‘DEAR DUDLEY: LIFE AND LAUGHTER’


                This new book about Dudley Moore celebrates his legacy and includes 100 remarkable and never                 before published letters written to him for his 64th birthday by many of the biggest stars in the                 entertainment galaxy.


















        Dudley Moore was that rare commodity – a multitalented genius. Great not at one thing but at several. From his early jazz years and theatrical compositions to his later piano concerts with the world’s great orchestras, he also built a lifetime’s career out of being funny, bringing us laughter with films such as 10 and his unforgettable drunken clown Arthur and those he made with Peter Cook including Bedazzled and their groundbreaking television series Not Only But Also. 
        But when the comedy legend became depressed in late 1998 after four years of suffering from an increasingly degenerative yet unconfirmed neurological illness, the comedy had all but vanished from his life. 
        As his biographer and friend, it saddened me to see him so down, he who had given us so much entertainment over the years. I wanted to do something to cheer him up and put the smile back on his face. After all, he’d given us decades of pleasure and it was time to give him some back. 
        I approached more than 300 of his celebrity friends and colleagues and, telling them only that Dudley was not well, asked them to write letters for his upcoming 64th birthday. Dudley rarely had a sense of his own largesse and I hoped he might be heartened by such a vivid expression of what he meant to his friends. I had no idea what a mammoth undertaking it would be, entailing months of locating and contacting everyone in various parts of the planet.  
        The response was phenomenal. Handwritten letters poured in from all over the world during the next four months. Even from some who hadn’t known Dudley but wanted to be part of this massive outpouring for the star who was loved by millions and wanting to express their appreciation of his infinite talents. 
        Sir Cliff Richard spoke of the joy Dudley had brought him over the years. He wrote: ‘I don’t really know you, but I’m one of the millions who respect you and your work and I’m glad of the opportunity to add my good wishes to all the others’. Phil Collins added his admiration in a 2-page epistle: ‘We never met but I feel as though I know you... I just wanted to let you know you’ve touched people everywhere (if you know what I mean!)’ and from Patrick Stewart: ‘We’ve never met – my loss. You have given me more pleasure, fun, delight than any person might expect .’
        Some offered ardent admissions. From Emma Thompson: ‘Although we’ve never met I’ve always been slightly in love with you’, and Dawn French: ‘I find it odd that we never married. We could have made quite a pair, don’t you think?’
        Many were unabashed fan letters. Billy Joel enthused, ‘Thank you for all the laughter and perverse pleasure you have given us over the years. I remain a huge fan!’ From Australia, Olivia Newton-John wrote: ‘Thank you for all the pleasure you’ve given the world, the laughter and the tears’; Paul Anka who wrote the iconic song ‘My Way’, inscribed across the song’s music sheet, ‘You’ve done it your way for sure. I’m a huge fan!’ and Liza Minnelli, who co-starred with Dudley in the classic Arthur films, gushed: ‘Simply, you are the best, the brightest, the funniest and dearest person I know...and are you cute!’ Bob Monkhouse proclaimed Dudley his favourite hero and ‘a bijou national treasure’, and Bruce Forsyth noted his birthday was ‘a day that will go down in history with a Musical Smile!’
        A few extracts from some of the hundreds of letters:

JANE ASHER: ‘How you’ve always managed to be brilliantly funny, a wonderful musician and incredibly sexy all at the same time has always amazed me.’

LAUREN BACALL: ‘Still listening to your wonderful music – would so love to be sitting in that little cafe with you at the piano making those fabulous Dudley sounds.’

KEN DODD: ‘Have a wonderful Plumpshus and Discomknockerating time. Thank you for all the joy and happiness you give!’ 

JOANNA LUMLEY: “This brings you all the love in the world and sloppy birthday kisses, you great star!’

JACKIE COLLINS: ‘You are truly one of a kind, you are unique. Keep on doing the things that make everyone so happy when they watch you.’

GOLDIE HAWN: ‘Take these arms of mine and imagine them surrounding you with love, light and joy and feel perfect because YOU are in every way! ‘

ALAN BENNETT: ‘Many happy returns from someone who is just over a year older (and still a bit taller).”

DOLLY PARTON: ‘I wanted to be one of the millions of friends and fans to wish you happy birthday. You have always been and will always remain one of my favourite people.’

        I was touched by the humility shown by so many of these star performers. The letters carried messages of love and admiration, many of them bearing words of comfort. They came from musical icons Cleo Laine & John Dankworth, Mick Jagger, Paul Simon, Peter Frampton, Paul McCartney, Itzhak Perlman, Dolly Parton, Burt Bacharach, Elton John, Barbara Mandrell, the Rolling Stones, Dave Brubeck, Quincy Jones, Paul Anka, Cilla Black and Petula Clark; comedy legends Milton Berle, Sid Caesar, Mel Brooks, Jack Lemmon, Chevy Chase, Mary Tyler Moore and Woody Allen; comedy gurus Norman Lear and Neil Simon; British comedy stars Ken Dodd, Roy Hudd, Lenny Henry, Tracey Ullman, Robbie Coltrane. Even the legendary Goons - Harry Secombe, Spike Milligan and Eric Sykes; and Monty Pythons Terry Jones, Michael Palin, John Cleese and Eric Idle who thanked Dudley “for making it all possible”. Others included Twiggy, Hayley Mills, Bo Derek, Jackie Collins, Angie Dickinson, Whoopi Goldberg, Bette Midler, Dyan Cannon, and close friend Roger Moore who always referred to Dudley as ‘my little son’.
        There were drawings, too – a painted birthday card from David Hockney, a coloured 3-tier birthday cake by Ali MacGraw and cartoon sketches from Alec Baldwin, Jon Voight and Jeff Bridges. And an amazing sketched caricature of Dudley’s face by Ronnie Woods and the Rolling Stones, surrounded by their scribbled comments, among them: ‘Have you gone totally bananas yet? If not, why not?’
        There were even birthday messages from Prince Andrew and Princess Margaret. And a brilliant parody by Paul McCartney of the Beatles’ song 'When I’m 64', the opening lines of which read, ‘I wish I had the ability to make up a song about your birthday, cleverly including in it your upcoming age, but I just don’t have the gift...’
        Dudley was overwhelmed when he read all the letters which I’d assembled in two massive albums. The following month he came to see me. Reclining on a couch with one of my birds perched on his fingers, it felt like so many other occasions when he’d hung out in the apartment to share a lifetime’s memories with me and the birds while they slept on his shoulders. He was deeply touched that so many of his colleagues had written him such loving and expressive letters. "It gave me some encouragement to think a bit more pleasantly about myself,” he reflected, “and to think more positively about myself". 
        Just a few months later, he was given the confirmed diagnosis of Progressive Supranuclear Palsy, a distant cousin of Parkinson’s which attacks the brain’s motor functions. At last he could silence those critics who for too long had blamed his slurred voice and imbalance on being drunk. 
Soon after, in October 1999, I flew to New Jersey where he now lived. He wanted to honour an earlier promise of an exclusive interview with me once he knew what was wrong. At last the tragic story would be told. 
        I stayed in his house and when I woke the following morning I found him sitting on the end of my bed, smiling at me. It reminded me of so many occasions when I’d slept on sofas in his hotel suites while he played concerts across America. But this time was sadly different and the next few days were heart-wrenching as I saw the full devastation of his illness. 
        It felt, he told me, like having something on the tip of his tongue but being unable to express it. Thought processes were incomplete. Sentences begun were left unfinished. Worst of all was his unreliability at the piano. I remember him calling me many times from New York and Australia where he was performing concerts, wailing mournfully that ‘my fingers won’t go where I tell them to go’. 
        My interview ran in The Times and I was flooded afterward with phone calls and letters that poured in from Dudley’s friends in the UK and America who had been greatly touched to read of the extent of Dudley’s illness. ‘I was moved to tears,’ wrote Mel Brooks. ‘Moved by the sadness of it and by Dudley’s courage.’ And Jack Lemmon, himself a credible pianist, admitted he’d been deeply affected by Dudley’s interview. ‘I can’t imagine his pain of not being able to play the piano anymore’. It was, as he rightly perceived, ‘the cruellest blow of all’. 
        My relationship with Dudley began when, as the BBC’s Hollywood correspondent, I took my television crew into his beachside home to interview him about his new movie 10 for Barry Norman’s weekly film programme, Film ‘79. The film had just been released and America had become captivated by Dudley’s humour and his charm. Overnight he became a sex symbol. I remember peering out of the window of my apartment overlooking Sunset Boulevard and seeing a billboard sporting his cutout figure dangling from a necklace around Bo Derek’s neck. 
        “It’s very pleasant to feel that I may be recognised by my dangling image!” Dudley joked when we met. “In fact, I have to say I’m basically very proud and happy to be dangling so prominently in Los Angeles!”
        That television interview almost became my last. Dudley’s ability to improvise jazz was remarkable and at the end of our interview I asked if he would improvise a theme for Film ’79. I was so enthralled by his music that I failed to notice we’d used up almost an entire roll of film on his performance. Later I was admonished by my producer who lectured me on the cost of film and hinting at dire results if I was ever again so reckless with the programme’s budget. But somewhere deep in the BBC archives is an impromptu concert by Dudley Moore. 
        After that, I interviewed him many times on the set of several of his films or at his home or mine. Whenever we did interviews in my apartment he was always nervous around my birds. As his visits became more frequent he began to relax around them. The clincher came one afternoon as he was discussing a new film.            
        He suddenly looked up from his mug of coffee and exclaimed, ‘You’ve got rats in the bookcase, I can hear them!’ I shook my head. ‘No, that’s the birds.’ He wasn’t having any of it. ‘I know rats when I hear them. I’m telling you, there are rats there!’ 
        For some weeks, my two budgies had been building a nest behind the books in the bookcase, chewing on the pages of old paperbacks to feather their home. Dudley was still disbelieving so I moved a few books to reveal the nest behind them. The two parent budgies looked up indignantly, not pleased by the unwelcome disturbance, while four minuscule pairs of eyes and tiny beaks popped up simultaneously over the pile of shredded newsprint. Dudley was mesmerised by the sight and laughed himself silly. He lost his fear of the birds that day and from then on was happy to recline on the couch with one cockatiel perched on his chest while another tried to pull digestive biscuits out of his mouth. 
        In 1994 I began working on his biography. Over the years, he’d been approached many times by journalists but he’d always refused permission. Now he whole-heartedly endorsed it. He began visiting me on a regular basis, leaning back on the sofa, drinking coffee and eating his favourite imported British foods, cheerfully sharing them with my birds as he ruminated on his life. 
        Dudley entered into the spirit of the biography with bells on. If he had a sudden memory that he thought would pique my interest he’d ring me. No matter where he was in the world. From London, Sydney, Washington. Often from his bathroom or his car. Even managing to keep up a conversation while getting hopelessly lost.

        DUDLEY: I’m in the car on my way to a lunch date. If I can find it. I’m going up 19th Street and I don’t         think I’m supposed to. Anyway, I wanted to tell you about Sammy Cahn. I sang his song.
        BARBRA: Are you in the wrong place?
        DUDLEY: I think so. I don’t know why. I turned off the freeway and I thought this was straightforward.         Hang on, better pull out the map here - I’m just talking to myself –hmn, I should have got off at...ah 19th         Street, I need to go back there....this is very illegal what I’m doing – I’m making a U-turn to get back to         19th Street.....oh flipping hell I’m ON 19th Street for crying out loud! Anyway, about Sammy Cahn....

        In my original biography I wrote about Dudley’s entire life and the melancholic streak that always dogged him. But this new book, Dear Dudley, is an acclamation of his special gifts that live on through his films, his numerous jazz recordings and film scores and the remastering of his old albums. Sixteen years after his death, audiences are still entertained by his old movies. And more than 50 years after he recorded them, his jazz compositions continue to be played by today’s musicians. This is how Dudley would want to be remembered. Through his movies, his comedy, and especially through his music.
       He had a wonderful gift of making people laugh and I can still hear his whopping Arthur cackle in my ears. Many was the time when I’d play my telephone messages and find some from him which invariably ended   with his contagiously raucous laugh.        
        Dear Dudley is a book about triumph and achievement and a cherished legacy we continue to enjoy today. The 100 included letters from some of the greatest names in showbusiness offer a unique testimonial. And in an unusual twist, much of this book is in Dudley’s own words - dialogue taken from dozens of our interviews.  
        Above all, Dear Dudley is a celebration. A celebration of the man who became one of Britain’s most beloved national treasures. 
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