His life in cartoons

For the record, the interview with Robert Evans was conducted in his bedroom. On the bed. On top of the mink bedspread that was a gift from good friend and French film star Alain Delon, custom-made by Dior. With the butler and an assistant in attendance, bearing Cosmopolitans and melon pieces (the cocktails were declined, the honeydew accepted). Surrounded by pictures of famous friends, and those made by famous friends, including an enormous Helmut Newton photo of two naked women at play in the backyard. In an effort to increase the comfort of the interviewer, a gift of silk pajamas was proffered -- again declined, somewhat reluctantly; they were very nice. After watching a few episodes of his new animated series “Kid Notorious” (premiering tonight on Comedy Central), the whole scenario seemed perfectly normal.

As an actor, Paramount studio chief, independent producer, scandal attracter, stroke survivor, writer and documentary film subject, Evans has lived to tell a lot of tales, and he’s told them in a variety of forms. His 1994 memoir, “The Kid Stays in the Picture,” became a bestseller. The subsequent audio book, featuring his velvet gravel voice and the tough guy cadence of a Mickey Spillane character, was another hit. Then the documentary of the same title made the rounds, produced and directed by Brett Morgen and Nanette Burstein.

All versions emphasized entertainment value over objectivity. “When we made ‘The Kid,’ we were very consciously creating a piece of modern day mythology,” Morgen said. “The movie was about the legend of Robert Evans,” rather than an impartial portrait of the man himself.

While working closely with Evans during the making of the documentary, Morgen was amazed by the level of chaos that surrounded the movie mogul. To this day, that chaos shows no signs of abating. Case in point: the perfectly innocent reason that this reporter’s interview took place in Evans’ bedroom was because his office-screening room (a separate building behind the house) blew up 2 1/2 months ago. The resulting fire was so hot that everything in it -- film archives, a Van Gogh, a Picasso, countless awards, autographed books and photos -- was destroyed immediately. Evans can’t even bring himself to look at the charred remnants.

So far, the cause is officially attributed to a short circuit in the television, which wasn’t on at the time. Of course, Evans suspects foul play. “I’m getting to the bottom of it,” he said, “and the bottom will be a very explosive international bottom, that’s all I can say.”

Morgen isn’t sure whether the chaos finds Evans or he invites it upon himself, but either way, “it’s one of the things that made his book so much fun to read -- Robert is always getting into these big dramatic situations.” Morgen first thought a reality show, a la “The Osbournes,” would be an appropriate way to capture the surreality of Evans’ life. But upon further reflection, he realized that Evans’ life “is so dramatic, it is so over the top, it is so colorful, it is cartoonish -- he’s the only celebrity who I personally know whose life lends itself so easily to a cartoon.” Morgen wanted to set the show at Woodland, Evans’ glorious Beverly Hills estate, and people it with characters from Evans’ life.

Evans himself wasn’t convinced. At first, he was even insulted. But then Morgen received four offers from competing studios on the day he pitched the show, resulting in a Wall Street Journal cover article. Evans was amazed -- he had taken Paramount Pictures from ninth to first place in the early ‘70s, green-lighted such classics as “Chinatown,” “Serpico,” “Harold and Maude” and the first two “Godfather” movies, and yet “the first time I ever made the Wall Street Journal in my whole life, was on a cartoon,” he marveled. The animated format makes perfect sense to him now. It also doesn’t hurt that the cartoon Evans is drawn forever young, as opposed to the 73-year-old subject, some of whose life experiences show up on his face.

Morgen, Evans and head writers Alan Cohen and Alan Freedland (both from Fox’s “King of the Hill”) are the cartoon’s executive producers. Evans, by his own account, is pretty much impossible to work with. Morgen put it more kindly, quoting Evans’ description of the fights on the set of “Rosemary’s Baby” -- “if everyone gets along, invariably the work will come out underwhelming.” To attest to his own perfectionism, Evans brought out a thick book of cartoon images that were rejected before the final was produced. In an echo of a tale from his book about Warren Beatty’s poster for “Heaven Can Wait,” Evans said the most difficult yet most important part was getting the crotch right.

The show is so many light-years beyond politically incorrect that the concept is rendered quaint. Everyone and everything is fair game for ridicule, parody and mudslinging, from Kim Jong Il’s hair to Sharon Stone’s, er, lower regions. But it’s the winking look at Evans’ image that serves as the major source of amusement. He’s never seen in bed or the hot tub without at least one nude female at his side, animated in many senses of the term. “Clearly, Bob doesn’t assassinate world leaders as far as I know, and he hasn’t taken ‘The Godfather’ to Broadway yet, and he didn’t lose his house in a poker game to Jacques Chirac,” said Morgen, referring to upcoming story lines. “But the seeds of each of those episodes have been based on moments or stories that he’s provided or we’ve encountered with him over the last few years.”

His staff and friends, past and present, round out the cast. Evans’ cartoon housekeeper is modeled after his much beloved housekeeper, Tollie Mae, who died years ago. She’s played to the sassy hilt by Niecy Nash (of Comedy Central’s “Reno 911”). Evans’ good friend Slash, the famed rock guitarist, plays a recurring role as Evans’ good friend Slash. Evans’ impeccably British butler, Alan Selka, who refers to Evans as the Maestro, plays the part of, well, his impeccably British butler. Morgen is convinced that Selka is actually a performance artist playing the role of butler; he’s just too good at it.

Sitting at attention during the bedroom interview, Selka laughed at the idea. After a few minutes of conversation, it’s clear why the character was created. He said his luck turned two years ago, when he got married. “I got on my knees and said, ‘God, send me a beautiful millionaire.’ And instead I got a beautiful milliner,” Selka chuckled. “That proves he’s American; he didn’t understand my accent.” He then related a completely unprintable story about how Evans managed to get him to drop his tray, after three years of trying. Salacious tales aside, Selka made a point of crediting his present good fortune to his boss. “The two overriding qualities of the Maestro are a sense of humor and a huge heart,” said Selka. “Who else would put their butler in a national series?”

While Evans lay on his pillows and sipped his drink, the sense of humor took a back seat to the huge heart for a moment. “I’d like to be, in my own idiosyncratic way, the inspiration to a lot of people,” Evans said earnestly. “I went from royalty to infamy in the ‘80s, I had a stroke in the ‘90s, and here I am.” Say what you want about Evans, but as he likes to put it, he’s the only man in the history of Hollywood who started out as head of a studio and ended up as a cartoon. “Beat that if you can.”