At 98, most Hollywood legends would rest quietly on their laurels. Not Mel Brooks. The director, writer, actor, and comedy trailblazer has decided it’s finally time to lift the curtain on his most chaotic behind-the-scenes battles. In a jaw-dropping revelation equal parts roast, confession, and love letter, Brooks listed six actors he “hated” working with—not out of bitterness, but out of the creative mayhem that defined his career. “‘Hated’ isn’t really the word,” Brooks clarified with a sly grin. “It’s more like… they drove me nuts. And then they made me look like a genius.”
First on Brooks’ list is the late Dom DeLuise, a man whose laughter was as unstoppable as it was contagious. Brooks admitted directing him was “like 𝑏𝑎𝑏𝑦sitting a kid hopped up on ice cream.” Take after take was ruined by DeLuise’s uncontrollable giggles, often setting off the entire crew. “I wanted to strangle him half the time,” Brooks recalled, “but then I’d look at the footage and realize those moments of chaos were pure gold.” Their friendship endured because, in Brooks’ words, “Dom’s laughter was both my biggest headache and my favorite sound in the world.”
Next came Madeline Kahn, whose razor-sharp wit and exacting standards made her both a dream and a nightmare. Brooks recalled countless script debates and last-minute demands for rewrites. “Madeline wanted perfection, and she wouldn’t settle for less,” he said. “I hated that in the moment, but my God — she gave performances no one else could touch.” Her turns in Blazing Saddles and Young Frankenstein remain iconic, a testament to how friction forged brilliance.
Then there was Gene Hackman, who joined the insanity of Young Frankenstein with all the seriousness of a Shakespearean tragedy. Hackman, a heavyweight of dramatic cinema, struggled with Brooks’ unpredictable, improv-heavy style. “Gene wanted structure, I gave him chaos,” Brooks laughed. “We clashed constantly, but then you see him blind-man-playing-patty-cake with Peter Boyle and you realize — the clash worked.”
Brooks described Cloris Leachman as “a hurricane in human form.” Brilliant, stub𝐛𝐨𝐫𝐧, and fearless, she questioned every directorial choice. “She drove me up the wall with her endless ‘Why?’ — but that’s why she was unforgettable,” Brooks said. Her turn as Frau Blücher (cue the horse whinny) in Young Frankenstein became one of comedy’s most enduring characters, proof that her battles with Brooks paid off in spades.
Few stories sting Brooks more than Richard Pryor’s absence from Blazing Saddles. Though Pryor co-wrote much of the groundbreaking script, studio executives balked at casting him as the lead, fearing his unpredictability. Brooks included Pryor in his “hate list” not for his behavior, but for the frustration of what Hollywood denied. “He was electric, unpredictable, brilliant — and the studio was terrified of him. I hated that he wasn’t in the movie, because he belonged in it.”
Finally, Brooks turned to the most personal name on his list: Anne Bancroft, his wife of over 40 years. Working together on To Be or Not To Be brought marital dynamics into professional life, and sparks flew in both directions. “She was my wife, my queen, my best friend — and also the most impossible actor I ever worked with,” Brooks confessed. “She didn’t need my direction. She had her own ideas. And we fought like cats and dogs… but then we’d come home and laugh about it.”
In the end, Brooks insists the word “hate” is just his mischievous way of honoring the tension that makes great art. Each of these actors challenged him, frustrated him, even embarrassed him on set — but together, they created some of the greatest moments in comedy history. As Brooks reflected, “If you’re not a little angry at your actors, you’re not doing it right. Chaos is the mother of comedy.”
At 98, still sharp, still hilarious, Mel Brooks reminds the world that genius isn’t polished and easy. It’s messy, maddening, and unforgettable — just like the people he “hated.”
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