Ron Howard Reveals the Six Most Evil Actors of Hollywood’s Golden Age

I wish I could erase him from my life. No one expected those bitter words to come from Ron Howard, the man once hailed as the kindest director in Hollywood, a symbol of calmness and professionalism. In a recent conversation with Rolling Stone, he sat silently for a few seconds before mentioning six names.

 Six people, six stories, and six scars that, as he admitted, still hurt to this day. Behind his gentle smile and Oscar-winning films lies a chain of behindthe-scenes dramas. One person caused his movie to be banned in several countries. One legend provoked an official protest from the Vatican, and another even forced him to cover up improper behavior toward a female co-star.

 So, who are these people? And among them who truly made Ron Howard utter words that no one ever thought would come from him, one Henry Winkler. When the FS left, Ron Howard isolated on his own show. In the mid 1970s, American television was entering its golden age. Every Tuesday night, millions of families tuned in to watch Happy Days, a sitcom about the Cunningham family living in Milwaukee.

At that time, Ron Howard was considered the show’s cornerstone. He played Richie Cunningham, the kind-hearted, well-mannered young man who embodied the spirit of post-war American youth. But everything began to change after just a few seasons when a supporting character appeared and quickly stole the spotlight Henry Winkler as the cocky mechanic Arthur Fona Fonerelli.

No one could have predicted that Fonza, originally written as a light-hearted side character, would become a cultural phenomenon. From 1975 to 1977, Happy Days climbed straight to number one in the Neielson ratings, surpassing both MASH and All in the Family. Kids imitated Fon’s sllickedback hairstyle. Young men across America wore leather jackets, put on biker gloves, and greeted each other with the trademark AA.

 Henry Winkler was invited onto the Tonight Show starring Johnny Carson three times in a single year and he appeared on the covers of Rolling Stone and TV Guide with the headline the coolest man on TV. Meanwhile, Ron Howard, once the heart of Happy Days, began to fade from the spotlight. Reporters like Mary Murphy from the Los Angeles Times wrote candidly, “Fonzi owns the audience and Richie is just a shadow.

Behind the scenes, the atmosphere shifted dramatically. Every interview, every piece of promotion revolved around Winkler. Fans gathered at the Warner Brothers lot just to get the Fon’s autograph, while Howard, naturally quiet and reserved, started to withdraw. The breaking point came in 1977 when ABC executives held a private meeting to discuss renaming the show Fony’s Happy Days to capitalize on the leather jacketed icon’s popularity.

According to producer Gary Marshall’s memoir, My Hate at My Happy Days in Hollywood, when Ron heard the proposal, he stayed silent for a few seconds, then stood up and said only one line. If they change the name, I’m leaving the show. The room went dead quiet. The idea was dropped, but from that moment, the atmosphere between the two stars was never the same.

 Crew members recalled that Ron started leaving the set immediately after filming, no longer staying for lunch or casual conversations. Meanwhile, Winkler’s fame only grew. He signed endorsement deals, wrote a self-help book on Fonza style confidence, and was even invited to speak at Harvard University. Journalist Davezoff from the New York Times described Henry Winkler had stepped out of the screen and was living as his own character, a man unaware he was standing at the peak of television power. Rumors soon began to spread.

Anonymous writers told Variety that Winkler often requested script adjustments to give Fona more screen time. In one case, an episode focused on Richie was shortened because Fonza didn’t have enough scenes. Winkler denied everything, but Ron Howard was clearly affected. A crew member told the Hollywood Reporter, “Ron never complained, but you could see him go quiet every time the audience cheered only for Fona when the director yelled, “Cut.

” This wasn’t just a rivalry for fame. It was also a clash of personalities. Howard, who had grown up on film sets, valued discipline and structure. Winkler, by contrast, was energetic, impulsive, and loved spontaneity. Journalist Barbara Walters once said on air, “Ron was like the big brother trying to keep order, while Henry was the younger sibling who just found a way to make the world cheer.

” Off-screen Winkler’s personal life also kept tabloids busy. In 1978, a gossip paper in Los Angeles claimed he had a close relationship with a guest actress, casting doubt on his marriage to Stacy Whitesman. Both quickly denied it, but the National Inquirer repeated the story for years. In contrast, Ron Howard had married his high school sweetheart, Cheryl Alli, and was expecting his first child.

 People magazine described them as Hollywood’s model marriage. unintentionally reinforcing a contrast between the rebellious Fonza and the wholesome Richie. By 1979, Winkler’s fame began to plateau. Audiences were growing tired of the repetitive Fonzi persona, while Ron Howard quietly prepared for a career shift.

 In 1980, he announced his departure from Happy Days after seven seasons to pursue directing. He told Entertainment Weekly, “I want to tell my own stories, not just play the good guy in a world where everyone’s trying to stand out.” Winkler stayed for three more seasons, but the magic had faded. When Happy Days ended in 1984, Fona disappeared along with an era.

Years later, at the show’s 30th anniversary celebration in 2004, Henry Winkler walked up to Ron Howard on stage, hugged him, and said in front of hundreds, “You were the heart of the show. I never forgot that.” The audience stood and applauded, but those who remembered the old days knew it had taken nearly three decades for that rift to truly heal.

Ironically, being overshadowed by Fonza became the turning point that shaped Ron Howard’s resilience as a director. In an interview with the Hollywood Reporter, he said, “The day I left Happy Days, I realized I never wanted anyone else writing my lead role again.” From that moment on, Ron Howard shifted behind the camera, eventually becoming the name synonymous with Oscars.

But before reaching that height, he would face another daunting clash. not with a young star this time, but with a veteran actor famous for his stubbornness on the set of Cocoon. Two, Wilfr Brimley, the man who nearly drove Ron Howard crazy on the set of Cocoon. In 1985, Hollywood was in the middle of a sci-fi craze.

 While everyone was obsessed with Back to the Future and The Goonies, a young director named Ron Howard, then just 31, decided to tell a gentle story about aging and miracles cocoon. No one expected that this seemingly heartwarming film would become a silent battleground between Howard and Wilfr Brimley, one of America’s most strong willed actors of the time.

Brimley, in his early 50s, was a familiar face in American cinema, having co-starred in The Natural 1984 with Robert Redford, a former Marine who had worked on farms, managed horses, and served as a security guard. He carried the aura of a weathered man, blunt, principled, and unyielding. He had never formally studied acting, but audiences admired his roughedged authenticity.

By contrast, Ron Howard, fresh out of television, was a meticulous, well-trained young director who followed every line of the script. Their generational and stylistic differences led to inevitable friction. According to the Los Angeles Times, their first clash erupted during the very first week of filming in St.

Petersburg, Florida. It happened during the scene where the elderly group discovers the rejuvenating pool, the film’s emotional centerpiece. Howard instructed Brimley to express surprise and wonder as he felt youth returned to his body. But Brimley, with his thick southern accent, firmly refused.

 He argued, “An old man who’s lived long enough won’t be shocked by anything anymore. He just smiles and accepts it.” Without waiting for approval, he dropped his lines looked straight into the camera and gave a faint smirk. That take cost nearly $200 to redo. Cinematographer Don Peterman later recalled Ron tried to stay calm, but Wilfford didn’t care.

 He said straight out, “I’m not your puppet, Ron.” Brimley’s fiery temper was wellnown. He hated waiting and once threw a coffee mug at the wall when a location was changed at the last minute. A production assistant told the Hollywood Reporter, “One day he shouted at the assistant director, saying, “Don’t tell me how to act old. I’ve lived it.

” Ron Howard would step outside to smoke and calm down while the crew held their breath in fear of escalation. Offset, Brimley was a media favorite. He was famous for his Quaker Oats commercials portraying a friendly uncle advising healthy breakfasts. But behind that warm image, he was extremely straightforward, sometimes to the point of shock.

 In 1997, he openly criticized younger actors for never having truly worked hard, earning him the nickname the grumpy old man of Hollywood. In 2009, he again stirred the public attention after appearing in a political video opposing healthc care reform. And thanks to his distinctive diabetes pronunciation, he unexpectedly became an internet meme for years.

 Back in 1985, tension on the cocoon set only escalated. Brimley repeatedly ignored direction to do it his way. Ironically, that defiance made the film feel even more genuine. In the final scene, as his character boards the spaceship leaving Earth, Brimley unexpectedly changed his expression instead of the scripted emotional farewell.

 He looked peacefully into the distance as if ready to accept death. The set fell silent. Howard later admitted, “It was the right choice, even if it wasn’t mine.” When filming wrapped, Howard approached Brimley at the farewell lunch to shake his hand. A crew member told Variety that Brimley simply said one line that gave everyone chills.

 You did, good kid, but don’t ever tell me how to live. Those words stayed with Howard for years. Despite the tension, Cocoon became one of Howard’s greatest successes. The film won two Oscars, including best supporting actor for Don Misha, and grossed over $85 million, a huge number for its time. Critic Roger Eert wrote, “It’s Brimley’s sincerity that makes the miracle believable.

” Ironically, the man who nearly drove Howard crazy helped him win his first major career milestone. Brimley later returned for Cocoon. The return 1988, but refused to participate in the film’s promotion. At a small press conference in Dallas, he bluntly said, “I hate the media. In Hollywood, people only tell the truth when the microphone runs out of batteries.

 The remark caused a stir, but for Brimley, it was just part of his lifelong honesty. Their story ended not in resentment, but in mutual understanding. For Ron Howard, it was yet another challenge in the rocky journey of a young director learning to manage the towering egos of Hollywood. Less than two decades later, a far greater storm would once again pull his name into the center of worldwide controversy.

 Three, Jeffrey Tambour asking Ron Howard to stay silent about his misconduct toward Jessica Walter. At the beginning of 2018, Hollywood was no longer the land of glittering award shows that had become the epicenter of a cultural earthquake called Me Too. One by one, names once considered symbols of power were accused from producers to leading stars.

 In this tense atmosphere, few expected that Ron Howard, the director, long regarded as Hollywood’s kindest man, admired for his discipline and professional ethics, would be swept into the storm because of someone he had trusted completely, Jeffrey Tambour. Tambour, then 73, was no stranger to the industry.

 He had won two Emmy awards for Amazon series Transparent and critics called him the man who turns anger into art. But that very art of anger would become the seed of his downfall. In November 2017, Variety and Deadline Hollywood simultaneously broke shocking news. Two of Tambour’s colleagues on Transparent Trace Leette and Van Barnes accused him of inappropriate behavior on set.

 The public was outraged and Amazon immediately launched an investigation. 3 months later, Tambour was fired, though he continued to deny all allegations. Many thought the story would end there. But in May 2018, the New York Times published an exclusive interview with the cast of Arrested Development, a series for which Ron Howard served as both producer and narrator.

 No one expected the conversation held at the papers Manhattan office to turn into one of the most unforgettable moments in Hollywood media history. Midway through the interview, veteran actress Jessica Walter, who played Lucille Bluth, suddenly burst into tears. Between sobs, she recounted how Jeffrey Tambour had once shouted at her on set.

 I’ve been in this business for 60 years and no one has ever yelled at me like that,” she said, her voice trembling, leaving the room in complete silence. Reporter Soan Deb of the New York Times, who witnessed the scene, described the atmosphere as heavy as stone. Tambour sat quietly, eyes downcast, while his three male co-stars, Jason Baitman, Tony Hail, and David Cross, tried to smooth things over, insisting it was just a misunderstanding during the creative process.

But the audience didn’t see it that way. Once the video was published, social media erupted. Furious comments flooded Twitter with the hashtag justice for Jessica. People condemned the three men for interrupting a crying woman while Tambour remained silent, and Ron Howard, the show’s producer, was nowhere to be seen to defend her.

 Major outlets like CNN Entertainment, The Guardian, and The Hollywood Reporter ran headlines such as Ron Howard, silent as Jessica Walter recounts onset abuse a damning indictment of his inaction. In reality, Tambour’s temper had been notorious for decades. During the Larry Sanders show in the 1990s, he once lost control midshoot over lighting he didn’t like.

 A crew member told Los Angeles magazine, “Jeff could be laughing one moment and shouting the next over something small.” He believed anger helped him reach true emotion. To Ron Howard, a man who valued discipline and respect that temperament was both fascinating and dangerous. A spark that could burn everything down if left unchecked. After the explosive interview, Netflix, the distributor of Arrested Development, canled its London promotional tour just 2 days before departure.

On BBC News night, journalist Emily Mateless commented, “This is a slap in the face for Hollywood’s tolerance of powerful men’s tempers.” Tambour later appeared on Entertainment Tonight, admitting he was ashamed of how I behaved, but insisting things were exaggerated. Ron Howard chose silence. He held no press conference, releasing only a brief statement.

 Every set should be a place of respect and safety. Though neutral in tone, the response backfired. Variety wrote, “Silence when someone is hurt, is no longer humility. It’s indifference.” Howard, once the moral model of Hollywood was now criticized as being too gentle to manage difficult people. The scandal spread quickly.

 Tambour lost sponsorships, was dropped from two independent films, and disappeared from public life for nearly a year. Jessica Walter, on the other hand, became a new symbol of strength and integrity in Hollywood. In an interview with Entertainment Weekly, she said, “I don’t want anyone destroyed. I just want people to learn to treat others kindly.

” For Ron Howard, long accustomed to resolving conflict with calm diplomacy, this was the first time he faced moral scrutiny from the public. In a 2019 interview with Variety, he admitted, “I’ve learned that silence isn’t always the safe choice. Sometimes silence is just another form of cowardice.” The media called it a late confession, but at least it showed Howard was willing to confront himself.

 After the MeToo storm that shook his reputation, few remembered that years earlier, Ron Howard had already survived an even bigger earthquake, one that came not from scandal, but from betrayal by his most trusted collaborator. Four, Tom Hanks, turning his back on the child. Ron Howard poured his heart into. One June morning in 2022, Hollywood was stunned when the New York Times published an interview with Tom Hanks.

 In the conversation, the man often called America’s moral compass bluntly described the Da Vinci Code franchise in which he starred as Hoie, nonsense, scavenger hunt type nonsense. The phrase in simple terms meant a meaningless treasure hunt. A series once promoted as an intellectual blockbuster was being disowned by its own leading man.

 Hanks added, “It was a commercial enterprise more than a piece of art, and by the third one, it wasn’t even a good commercial enterprise anymore.” The remark shocked the public, not merely because it criticized a film, but because it struck at the heart of Ron Howard, the director who had worked alongside Hanks for more than a decade on the trilogy The Da Vinci Code 2006, Angels and Demons, 2009, and Inferno, 2016.

To Howard, the franchise wasn’t just a project. It was a child he had raised with his reputation and passion. To understand why the statement hit so hard, we must go back to 2005 when the crew began filming at the Louvre in Paris. Securing permission to shoot inside the home of the Mona Lisa was almost impossible.

Howard spent over 6 months negotiating with the French Ministry of Culture, agreeing to dozens of confidentiality clauses. Shooting days stretched to 18 hours. A crew member recalled to entertainment. Weekly Hanks was so exhausted he changed costumes inside the Mona Lisa Gallery just to stay on schedule.

 He couldn’t even speak. When the film premiered at Cons in May 2006, reactions were explosive in the US. Catholic groups such as Opus Day called for boycots accusing the movie of distorting faith. governments in Egypt, Jordan, Syria, Lebanon, and Pakistan banned entirely. The Guardian wrote, “A movie meant for entertainment has touched one of the deepest cultural wounds.

 Calm and thoughtful, Ron Howard suddenly found himself at the center of religious controversy.” In that climate, Tom Hanks, the face of the franchise, began avoiding questions about religion. On BBC News night, he said briefly, “This is fiction, not doctrine.” But the public wasn’t convinced. A critic from the New York Times wrote, “It feels like Tom Hanks doesn’t believe in the film he’s in.

” That was when cracks began forming between Hanks and Howard. Once close friends Howard even called Hanks. My eyes on set, the two started drifting apart. A Vanity Fair source recalled, “They didn’t argue, but they weren’t the same friends anymore.” Hanks’s 2022 comments were seen as a delayed betrayal. People magazine wrote, “This isn’t a critique of a movie.

 It’s a rejection of part of his past.” Many in the industry believed Hanks was distancing himself from the franchise’s commercial image to reinforce his artistic reputation, conveniently timed as he promoted Elvis, the film, hailed as his acting revival. The story took a twist when the media resurfaced Hanks’s old controversies.

 In 2004, footage from a charity event showing him in a questionable moment was rediscovered. Though minor, it was blown up amid Hollywood’s sensitive climate, forcing him to apologize in Vanity Fair in 2012. Paired with his dismissal of the Da Vinci Code, many saw Hanks as trying to wash his hands of his past, including the very films that earned him hundreds of millions.

Even though the trilogy grossed over 1.5 billion worldwide, its image was now that of a beautifully packaged commercial product. Howard once proud to say, “At a Rome press event, I told this story, with all my heart, had become a symbol of art serving commerce.” Meanwhile, Hanks, by disowning the films, unintentionally suggested that Howard had chosen a path he no longer wished to follow.

 Yet, beneath Hanks’s cold words, lay traces of an old friendship spanning decades. Together they made Splash 1984 and Apollo 13, 1995 projects that shaped both of their careers. Perhaps that’s why the turning away felt so painful. It wasn’t from an enemy, but from a friend. And just as the storm between Hanks and Howard began to fade, another controversy awaited.

This time it wasn’t a veteran legend, but a famous comedian whose single line in a trailer would once again shake Howard’s calm world. Five. Vince Vaughn. The six words that sent Hollywood into an uproar. In the fall of 2010, when Universal Pictures released the first trailer for The Dilemma, no one expected that six simple words would shake Hollywood.

In the opening scene, Vince Vaughn, the comedy star of Wedding Crashers and Dodgeball, looked straight into the camera and said, “Electric cars are gay.” At first, it seemed like typical Vaughn humor, bold, irreverent, and teasing. But within hours of the trailer hitting YouTube, social media, and the press exploded.

 Outlets like CNN Variety and The Guardian slammed the line as offensive, while advocacy groups such as GLAD accused the film of normalizing hurtful language. On Anderson Cooper 300 October 8th, 2010, the veteran journalist said, “When people use words like that for laughs, kids out there think it’s okay.” His statement turned a simple movie promo into a national debate about the limits of comedy and responsibility in speech.

Within 4 days, Universal pulled the trailer and all eyes turned to Ron Howard, the film’s director and co-producer. At the time, he was in Chicago deep in post-prouction, bombarded by calls from the studio journalists and PR lawyers. Los Angeles Times columnist Patrick Goldstein wrote an article titled, “What should Ron Howard do about Vince Bond’s line, framing his dilemma, starkly cut the line to be appropriate or keep it to defend creative freedom.

” A week later, instead of staying silent, Howard penned a long open letter for the Los Angeles Times the big picture column. He explained that Vaughn’s character, Ronnie, was someone who speaks first, thinks later, and the line reflected that truthfully. Entertainment Weekly in the Guardian praised the letter as a clever move, balancing apology and artistic integrity, but the public didn’t see it that way.

 In the following days, morning shows like Good Morning America and The Today Show debated endlessly, should Ron Howard cut the line? The controversy snowballed when CNN entertainment reporters caught Vaughn in Beverly Hills. He said tursly, “Comedy is where we laugh about our differences.” Instead of cooling things down, the remark inflamed tensions as many felt he was dismissing the sensitivity of the time.

 Few knew that Vaughn already had a record of controversies. In 2001, he was arrested after a bar fight in Wilmington, North Carolina, while out with co-star Steve Bushi, who was hospitalized. In 2006, his relationship with Jennifer Aniston ended publicly, and paparazzi harassment led to physical altercations. Within Hollywood, Vaughn was known as the quick-tempered comedian whose mouth moves faster than his mind.

 So when the line electric cars are gay, appeared, people didn’t just hear a character. They heard Vaughn himself blunt, brash, and defiant. Ron Howard, on the other hand, was the model of composure and Oscar-winning director for A Beautiful Mind, respected for being balanced, and scandal-free. Yet this time, he found himself between two fires.

 pressure from the studio media and advocacy groups on one side and his loyalty to creative freedom on the other. Variety critic Peter Bart wrote Howard is facing his greatest PR crisis since the Da Vinci Code. When the dilemma hit theaters in January 2011, it grossed under 70 million far below expectations. Critics on Rotten Tomatoes called it a clumsy tonedeaf story.

What people remembered wasn’t the plot about two best friends, but the six words that shook Hollywood. The incident pushed Vince Vaughn out of the spotlight for nearly a year. He canceled interviews, dropped out of projects, and only returned in 2012 with The Watch. As for Ron Howard, he chose silence, mentioning the issue only once during a directing seminar at New York University, where he said softly, “Every controversy fades.

” What remains is the lesson about the line between freedom and respect. The electric car story ended there, but it marked the start of a turbulent era for Ron Howard, one filled with conflicts with his actors. And just a few years later, another name would drag him into an even bigger storm. Six. Paul Betany, the albino assassin who plunged Ron Howard into a storm of global criticism.

 In May 2006 at the Can Film Festival, the Mediterranean heat was blazing, but the atmosphere inside the Grand Theat Lumiere was even more intense. Hundreds of journalists crowded in to watch the world premiere of the Da Vinci co-director Ron Howard’s most anticipated film of the year. When the ending appeared instead of applause, the theater fell into silence.

 Then came a few whistles sharp as knives. The next morning, The Guardian and Variety both ran headlines, “Not what Hollywood hoped for.” And the name that appeared most frequently in the papers wasn’t Tom Hanks, but Paul Bettany. the actor who played Silas, the pale- skinned monk who killed for faith.

 In the film, Silas is an extremist member of the secretive religious group Opus Day. He believes that self- flagagillation purifies sin and is willing to kill to protect what he perceives as God’s truth. Paul Bettney’s image, ghostly white skin, icy blue eyes, and bloodied lashes across his back, became one of the most haunting symbols of early 21st century cinema.

 Empire magazine wrote, “Silus isn’t just a character. He’s a visual obsession. Yet, while audiences were captivated, the medical and religious communities reacted with outrage.” Just days later, the National Organization for Albanism and Hypopigmentation, Noah, issued an official statement condemning Colombia Pictures and Ron Howard for reinforcing ancient prejudices that portray people with albinism as monsters.

The organization’s president, Mike McGawan, told BBC News from The Matrix, Reloaded to Cold Mountain Hollywood, keeps turning people with albinism into villains. The Da Vinci Code just extends that list. Major news outlets, CNN, International Reuters, Television, and Sky News all picked up the story, turning it into a major debate about ethics and filmmaking.

 The storm intensified when the global Catholic Church got involved. In Manila, more than 5,000 believers gathered outside theaters holding signs reading, “Stop the blasphemy.” In Egypt and Jordan, the film was completely banned. In India, the National Film Board demanded 15 minutes be cut.

 Even the Vatican issued a rare statement claiming the film hurt the faith of millions. On American TV talk, shows like Larry King Live and Good Morning America continuously debated the line between creativity and religious offense. The New York Times described The Da Vinci Code as the most fiercely opposed film since The Last Temptation of Christ in 1988.

As the controversy raged, Ron Howard held an emergency press conference in London. He explained, “Silus doesn’t represent anyone. He’s just a lost soul in his faith.” But his clarification did little to help. The New Yorker’s Anthony Lane wrote, “Silus is too vivid. Too haunting people forget he’s fictional.

Howard, once known for his calm demeanor and spotless reputation, suddenly found himself at the center of global backlash.” Paul Bettney, then in his early 30s, also faced immense pressure. He told BBC Radio 4 that every day of filming required 3 hours of makeup and that he performed his own flagagillation scenes.

I was really bruised. The whipping scene left me sore for weeks, Bettany said half- jokingly, though few laughed. Online, he was labeled a man profiting from religious violence. Some extremist religious groups even sent threats to his London agency, forcing the actor to cancel interviews and withdraw from the public eye for two months.

 Adding irony to the drama only a few years earlier. Ron Howard had been the one who helped Bettany rise to fame with a beautiful mind 2001. The two were close, almost like brothers. Howard even once said, “I see in Paul a kind of pain and depth that few actors have.” When the Da Vinci Code scandal erupted, Howard immediately defended his friend.

 On CNN’s Larry King Live, he stated Paul was just doing his job as an actor. He made Silas terrifyingly real, but that defense only dragged Howard further into the controversy. While tensions mounted tabloids stirred the pot by digging into Betty’s personal life. In 2003 he married Jennifer Connelly, his co-star from A Beautiful Mind.

However, papers like Daily Mail and The Sun resurfaced old rumors suggesting their relationship began while Connelly was still involved with photographer David Dugan. Some even hinted that Howard favored Paul because of his affection for Connelly, an unfounded claim that nonetheless turned a professional scandal into a swirl of gossip.

 Despite the avalanche of criticism, the Da Vinci Code triumphed at the box office, earning over 760 million worldwide. But the financial victory came at a cost. Ron Howard’s artistic reputation suffered deeply. Variety called it the most divisive film of Howard’s career, while Entertainment Weekly quoted him saying, “I’ve never had to explain a film this much in my life.

” In the end, Howard and Betin’s friendship endured, but not unchanged. They collaborated again on Angels and Demons, yet no longer appeared together in interviews. Betany admitted, “I sometimes wonder if Ron ever regrets choosing me.” That one sentence summed up the feelings of two men who had shared both the heights of success and the depths of public backlash.

Who do you think made Ron Howard lose his cool the most? Was it Tom Hanks’s rebellion, Jeffrey Tambour’s involvement in the MeToo Storm, or Wilfford Brimley, the grumpy oldtimer who nearly made the director walk off set? Leave your thoughts in the comments below. Tell me which name shocked you the most in this list.

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