In a stunning, career-spanning confession that has sent shockwaves through Hollywood, 98-year-old comedy legend Mel Brooks has finally broken his silence, naming the six actors he truly hated working with — and the revelations are as outrageous, tender, and chaotic as the man himself.
Speaking from his home after a recent trip to Venice, Brooks let loose a torrent of behind-the-scenes stories that span decades of filmmaking, revealing a rogue’s gallery of talent who drove him to the brink of madness — yet also helped him create some of the most beloved comedies in cinema history. This is not gossip; this is pure Mel Brooks: half roast, half confession, wrapped in the glorious mayhem of a lifetime spent chasing laughter.
The first name on his list: Dom DeLuise. And if you think “hate” means genuine animosity, think again. Brooks explained that Dom’s only sin was laughter — uncontrollable, infectious, scene-destroying laughter.
Put him next to Madeline Kahn or Harvey Korman, and the set would grind to a halt. Dom would collapse into giggles at a raised eyebrow, a smirk, or even before a scene began. Mel recalled that in “History of the World Part One,” DeLuise had just one line — but when Madeline Kahn raised an eyebrow, Dom laughed for 45 straight minutes.
The entire crew had to wait. Brooks had to change his entire shooting style, pointing the camera away from Dom until the last possible second. Yet, when Dom finally nailed a take, the magic was undeniable.
His timing was flawless. Brooks admitted, “He ruined scenes, but he made the movies.” Off camera, Dom would bring pasta to set, feed the crew, and turn a film shoot into a family dinner.
The “hate” was the kind you feel for a friend who drives you crazy but you cannot live without.
Second on the list: Madeline Kahn. Brooks has often called her one of the most talented people he ever worked with — but also one of the most maddening.
On screen, she was perfection in “Blazing Saddles” and “Young Frankenstein.” Behind the camera, she was a perfectionist who questioned everything: lines, costumes, camera angles, even lighting setups. She was rarely on time, strolling in calm and smiling while the crew waited.
Brooks said directing her felt like “trying to wrestle a cat in a rainstorm.” She once made him rewrite an entire scene — not because of the dialogue, but because she didn’t like the couch her character had to sit on. At first, he thought it was sheer obstinance.
Later, he admitted she was right; the new couch made the scene better. Kahn pushed for extra takes, argued over delivery, and challenged Brooks’s instincts at every turn. But the results were unforgettable.
Brooks said the “hate” was exhaustion — she pushed him too hard, made him wait too long, and argued too much. But she gave him scenes that still stand the test of time.
The third name might shock you: Gene Hackman.
Hackman starred in only one Brooks film, “Young Frankenstein,” as the blind hermit — one of the most famous cameos in comedy history. But filming it was anything but fun. Hackman, an Oscar-winning 𝒹𝓇𝒶𝓂𝒶 actor, clashed with Brooks’s chaotic, improvisational style.
Brooks loved spontaneity and surprise; Hackman wanted structure, rehearsal, and precision. He didn’t enjoy the constant laughter between takes or waiting for Dom DeLuise to calm down. Every time someone broke character, Hackman would give Brooks a look that said, “Why are we even here if no one can stay professional?”
Yet he nailed the scene — deadpan, warm, physically comedic. It became iconic. But the clash was so intense that Brooks knew they’d never work together again.
Ironically, Hackman had asked his friend Gene Wilder for a part to try comedy. Brooks was shocked but said yes. The result was legendary, but the experience taught Brooks that not every brilliant actor thrives in the same environment.
Hackman’s gift was a single, unforgettable scene — and a spot on Mel’s list.
Fourth: Cloris Leachman. Brooks called her one of the best actors he ever worked with — fearless, sharp, brilliant.
But she gave him more headaches than almost anyone. In “Young Frankenstein,” “High Anxiety,” and “History of the World Part One,” Leachman never just took direction. She wanted to know why.
She challenged him, pushed back, and sometimes ignored his instructions entirely. Brooks joked that directing her was like “trying to ride a wild horse.” For Frau Blücher in “Young Frankenstein,” Cloris wanted the character darker and tragic; Brooks wanted her funny and strange.
They clashed constantly. She turned every scene into a debate class. Brooks admitted she was often right.
Off set, their relationship was professional but distant. She lived in her own world of questions and truth. After a day with her, Brooks said he needed a nap.
He didn’t really hate her — he hated how often she turned out to be right.
Fifth: Richard Pryor. This one is steeped in regret and heartbreak.
Brooks originally wanted Pryor to star in “Blazing Saddles” as Sheriff Bart. Pryor wasn’t just funny; he was fearless, raw, and helped write the movie. His fingerprints are all over the script.
But the studio refused, citing Pryor’s reputation for unpredictability and substance 𝓪𝓫𝓾𝓼𝓮. They forced Brooks to cast Cleavon Little instead. Brooks argued, begged, saying Pryor was the film.
He lost. The decision broke his heart. Cleavon was brilliant — polished and charming — but Brooks never stopped imagining what Pryor would have done.
He said Pryor had a fire in his eyes, a danger you couldn’t 𝒻𝒶𝓀𝑒. Pryor still contributed to the writing, giving the movie its bite. But Brooks hated the compromise, hated losing, hated that fear robbed Pryor of his rightful role.
That’s why Richard Pryor, the man who made “Blazing Saddles” possible, still makes the list.
Finally, the most difficult actor Mel Brooks ever worked with: his own wife, Anne Bancroft. Married for over 40 years, they adored each other — but on set, sparks flew.
Their biggest clash came on “To Be or Not to Be,” a World War II satire they co-starred in. Bancroft didn’t see Mel as the director; she saw him as her equal and never held back. If she didn’t like a line, she said so.
If his direction didn’t make sense, she made him explain. She would fold her arms and raise an eyebrow until he came up with a better answer. Brooks admitted she scared him — not because she was cruel, but because she was always one step ahead.
Their arguments were intense but not explosive. She insisted on truth over laughs. And out of that tension came magic.
She brought elegance, power, and timing that made the movie soar. Off set, none of it lingered; they went back to being Mel and Anne. But on set, game on.
Brooks joked thatshe was the hardest actress he ever directed and also the best. She was beautiful, brilliant, and sharp enough to cut him down with a single word. Anne Bancroft didn’t just makeMel Brooks a better filmmaker — she made him a better man.
And while she may have been the toughest actor he worked with, she was also the love of his life.
At 98, Mel Brooks has given the world a gift: a raw, hilarious, and deeply human look at the people who shaped his legendary career. He called them actors he “hated” — but the word comes ammended with love, frustration, and the undeniable truth that great comedy is born from friction.
These six names — DeLuise, Kahn, Hackman, Leachman, Pryor, and Bancroft — will never look the same. And neither will Mel Brooks. The man who turned absurdity into gold has finally told the truth, and it’s pure, unfiltered Mel.
As the industry reels, one thing is certain: nobody made movies like this before, and nobody ever will again.
