“The audience went crazy,” Hank Moorehouse says.
Later, a fire at Hall’s grandmother’s house would destroy most of his magic act. But Moorehouse proved prescient: Hall followed his advice all the way to Hollywood. “Arsenio” tells that story—with “The Arsenio Hall Show” as its dizzying, occasionally harrowing zenith—with Hall’s characteristic good cheer. Whether he’s starting up a friendship with his hero Richard Pryor or making an eventual classic movie—“Coming to America”—with his pal Eddie Murphy, Hall is always stopping to notice and marvel at his blessed luck.
He did the same when we talked. Wearing a baseball cap and a permanent smile, Hall reminisced about Pryor, Murphy, the temptations of show biz, his unique and sometimes lonely role as a Black celebrity, and what it’s like to be a “laughter addict.” Our conversation has been edited for clarity and length.
Where are you getting off the plane from?
Me and Leno, on weekends, would pop out and do this thing called “Kings of Late Night.” We did a year of it, and there were still more dates that C.A.A. kept coming to us with—so me and Jay just kept going out, and this weekend it was Foxwoods and Niagara Falls. We go in there, and I come out and I offend people, and then Jay comes out and makes them feel better.
That sounds like the general rhythm of a friendship.
Me and Conan O’Brien were joking about it. I said, “You know, we all have fought with Jay. Me and Jay—I’m like a little brother. We’re like Cain and Abel without the killing.”
What made you decide it was time to write a book?
I’ve always wanted to do a book. But I remember doing “Harlem Nights,” and I walked on the set, and I said to Eddie [Murphy], “How is it?” Because this is an actor who’s directing, and he’s never directed before. And he turned to me and he said, “This is adult work.” He said, “This is the adult part of filmmaking, dog—all the decisions, all the actors. I got Redd Foxx in that trailer, and Richard Pryor in that trailer, and I’m waiting for the sun to get right for the scene, and I’m here earlier than anyone.” And I was proud of him, and laughing at him at the same time.
Well, that’s what the book is like next to standup and golf. There is nothing harder than writing a book. There were days that when I was writing the book I wished I was directing Redd Foxx. First of all, I had to talk to my mother more than I like to—you know, some of your secrets . . . “Mom, what’s that dude’s name that used to sell weed when we lived above McKinney’s Superette?” You know?
You’ve been in show business your whole life, starting as a young magician. Do you sometimes feel that you spent your whole life onstage?
I’m kind of a Walmart Michael Jackson. It’s like nothing of that level and grandeur. But, as a child, when I was hearing about this Black band from Indiana, and they were on the Miss Black America pageant—at that time, I’m doing bar mitzvahs as a magician and winning talent contests in Cleveland and working downtown at a magic shop and at Cedar Point Amusement Park, in Sandusky. And then my house burns down. But I remember, while that was going on, I’m in show business, too, in my mind.
I’m at school, in my junior year, sitting after you play ball—you know, sitting on the floor, with your back against the bleachers—and I’m talking to Steve Harvey, who was one of my guys at Kent State, up until our junior year, and I tell him about the fire, like, “I thought I was gonna be a magician, man. But that’s God telling me no, you know?” And Steve is, like, “Yo, I thought we was gonna do comedy, dog?” We knew that’s what we wanted to do. Until the fire, I was, like, Well, I’m gonna be a funny magician. Steve had some personal issues and dropped out, and I lost track of him. And years later he resurfaces on “Showtime at the Apollo,” and I’m, like, Oh, that’s my guy from Cleveland.