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Biography
He was born Stephen Glenn
Martin on the 14th of August, 1945, in Waco, Texas. When he was 5, the
family (of English/Irish/Scottish descent) moved to Inglewood,
California, where his father, Glenn, an aspiring actor, performed at the
local playhouse, and sold real estate.
One of Steve's earliest
memories is of seeing his father, as an extra, serving drinks onstage at
the Call Board Theatre on Melrose Place. During the war, in England,
Glenn had appeared in a production of Our Town with Raymond Massey.
Years later, he would write to Massey for help in Steve's fledgling
career, but would receive no reply.
Yet he was not always so
helpful. Expressing his affection through gifts of cars, bikes etc, he
was not emotionally open to his son. He was proud of the boy but
extremely critical, Steve later recalling that in his teens his feelings
for his dad were mostly ones of hatred. Martin's thus inflamed need to
please and be loved must surely have fuelled his early career, if not
all of it.
Steve's mother, Mary Lee,
looked after the kids. It was in Inglewood that young Steve became
interested in magic, buying books, learning tricks and performing them
for his parents. It would serve him very well later. So would his gift
for comedy. Watching the likes of the Red Skelton Show, Steve would
learn the skits, then perform them for the kids at school next day.
After another 5 years, the
family moved on to Garden Grove, near Anaheim. It was 1955 and, vitally,
the year Disneyland opened nearby. From the age of 10 till 18, Steve
would work there after school, at weekends and during the summers. First
he sold guide-books at the gate, dressed in a straw boater and bow-tie.
He'd take 2 cents per book sold, with the norm being 50 books a day.
But, quickly learning the relentless cheeriness necessary (something
else that would serve him well later), Steve far outdid the norm. One
day he sold 625.
Then there was Wally Boag.
Wally was an old vaudevillian entertainer plying his trade at
Disneyland, telling (clean) jokes and making balloon animals. Steve
watched his act every day, committing it all to memory.
At 15, Steve's education in magic intensified. Promoted to Merlin's
Magic Shop, he sold plastic vomit, shrunken heads, silly disguises,
nails-through-heads, all the greats. Joshing around with the staff, he
learned all the tricks, and collected all the jokes, writing down the
best of everything said. Now ready to face the public, he began
performing magic shows at Kiwanis clubs.
And there was more learning to do. In his late teens, Steve first heard
an Earl Scruggs record. Completely blown away by the finger-pickin'
banjo, he was madly inspired. Playing the record at half-speed, he
taught himself to pick along, soon becoming more than proficient. At
night, so as not to wake the household, he'd practise in his '57
Chevy.
Having graduated from Garden
Grove High School in 1963, he took work at the Birdcage Theatre at
Knott's Berry Farm, near Disneyland. Using all his talents, he did
skits, magic tricks and played banjo - four shows a day, five days a
week. Martin calls it his "basic training".
He could have continued his showbiz career, but that would have far too
simple for a complex fellow like Martin, always keen to challenge
himself, to learn more. At Knott's Berry Farm, he met a girl named
Stormie Sherk, with whom he enjoyed a platonic romance (Steve has an
intensely romantic side to him). She convinced him of the importance of
academic schooling, got him reading - he recalls being taken by Somerset
Maugham's The Razor's Edge - and encouraged him to enroll at
college.
Which he did, at Long Beach
State University, where he majored in philosophy. Yet even this deep
study couldn't quell his desire to make people laugh. In fact, it fed
it. After a period immersed in philosophy and logic, Martin decided that
there WAS no logic, and began to come up with truckloads of bizarre,
hilarious non-sequiturs. Being Steve Martin - conscientious and
organised - he wrote them all down, saved them for later.
He just couldn't leave showbiz alone. Transferring to UCLA in 1967, he
changed his major to Theatre, and wrote comedy in his creative writing
classes, quickly building up reams of material. At night, he'd work the
LA clubs. And then came his first lucky break. His girlfriend at the
time was a dancer on the very popular Smothers Brothers Comedy
Hour.
She passed on some of
Steve's material to the head writer, Mason Williams, who loved it and
began to use Steve's stuff, at first paying him out of his own pocket.
Soon, he was on the team. The series lasted for just one season, but it
was riotously funny, winning the writers an Emmy. Not bad for your first
job.
Massively encouraged, Steve kept writing, for Glen Campbell's show, and
Sonny and Cher's, amongst many others, earning as much as $1,500 a week.
But, really, he wanted to perform himself, and finally, against the
advice of all his friends, decided to throw himself onto the club
circuit. At first it was tough. Most comics, in the politically riotous
days of the Sixties, were following the line of Lenny Bruce - they were
harsh, sharp and angry.
Martin, on the other hand,
with his banjo and balloons, was playing on childlike innocence and
illogic. His one nod to contemporary culture was to grow his hair and a
beard. Slowly, his act came together. There were a few TV spots, and he
toured as support for pop acts, including the Carpenters and the Nitty
Gritty Dirt Band. In San Francisco, he performed in a club window to get
punters inside. In Nevada, he followed an elephant act that left mounds
of dung all over the stage.
By 1973, he was tired of smoggy LA, and unwell. To get up to speed for
his performances, he'd been drinking before the shows, waking up in
mid-afternoon with terrible hangovers. With his then girlfriend Iris, he
took off for Santa Fe for a year, then, having split from Iris, moved on
to Aspen, Colorado. Here he began to ski, got himself into shape. He
also cut his hair and took to wearing those famous white suits. And,
crucially, he decided never to be the support act again. Once more, he
took to the clubs.
Aside from the tricks and
the zany non-sequiturs, he took to drawing the audience together as a
group and leading them out of the venue. The first time, he led them
into an empty swimming-pool and "swam" lengths as they held
him aloft. Once, he took them all to McDonald's and ordered 274 burgers,
at the last moment changing his order to "one fry to go".
Eventually, when the audiences got bigger, these crazy excursions had to
stop.
1975 brought the breakthrough. After major success at San Francisco's
Boarding House, he began to get some serious attention. The next year
was even better. Invited onto Saturday Night Live, appearing alongside
John Belushi, Chevy Chase, Dan Aykroyd and Bill Murray , he introduced a
vast TV audience to The Ramblin' Guy. He was awarded an HBO special and
made numerous appearances on The Tonight Show. It didn't all go
smoothly. Host Johnny Carson was incensed when Steve stood there reading
names from the phone book and told jokes to four dogs onstage, demanding
that Steve appear only when there was a guest presenter. But Steve
redeemed himself, by 1977 making 35 appearances on the show.
Now Steve was a big star. His debut album, Let's Get Small, sold a
million and won a Grammy. On SNL, he introduced the notion of cat
handcuffs (he claimed his cat was embezzling from him) and, with Aykroyd,
formed the Festrunk Brothers, Czechoslovakian playboys who claimed to be
"wild and crazy guys". A second album, called (naturally) A
Wild And Crazy Guy, sold a million, too. A short movie, The
Absent-Minded Waiter, featuring Buck Henry and Teri Garr, with Steve as
a completely hopeless waiter, was Oscar-nominated. His disco-style
single, King Tut, was a huge hit.
With disputes over Vietnam raging, Steve's anarchic childishness was an
antidote to the anger and the pain, or at least a brief escape. Monty
Python had set the ball rolling, Steve gave it a hefty boot. Wearing
bunny ears, nose glasses and an arrow through his head, prancing
insanely across the stage with an attack of Happy Feet, and with neat
catch-phrases like "Well, excuuuuse ME!" he was clutched to
the heart of the nation.
He played in front of crowds
of over 20,000 (and this is a COMEDIAN). His two-month, 50-city tour in
late 1977 grossed over a million. In fact, the only downer was a review
in a local paper stating one of his SNL appearances was so poor it had
set his career back 5 years. The author? Glenn Martin.
Incredibly, it got even better. He made his film debut proper in Robert
Stigwood's ill-fated Sgt Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, starring
Peter Frampton and the Bee Gees, performing Maxwell's Silver Hammer.
There was another excellent cameo as an insolent waiter in The Muppet
Movie, and another in the Who documentary, The Kids Are Alright. AND he
had a best-selling book, Cruel Shoes.
And then came both love and The Jerk. Incorporating much of Steve's
stand-up act, The Jerk (originally titled Easy Money) had been written
with Carl Gottlieb, an old friend from the Smothers Brothers writing
team. Steve would receive $100,000 as writer, $500,000 as star and 50%
of the profits. Made for $4.5 million, it grossed over $100 million. It
was the third biggest picture of its year. Unsurprising, really, as it's
one of the funniest films ever made.
Steve played Navin R
Johnson, the adopted son of a poor black family in Mississippi who goes
off to make his fortune. Joining a circus, he's seduced (actually more
raped) by Patty Bernstein, a macho motorbike stunt rider, but falls for
pretty little Marie, played by the Broadway star Bernadette Peters.
Their duet of Tonight You Belong To Me, in which Peters bursts suddenly
into a trumpet solo, is a classic. So Navin goes from poverty to huge
wealth and back to poverty - with a bundle of laughs in between.
And there was Bernadette Peters. Aside from being supremely talented and
stunningly attractive, she was also a hard-working star, and understood
Steve's desire to focus on his career. After all, she had her own. They
would see each other until 1981.
As it happened, this period would be one of the most important in
Martin's life. Having pushed back the envelope in terms of comedy
success, he'd had enough of the life he was leading. He no longer
enjoyed stand-up because the huge crowds had turned his shows into
"events" where everyone would wear bunny ears and attempt to
participate. "Wait a minute," he was thinking, "this is
my little joke. Why are you waving balloons at me during my little
joke?" He was also exhausted, occasionally collapsing onstage. In
Tennessee they even had to call the paramedics. Beyond this, people were
comparing him to Jerry Lewis, something the philosopher in him did not
appreciate.
What he wanted was to step away from it all, and he did so in no
uncertain terms. In the mid-Seventies, he'd seen Dennis Potter's 6-part,
9-hour imaginative feast Pennies From Heaven and considered it one of
the greatest productions he'd ever seen. When Hollywood came to make the
movie, he went for it.
Set in Chicago during the Depression, Pennies From Heaven concerned one
Arthur Parker (Martin), a sheet-music salesman, married to dull Joan
(Jessica Harper). While lying, cheating and double-dealing his way
through life, he falls for school-teacher Eileen (Peters) and everyone -
most of them terribly deluded - is dreaming of a better life, many of
the dreams manifesting themselves in glitzy, old-school musical numbers.
Steve danced, he sang, he did everything but comedy. And it was hard
work. He spent months learning to tap-dance and received acting lessons
from the director, Herbert Ross.
Pennies From Heaven, featuring a now-legendary bar-top dance by
Christopher Walken (that's right, he didn't make his dancing debut in
that Fatboy Slim video), did not do well. Indeed, like Heaven's Gate and
One From The Heart it was a big-budget failure. But it was ambitious,
and mad, impressive and beautiful and, like those other two flops,
deserves rehabilitation. Steve moved on to Dead Men Don't Wear Plaid,
directed by Jerk-helmsman Carl Reiner (father of Rob).
This was another ingenious
effort, a comic tribute to film noir with Steve as private dick Rigby
Reardon who, investigating the murder of the father of a mysterious
femme fatale (Rachel Ward), gets into serious bother. Cutting techniques
allowed slices of old movies to be spliced in, so Martin appeared beside
the likes of Bette Davis, Alan Ladd, Veronica Lake and James Cagney,
with Humphrey Bogart appearing as Martin's assistant. Brilliant stuff.
Though they weren't huge hits, Steve's next run of movies was
unbelievably fine. In The Man With Two Brains (like Dead Men%u2026
co-written by Martin), he played Dr Michael Hfuhruhurr, a widower and
brain surgeon who's invented the famous screw-top technique. After
saving the life of Kathleen Turner, he marries her and she turns out to
be a voracious gold-digger, out for his cash. Visiting mad scientist Dr
Necessiter (David Warner), he falls for a talking brain named Ann
Uumellmahaye (the voice of Sissy Spacek) and, well, suffice to say it's
out-there and extremely funny.
Next came The Lonely Guy, a more morose piece where, having found his
girlfriend in bed with someone else, he teams up with fellow dumpee
Charles Grodin and comes up with various tactics for picking up women,
all of which fail. Then came another classic, All Of Me, once more with
Carl Reiner. Here Lily Tomlin played a dying millionaires who tries to
have her spirit implanted in the body of a younger woman, Victoria
Tennant.
Unfortunately, it instead
enters the body of her lawyer, Martin, who proceeds to give a stunning
performance as a man and a woman battling for control of a man's body.
He was rightly nominated for a Golden Globe, as he had been for Pennies
From Heaven.
He also found love again, with Tennant. The star of Winds Of War, she
came from a cultured English family, her godfather being Laurence
Olivier, was well-travelled and spoke several languages. As well as
being beautiful, she appealed to the highbrow cosmopolitan in him. In
1986, they eloped and were married in Rome.
That year brought more success onscreen. There was the comedy cowboy
flick Three Amigos, directed by John Landis and co-starring SNL buddies
Chevy Chase and Martin Short. Then came a classic star turn in Little
Shop Of Horrors, directed by Steve's old Muppet-mate Frank Oz. Here he
played a sadistic, motorbike-riding dentist, a crazed Elvis impersonator
who worships his mama, abuses his girlfriend and ODs nitrous oxide. His
grotesque surgical tools would later show up both in Batman and in David
Cronenberg's Dead Ringers.
Martin had often co-written his movies, adding his peculiar brand of
comedy. But now he went for something more ambitious, adapting Cyrano de
Bergerac for the screen in Roxanne. Here he played fire-chief CD Bales,
a man with poetry in his heart and an enormous schnozz on his face.
Falling for siren Daryl Hannah, he finds himself wooing her on behalf of
dopey but hunky employee Rick Rossovich. It was a great success, and
that continued.
In John Hughes' Planes,
Trains And Automobiles, he was Neal Page, a nice guy just trying to get
home to spend Thanksgiving with his wife and child. His misfortune
begins with a superb sequence where he races a sublimely smug Kevin
Bacon for the only taxi in town. And then he meets shower-ring salesman
John Candy and is forced to travel with him, even sharing a bed
(remember the early morning shriek of "Those aren't
PILLOWS!"?). It just gets worse.
After this came two more brilliant movies. First Dirty Rotten
Scoundrels, once more with Frank Oz. Here he was Freddy Benson, a
small-time con-man who, plying his trade on the Riviera, comes into
competition with high-grade rip-off merchant Michael Caine. Working
together, double-crossing each other constantly, they cause extra-merry
hell. The same year, 1988, Steve made his Broadway debut in Mike
Nichols' production of Waiting For Godot. His co-star was another highly
intelligent clown with a penchant for philosophy - Robin Williams.
Next came Ron Howard's Parenthood. This saw Steve as Gil Buckman,
married to the wonderful Mary Steenburgen and trying to make the best of
a dysfunctional family, including a fear-paralysed son, a dominating
father (Jason Robards), a wastrel brother (Tom Hulce), an
education-obsessed brother (Rick Moranis) and a sister (Dianne Wiest)
who can't stop her daughter seeing Keanu
Reeves. One of the finest feel-good movies of all time, it allowed
Martin to once more play many of his party tricks, and included a
fantastic scene where Steenburgen, wanting to relax a ludicrously
stressed Martin, does something she perhaps shouldn't. At least not
while he's driving.
The hits kept coming. In My Blue Heaven, written by Nora "Sleepless
In Seattle" Ephron, he played a Mob informer protected by FBI agent
Moranis but unable to keep a low profile. Next he returned to writing
with LA Story, where he played weatherman Harris K Telemacher. Cuckolded
by girlfriend Marilu Henner, he takes up with Valley Girl sexpot Sarah
Jessica Parker, then falls for Brit journalist Victoria Tennant. Not
unakin to the work of Jacques Tati, it, like The Lonely Guy, was all
about the pursuit of happiness in a cold, modern world.
1991 was an odd year for Martin. Aside from LA Story, there was the
roustabout hit Father Of The Bride, a remake of the Spencer Tracy
classic, where Steve played George Stanley Parks, a man unable to cope
with his daughter's impending nuptials or her extravagant reception.
Martin Short provided the overblown cameo here, as the event co-ordinator.
And then there was the angsty, reflective Grand Canyon. Directed by
Laurence "Big Chill" Kasdan, this dealt with the social and
spiritual emptiness of Los Angeles. Hardly a barrel of laughs.
1992 was interesting, too. First there was Housesitter, yet again with
Frank Oz, where he played a rich guy who proposes to Dana Delany but is
turned down - a shame as he's built a house for her. And it gets worse
when, having had a one-nighter with Goldie Hawn, she finds the house,
moves in and tells his friends, neighbours and family that they're
married. He wants her out, but everyone likes her so much he has a very
hard time doing so.
Also in 1992 was the terribly under-rated Leap Of Faith. Here Steve
delivered a mighty turn as Jonas Nightingale, a fake faith healer with a
travelling show. Trapped in a small town, he falls for Lolita
Davidovitch, a waitress with a crippled son, while his partner-in-crime
Debra Winger gets it on with Liam Neeson, a local sheriff who's sworn to
bust Martin's ass.
1993 was much, much worse. Victoria Tennant had always encouraged Steve
in his work, particularly his writing, and now he'd penned a play,
Picasso At The Lapin Agile. This was an intellectual comedy, concerning
a meeting between the young Picasso and Einstein, which drew together
all of Steve's main interests - philosophy, art, science and magic. It
opened at the Steppenwolf in Chicago and, a great success, would move on
to LA and New York. But, before it opened, Tennant had gone. While
filming a miniseries, she'd fallen for a hunky Australian TV star and
returned only to tell Steve she was leaving. The divorce was not
friendly.
When questioned, Tennant claimed that she found Steve to be
"emotionally unavailable", and this distance has caused him
many problems. Some performers switch off when not on stage, and even
Steve's friends say that he switches off more than most. He's polite to
people, but uninvolved. Tommy Smothers of the Smothers Brothers even
said that "To spend time with him is like being alone". And,
though he's bright, curious and hilarious with his closest friends, he
finds it impossible to be that way on dates. It may have been nature, or
nurture, as his family were far from close that way. He recalls many a
silent dinner-time in his childhood.
Even so, with Tennant gone, Steve stepped straight into another
relationship, with the actress Anne Heche, co-star in his next picture,
A Simple Twist Of Fate, an update of George Eliot's Silas Marner. If the
Tennant break-up was bad, the Heche one two years later was a disaster
(Steve's friends still refer to her as The Heartbreak Kid). It really
couldn't have been more high-profile and embarrassing. The whole nation
was fascinated by comedian Ellen DeGeneres declaring herself to be a
lesbian on her own hit TV show.
And Heche left Martin for
DeGeneres. A bad, bad scene. Now 50, he was plunged into a desperate
mid-life crisis. He saw women, mostly much younger than himself, but
there was no one to love. But, with hindsight, he was probably better
off without Heche. She's since claimed to have heard voices in her head
during their relationship. Never a sign of happy days to come. And the
break-up inspired him to write another play, Patter For The Floating
Lady.
His time with Heche saw another couple of movies. There was Mixed Nuts,
directed by Ephron, where he ran a crisis hotline with Madeline Kahn,
surrounded by various oddballs played by Juliette Lewis, Adam Sandler
and Rob Reiner. And there was a sequel to Father Of The Bride, which
earned him another Golden Globe nomination, to go with the ones for
Parenthood and Roxanne. Really, considering his fantastic performances
down the years, it's amazing that Martin has never won any major acting
prize.
Now came a dark period. Steve was fine as Sgt Bilko in the movie
adaptation, but the film was a big flop. On top of the Heche experience,
this was a bad blow. He lost confidence and took an extended time-out.
He made a low-budget return as mysterious stranger Jimmy Dell in David
Mamet's slow, convoluted The Spanish Prisoner. Then came The Out-Of-Towners,
a reunion with Goldie Hawn, and a remake of Neil Simon's earlier effort,
starring Jack Lemmon and Sandy Dennis. Here Steve and Goldie played a
couple who've fallen out of love over 25 years, and suffer every
possible tourist-nightmare on their way to a job interview in New York.
Planes, Trains and Goldie Hawn, really.
Those in the know reckoned Steve Martin, without a big hit for nearly a
decade, was finished. Then up popped Eddie
Murphy, old mucker Frank Oz and Bowfinger, the first script Steve
had written in years. Here Steve played a producer desperate to get his
sci-fi picture made. Big star Murphy won't get involved, so they rope in
Murphy's poor brother (also played by Murphy), a super ambitious Heather
Graham and a drama queen of a stage actress, secretly film the star
Murphy going about his everyday business, and attempt to splice a
feature together from the dodgy footage. It was funny, clever and a big
hit. Steve was back.
For a while, Steve concentrated on writing. He released a novel,
Shopgirl, concerning the sweet but wallflowerish Mirabelle, who charms a
wealthy businessman twice her age, the pair of them struggling to come
to terms with this odd relationship. It was tender, thoughtful and wise
- Steve did, after all, have experience.
After this, there was a cameo in Stanley Tucci's Joe Gould's Secret, and
an appearance as host of the 2001 Oscars, for which he was
Emmy-nominated. And then came Novocaine where, for the second time, he
played a dentist. This time, however, he's the hard-done-by one, being
conned by patient Helena Bonham Carter into prescribing her drugs. After
this, his whole life falls slowly and hilariously to pieces.
Sadly, his real life did, too. During filming, Steve began a
relationship with Helena which he was very keen to continue. But, aside
from being 21 years younger than him, she had just split from Kenneth
Branagh after 5 years and was in no mood to enter another serious
relationship. They split after a few months, Steve the lonely guy once
more. And he'd take that persona into his next big role. After a cameo
in Rutles 2: Can't Buy Me Lunch, he starred in Disney's Bringing Down
The House where he played a rich but lonesome wretch trying to meet
women on the Net.
Unfortunately, the one he
gets on with is jailbird Queen Latifah who breaks out of pokey to be
with him, bringing utter chaos to his nice middle-class life. It was
another enormous hit for Martin, the first of two in 2003. After popping
up as Mr Chairman, head of the ACME mega-corporation in Joe Dante's
half-cartoon, half-live action Looney Tunes, he'd take on Cheaper By The
Dozen, playing a busy football coach dad who finds himself looking after
his swarm of kids when his wife is called away on a book tour.
It's a famed cliche that
actors should avoid working with children but, after Parenthood, Martin
had no fears and was proved right as Cheaper By The Dozen was yet
another $100 million hit.
Movies aside, Martin was
also busy in the other areas of his life. In 2003 he'd host the Oscars
and publish his second novella, The Pleasure Of My Company. The year
before, he'd updated Carl Sternheim's 1910 farce The Underpants, about a
man whose wife's underpants will not stay up, for an off-Broadway
production, and also begun a series of comic essays and articles for the
New Yorker and New York Times. And, at last, he'd found another steady
relationship.
Having briefly seen Patty
Marx, one of the original writers on Saturday Night Live and a lecturer
at NYU (she actually used Martin's material to teach students comedy
writing), he began a more long-term affair with Anne Stringfield, then
deputy head of fact-checking at the New Yorker. She was 30 and a
stunner, often being mistaken for actress Kristin Davis (in her twenties
she'd moonlighted as typist for Derek Walcott, winner of the Nobel Prize
for Literature in 1992). Steve was 58.
Martin's next appearance onscreen would be in 2005, in Shopgirl, based
on his own novella. The production had already been embroiled in
controversy in November, 2002, when Winona Ryder, caught shoplifting in
LA's Sak's store, had claimed she was practising for the part of
Mirabelle. In fact, the part had gone to Claire Danes and she did a fine
job veering between millionaire sophisticate Martin and slobby loser
Jason Schwartzman in this bittersweet study of love and
relationships.
The same year would bring
another hit in Cheaper By The Dozen 2, where Martin took his enormo-brood
on a lakeside holiday, only to end up in a series of comic
confrontations with rival Eugene Levy, another father of many, based in
a palatial house across the water. After the two Father Of The Brides
and Bringing Down The House, this was the fourth fruitful pairing of
Martin and Levy.
Adding to this success, 2005
would also see Martin produce the TV reality show The Scholar where high
school kids competed for college tuition (choosing academia over comedy
or music - very Steve Martin). Better still, at the Kennedy Centre
Awards he received the Mark Twain Prize for American Humour. "I
think Mark Twain is a great guy," commented Martin "and I
can't wait to meet him".
Come 2006, having returned
to host Saturday Night Live yet again, Martin would be seen taking on
one of his greatest challenges to date, stepping into the shoes of Peter
Sellers for The Pink Panther. When the French football coach is killed
and the legendary Pink Panther diamond stolen, an incompetent detective
is needed to draw attention away from the real investigation.
Enter Martin's Clouseau with
sidekick Jean
Reno, and so begins the expected succession of slapstick disasters.
Some critics felt Martin was too sane for the role. The box office,
though, told another story, as Martin, now in his sixties, continued his
run of hits.
Having given us all those
laughs, it seems right and proper that Steve Martin should no longer be
sat on his own, surrounded by an art collection including works by Hockney,
Hopper and Picasso, but wracked by the fear that he'd be left on the
shelf.
This is the man who said All I
ever wanted was an honest week's pay for an honest day's work and I
believe that sex is the most beautiful, natural and wholesome thing that
money can buy. He deserves happiness - he's given so much to others. All
we can say is thanks, Steve, and good luck. ~ Dominic Wills
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