond his years in picking Lewis and Kantor to make "Hardly Working" a reality.
Austrian born Kantor grew up in Portugal and got his first job at age 13, translating an American film. One hundred films later, Kantor moved to California, working as Hoard Hughes' private projectionist to finance his college education. Since 1954, Kantor has worked as a production assistant, film editor, or producer on more than 300 motion pictures.
Thirty-three year old Proctor, a born entrepreneur, started a film company, Gold Coast Studios, to capitalize on the South's untouched locations, weather and growing professional labor pool.
That pool of professionals is becoming more widely recognized with each satisfied producer and director, his film in the can on or ahead of schedule, and at below budget.
Local talent such as the comedy teams of Marsh and Adams, Jerry and Buddy Lester, Woody Woodbury, April Cloud, Jack McDermott and Amy King, made the job of "Hardly Working" casting director, Beverly McDermott, much easier.
"Hardly Working" was in its last week of filming. Although it was only 8a.m., the bank parking lot was crowded. Helping to dispel the slightly euphoric feeling of walking into a bank an Saturday morning was a pair of burly policemen at the entrance.
"It's nothing more than one word, cooperation, and you can't ask for more than Florida has provided.
Inside, bank employees who had been selected to appear in the filming sat at their desks, ironically delighted to have been asked to work on Saturday.
The story had Bo delivering the mail to the bank with co-worker Steve (Steve Franken). Bo succumbs to fantasy, imagining he and Franken to be 30's-style gangsters pulling off a bank robbery.
Needless to say, the machine gun, pistol and cigar became vehicles for some outrageous clowning between scenes. Roger Carmel, who played the bank manager, complied with autograph requests from tellers on bank withdrawal slips.
Lewis and Franken wore black, three-piece suits, complete with white ties and black and white wing-tipped shoes. The long scars on their faces made them look like dangerous mobsters, an image that was shattered often as they did impressions and joked with a Fort Lauderdale Police Sergeant.
After briefing the assistant director on the set-up for the next scene, Lewis sat on a coffee table, and as he came close to completing the first of a three-picture package, made some provocative observations on a variety of subjects.
On his initial reaction to the "Hardly Working" screen play: "Anything relative to a clown touches my heart and always has. Although I'm not always in make-up, I'm always a clown. That's why I identify so closely with them. I saw a great notion and that was all that was necessary."
"Indiscriminate violence is just like indiscriminate sex, any moron can project that on the screen."
"The original script I wrote from had the character and his occupation and I wrote everything else from there. I didn't know that I was really prepared to go back into the film business. Then, when my juices started to cook realizing that I would do the rewrite, that was that."
Lewis once did a benefit for the Los Angeles Shriners, performing anonymously in clown's make-up. What he experienced caused him to break down and cry, and later write a screenplay about his observations.
"I performed for two and one half hours and none of the 25,000 people that were there knew that it was me. I was watching the acts go out. An aerial act, a dog act, a juggler-all being embraced by the crowd and asked for autographs. I saw a clown leave without his make-up and no one knew who he was. The sadness and desolation of that moment was beyond anything that I can recall emotionally. It gave me the idea for the screenplay, and someday I'm going to make it."
On Florida's role in the motion picture industry: It's nothing more than one word, cooperation, and you can't ask for more than Florida has provided. The Governor has been terrific. He really cares about people and film. He believes it is a productive industry that benefits the state and I agree with him. He's doing everything that he can to charm and pacify the filmmaker to come here. I think it's great. My next three pictures are set in Florida. I love it here, and you can say that while you're here, but if you come back you must mean it."
Asked about Florida's attempts to overcome old feelings that local crews were less capable that Hollywood technicians, Lewis responded: Who made that judgement? It was an incompetent who came here, who would have also blamed a Hollywood crew, and that is always the case. You establish a rapport with people and they'll do anything you want, but you have to do your homework, and be prepared. Regardless of how nice you are to them, if you are not prepared, a crew will turn on you. That's the real danger."
On sex ad violence in motion pictures as compared with television: "We have to be responsible to our public. There has to be more responsibility on the part of the filmmaker. If they are doing it just to make bucks, and there are many that do, they are going to find out they can make bucks without being responsible. Indiscriminate violence is just like indiscriminate sex; any moron can project that on the screen. It takes some talent not to, and to entertain an audience without those tools."
The long scar on Lewis' face was slowly peeling away as he took a moment to talk about maturity: "Too many people allow the calendar to dictate their actions. I literally stopped counting psychologically at 9. The way I carry on, if I weren't 9, I'd be arrested. My whole reason for being is 9." He laughs with the circle of production executives, publicists and crew that have gathered around the coffee table, a sign that they are ready for their director.
As the rough-looking gangster gets up from the table, he adds, "You have to think that way, and you'll never get old."
Hopefully, while audiences follow the entertaining antics of Bo Hooper as he searches for a place in society, they will not overlook the underlying question that Lewis puts before us. Do we have to repress our true natures in our attempts to become successful members of society?
Considering Lewis' ability to create straightforward comedy, sensitively coupled with his perceptive observations of our lives, it is not surprising that on eight occasions, he has been named Best Director of the Year in Europe.
As he presents us with "Hardly Working", a film that will cause us laugh and think about our lives, we wish him well. Sam Tedesco