Good Night George : From the Directors of “Oh, God”

Carl Reiner directed George Burns in “Oh, God!” (1977). In January, on the occasion of Burns’ 100th birthday, Reiner recalled that, “We worried about him then--he was 81. We said we better have two cameras to play close-ups and long shots, so he doesn’t have to do it a dozen times. But he did it perfectly the first time out, both cameras rolling. We were done by 11 in the morning. He said, ‘What do we do for the rest of the day?’ I said, ‘Go home. Play cards.’ ” Reached Saturday at his home, Reiner offered this thought:

George Burns is God and the way we discuss Him, God doesn’t die. So, as far as I’m concerned, George Burns isn’t dead.

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Gil Cates directed “Oh God! Book II” (1980). Currently the dean of UCLA’s School of Theater, Film and Television, Cates offered these memories:

I loved George Burns. During our first meeting to discuss “Oh God! Book II,” he told me that he was pleased to talk with me and that he would report our conversation to Gracie. George then explained that he went to the cemetery weekly and talked everything over with Gracie.

Over the next several months, George told me many wonderful things. One day, when I questioned him as to why he was always early to work and the first one on the set, George said that it was due to his early training. During vaudeville, if you came late, he said, “The bus left without you.”

George told me and the crew so many wonderful stories of his early days. His memory was prodigious. He remembered the bill in practically every vaudeville house he played. He once told me how a vaudevillian knew he was fired: “When the manager came to your dressing room holding your 8 x 10,” George smiled.

George and I went shopping for his film wardrobe. Amazingly, he asked me whether each scene was a “sitting scene” or “standing scene.” My curiosity got the better of me. “Why does it matter?,” I asked. George said, “I need a heavier fabric for the sitting scenes, they hold a press better.” Oh, what vaudeville teaches us.

Doing a scene with Howard Duff, George stopped, asked if I minded, and then gave Howard a little directorial note. Howard smiled and agreed. George gave him a slight timing note. Howard and I looked at each other, both sure that the tiny note was valueless. However, it was an innocuous adjustment and Howard made it. Months later, when the picture came out, I went to the Bruin in Westwood to see it, and lo and behold that little timing note resulted in the biggest laugh in the film.

George had the first line in the film. After all, he was God. At the first table reading the entire cast was sitting around a large table waiting to begin. George’s script was closed. Out of respect, I waited for George to open his script to begin the reading. Finally, I said, “George, please open your script so we can begin.” George smiled and began--he had memorized the entire script. Needless to say, the cast was put on guard, everyone knew that preparation was the key. “Oh God! Book II” became unique, a film in which very few lines were changed.

George was unbelievable. He encompassed the entire 20th century. He transcended the decades and ages--from vaudeville to the digital. He was always helpful, pleasant and professional--not to mention a supremely gifted actor. We will miss you, George.