Funny Guys With a Serious Challenge

In life, as in art, Nathan Lane and Matthew Broderick fall into easily defined dramatic roles.

But here’s the surprise: Lane, the go-for-broke scene stealer of such films as “The Birdcage,” is the quiet one who looks down while he laughs, avoiding a camera’s gaze.

Broderick, the earnest boy-next-door currently seen in the film “You Can Count on Me,” is the class clown, reeling off faux-British dialogue from the mad-scientist flick “The Invisible Man.”

“Tell us what happens when you eat, Invisible Man,” Lane prompts, red-faced with laughter during an interview at Chicago’s Cadillac Palace Theatre.

“I must stay indoors for three hours or the undigested food in my stomach would give me away! Even the dirt under my fingernails!” Broderick says.

He pauses dramatically.

“I’m very cold, because I’m naked most of the time.”

Lane and Broderick have come together to play the closely linked roles of manic producer Max Bialystock and mousy accountant Leo Bloom in the new Mel Brooks musical, “The Producers,” based on Brooks’ 1968 movie of the same name. The play runs through Feb. 25 at the Cadillac Palace Theatre before moving to Broadway in April.

The film version of “The Producers” is a hard act to follow, an unlikely charmer in which two scamps attempt to defraud their elderly investors by producing the worst play New York has ever seen: the pro-Nazi musical “Springtime for Hitler.” The film won an Oscar for best original screenplay and was recently 11th on the American Film Institute’s list of the greatest film comedies of all time.

Whether Lane and Broderick measure up to the near-legendary pairing of Zero Mostel and Gene Wilder in the original remains to be seen (the play is in previews; the press opening is Feb. 18), but Lane says he and Broderick have at least one thing in common with the “Producers” stars who came before them.

“There’s a genuine affection [between us], and there is a chemistry,” says Lane, 45. “I had hoped that would be the case, but it has worked out extremely well. You just can’t manufacture that. It either happens or it doesn’t.”

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The story of “The Producers,” the musical, begins more than 10 years ago, with movie producer David Geffen urging Brooks to consider turning the film into a play.

“Everything about [the film] to me spoke that this had the potential to be a terrific musical comedy,” Geffen says. “It’s a classic structure, it has music in it already, it was originally conceived as a play and turned into a movie, so it had that kind of structure.”

Others had presented Brooks with similar arguments, but Geffen--who was recently described by Brooks as “the most persuasive, smartest guy that ever lived” --persisted for about seven years and ultimately prevailed.

“He convinced me that [the play] would be a good thing for ‘The Producers,’ ” Brooks has said, “not a bad thing but a blessing.”

Lane traces his involvement in the play back to 1998, when he went for a swim at the Ritz Hotel in Paris. To the actor’s delight, the pool appeared empty. But then two heads popped up: that of Mel Brooks and his wife, Anne Bancroft. Lane had met them once, and he started chatting with Brooks, who told him, “I think you’re the only man in the world who could play Max Bialystock.”

“I would be thrilled and honored,” Lane told Brooks. “It’s my favorite comedy of all time.”

Brooks was still working on the play and Lane’s consent wasn’t official, but Brooks continued to pursue the Tony-winning actor--most notably during a March appearance on “The Late Show With David Letterman,” when Brooks whipped out a fake contract and demanded that the actor sign.

“He’s been adorable,” Lane says of Brooks. “He’s been so supportive and loving about the whole thing. It is sort of daunting, because Zero Mostel and Gene Wilder are indelible, and you’re sort of haunted by those performances. And yet, because [we’re] doing it with Mel, Matt and I both feel, I think, we have his blessing.”

If Lane is an obvious choice to follow in the footsteps of Mostel--a veteran stage actor with a larger-than-life comic presence--Broderick doesn’t bear much superficial resemblance to the wild-eyed, wild-haired comedian Wilder. But Brooks was enchanted by Broderick’s Tony-winning performance in “How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying.”

Broderick says he kept hearing he was being considered for the role of Bloom. The 38-year-old actor asked his agent if that was the case, but nobody seemed to know. Finally, about six months ago, Broderick and Brooks met for the first time. The topic of the meeting was a separate project, a film; the location was a luxury hotel. When the discussion was over, Brooks invited Broderick to come sit with him near the hotel elevator.

“I like to have meetings here,” Brooks told Broderick. “It’s quiet, it’s nice, and it’s free.”

Brooks told Broderick about “The Producers” and asked him if he was interested. Broderick said yes the next day.

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Lane and Broderick arrive at an interview at the ornate Cadillac Palace Theatre wearing essentially the same outfit: black shirt, black pants, black shoes. Lane looks uncomfortable when a photographer asks the actors to make casual conversation. Lane turns to Broderick, who fills the silence with a stream of “Invisible Man” dialogue.

Though the actors were only passing acquaintances before the production, they now share a series of inside jokes, many centering on Broderick’s impersonation of the Invisible Man.

“Nathan likes that,” Broderick says. “Nobody else likes that voice that much.”

“Oh no,” Lane says. “Let me tell you, it’s very popular with the cast. And there’s one particular line--if things are dull and he says it, then we’re all on the floor.”

The line--”I shall kill you, Kemp! Tomorrow at 10 o’clock, I shall kill you!”--owes much of its comic power to Broderick’s pinched delivery. The jokes flow freely, but Lane and Broderick know they face a serious challenge. “The Producers” was a groundbreaking film, nearly as daring today as it was in 1968. Bialystock is a lovable lout who finances his plays by romancing wealthy old ladies. The women give him money, his plays flop, and he’s on the verge of bankruptcy when Bloom, the accountant, appears on the scene.

They figure out that they can defraud their investors and make off with a fortune--but only if they create a guaranteed flop. Enter “Springtime for Hitler,” a musical with goose-stepping chorus girls and such memorable lines as, “Don’t be stupid, be a smarty, come and join the Nazi Party.” The film quickly won a devoted following, and through the years its legend has only grown.

Mostel, a renowned Broadway actor, defined Bialystock for many viewers. Lane, who re-created another Mostel role in 1996’s Broadway revival of “A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum,” is among those who struggle to find words to describe his performance.

“I don’t know,” Lane says, putting his hand over his heart. “It’s sort of just the kind of insanity and anarchy that he brought to a lot of things, and he also had a tremendous amount of heart.”

Wilder similarly made an impression on Broderick, who puts his face in his hands when forced to contemplate the actor’s influence: “It’s funny. I’ve even done other parts where I’ve felt . . . I sound like Gene Wilder.”

Still, the day after the first preview, the actors said the play was going well. Lane says the audience was very enthusiastic. Broderick agrees: “You just immediately felt that the audience was with it, and I guess because of the movie, they want it. Even when things aren’t that good, they’re like, ‘I don’t [care], it’s “The Producers,” you know? So what!’ ”

Broderick says he’d like to fill out his character a little more, adding some details, and Lane is still figuring out how to pace himself during a grueling performance.

Offstage, at least, the laughs come easily. Among the two stars’ sources of amusement: Lane’s account of their first meeting, 18 or so years ago. Lane, a relatively unknown actor at the time, had greatly admired the younger man’s performance in Neil Simon’s “Brighton Beach Memoirs.” “I just remember laughing so much. I said, ‘Who is this kid? He’s unbelievable. He’s like the soul of some old vaudevillian.’ ”

So when Lane spotted Broderick on 57th Street in New York, he stopped him. “Mr. Broderick, you don’t know me, but I’m an actor and I just want to tell you how great you were in the play,” Lane told Broderick. They were wearing the same shirt, so Lane joked, “You’re my idol. I’m starting to dress like you.”

Clearly uncomfortable, Broderick made a quick exit. Lane imitates Broderick’s trembling voice and hunched shoulders, the way he “started to get nervous and look for a cop.”

“That was our first meeting,” Lane says triumphantly.

“It’s vaguely familiar,” Broderick says. “Well, I was 20 at the time.” Then he smiles, imagining how he must have appeared to Lane: a young actor terrorized by a simple meeting with a fan.

“You were like, ‘You’re a great actor! Oh, and you’re kind of retarded too!’ ”