As “The Ice Harvest” ’s pre-production meeting continued, Ramis turned to casting the role of Pete, an alcoholic who is married to Charlie’s ex-wife. Ramis reported that John Cusack “likes the names Oliver Platt, Stanley Tucci, and John C. Reilly.” He added, “But I’d like to take one shot at Bill Murray. He’d be great as Pete.” Seeing a circle of doubtful faces, he continued, “And he could also play Gerard”—the jaded boss from whom Charlie embezzles.
“But would he do it for the love of the movie?” a Focus executive wondered, alluding to Murray’s high salary and the film’s tight budget—before adding, politely, “I’m sure you have a personal connection.”
“No,” Ramis said evenly. “I don’t. I don’t even have Bill’s phone number. But I just talked to him eight years ago.” Everyone laughed, and several of the producers began trading stories about Murray’s legendary elusiveness. Ramis, who has plenty of his own stories—Murray is godfather to his daughter—kept silent.
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Offscreen, Ramis and Bill Murray were trapped in a cycle of personal strains. Murray’s marriage was breaking up, and he was behaving erratically—the whirling, unpredictable personality that Dan Aykroyd calls “the Murricane.” Ramis sent Rubin to New York to work with Murray on the script, because he was tired of taking his star’s 2 a.m. calls. Rubin says that when Ramis phoned him to check in, Murray would shake his head and mouth the words “I’m not here.” “They were like two brothers who weren’t getting along,” Rubin says. “And they were pretty far apart on what the movie was about—Bill wanted it to be more philosophical, and Harold kept reminding him it was a comedy.”
“At times, Bill was just really irrationally mean and unavailable; he was constantly late on set,” Ramis says. “What I’d want to say to him is just what we tell our children: ‘You don’t have to throw tantrums to get what you want. Just say what you want.’ ”
After the film wrapped, Murray stopped speaking to Ramis. Some of the pair’s friends believe that Murray resents how large a role Ramis had in creating the Murray persona. Michael Shamberg, a Hollywood producer who has known Ramis since college and who used to let Murray sleep on his couch, says, “Bill owes everything to Harold, and he probably has a thimbleful of gratitude.”
Except for brief exchanges at a wake and a bar mitzvah, the two men haven’t talked in eleven years. “It’s a huge hole in my life,” Ramis says, “but there are so many pride issues about reaching out. Bill would give you his kidney if you needed it, but he wouldn’t necessarily return your phone calls.”
In early March, Ramis prevailed on Brian Doyle-Murray to ask his brother if he would take part in “The Ice Harvest.” Brian reported that Bill said no, thanks. When Ramis asked if Bill had said anything more, anything personal, Brian said that his brother hadn’t mentioned Ramis at all.
At around the same time, I reached Murray, after several attempts, and told him that I was writing about Ramis and would love to talk to him. “Really?” Murray said. It was hard to tell what he meant by that “really.” He suggested that I call back in a week. When I did, he said, “I’ve thought about it, and I really don’t have anything to say.”
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