Otherwise known as…
Writing “down.”
In the early 1950’s, comedian Milton Berle was the biggest
star on television. In one of his
signature “bits”, Berle would inadvertently mention needing some
“make-up.” You would then hear the
reverberating off-camera call, “Ma-a-ake-Up!”, after which an under-sized actor
wearing over-sized horn-rimmed
glasses (named Arnold Stang) would appear brandishing an enormous powder puff, he
would walk wordlessly up to the comedian, and slam him directly in the face
with the powder puff. A deflated Berle would
then turn slowly to the audience, registering a “take” of “How the mighty have
fallen”, his face now entirely “powder-white”, his head sheathed in an
enveloping cloud of talc.
End of comedy bit.
A call for make-up, a reverberating reiteration, and the
star gets whacked in the face with a giant powder puff. And this didn’t happen once. Throughout the show, any
time the star inadvertently mentioned “make-up” – the audience laughing in
anticipation – Arnold Stang and his dangerous powder puff would be back.
The “Powder Puff” routine was always funny. Even I
laughed. I was seven, but I laughed.
Here, finally, you’ll be relieved to hear, is my point.
Somebody wrote that.
And it worked, so in the context of his job description, he
– it was almost certainly a man – was a success. I recall a well-known comedy writer creating
a fictitious comedy writer named
“Rags” Raglan, whose immortalizing claim to fame was that he had written “the
‘Banana Sketch’ for Hope”, Bob Hope being a legendary comedian, and the “Banana
Sketch” being a “recognized classic” comedy sketch that included a banana.
This writer could
boast – except this time it was real
– that he had written the celebrated “Powder Puff Sketch” for Berle.
That’s what he did.
Compare this archival “case history” with the quote from an
interview with Jill Soloway (creator of Amazon’s
Transparent – Man! I’m getting a lot of mileage out of one
interview – where Soloway describes the cognitive dissonance she experienced between
what she in her early years in the business was required to write versus what
she instinctively wanted to write:
“We were all sitcom
writers writing these shitty sitcoms, but in this back room we were all being
real and funny and dirty, deep and spiritual and silly. I wanted to take that voice out of the
computer and onto the stage.”
I was not writing in the early fifties; I was barely printing. But visiting Los Angeles – where my brother
and his junior partner Lorne Michaels toiled for six months in the late 1960’s
– I was introduced to a few “old timers” who, along with my brother and his
partner, were staffing what turned out to be a short-lived variety series
called The Beautiful Phyllis Diller Show.
The veteran writers I met were articulate and educated and
sophisticated and aware. Yet one of those gentlemen could very easily
have written the “Powder Puff Sketch” for Berle.
When I entered the
coterie of big-time comedy writers, I noticed a familiarly similar phenomenon. Judging
by the uninhibited Writers’ Room banter, my contemporaries appeared subversive,
off-color, tuned in and hilarious. What
they were required to deliver, however, appeared considerably beneath their
capabilities, not descending to “Powder
Puff” level, but the gap between what they could do and what they were permitted
to do was demonstrably considerable.
Borrowing a boxing analogy, these writers were clearly “punching
below their weight.”
Today, with new delivery systems free of censorship and the necessity
to attract “the masses”, the writers’ working environment has definitely
improved. You can now create a series
for Amazon about a gender-switching
parent and pick up a Golden Globe for
Best Comedy.
I can imagine a conversation in a mid-1950’s Writers’ Room:
“Hey, what about a show where the father surprises his
family by becoming a woman?”
“Yeah! We could call
it ‘Father Knows Breast.”
The Writers’ Room explodes in laughter, the hilarity
eventually dying down, there’d be a deep, collective sigh, and they would go
back to work.
“Okay, where were we?”
“Jim comes home from the office, goes to the hall closet,
replacing his suit jacket with a cardigan.
Margaret enters from the kitchen wearing an apron and says…”
A collective sigh indeed.
Of all the differences in TV writers’ working situation, the
preceding is the most significant.
Today’s writers can write as smartly as they can think.
I could to some degree, because by then, the
requirements were evolving in the direction of “more real.” But the “Power Puff” writer? The man could have had a PhD. in literature
from the most prestigious university, he could futilely rationalize that the
powder puff assault echoed the historical Court Jester’s speaking “Truth to Power”…
Sure, if it makes you feel better. But clear-eyedly, that guy was forever fated
to be more creative in his imagination than he would ever be doing his job.
Many of these writers, I discovered, had a half-finished
novel secreted in their office desk drawer.
And therein lay the frustration:
They were too gifted for what they were doing.
But not gifted enough to finish a novel.
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Birthday wishes to my sunshine, my only sunshine, the recently upgraded Director of Residential Design. No words could possibly describe... so I won't even try.
I adore you, Young Lady.
And I will till they turn out the lights.
Also, because that's how our family calendar works, tomorrow is our 33rd wedding anniversary. I do not talk about her that much, because she does not want me to. Just know that my enforced reticence is in inverse proportion to my admiration and affection.
What can I tell you, I got lucky. And I have remained so fore thirty-three years.
And counting.
Also, because that's how our family calendar works, tomorrow is our 33rd wedding anniversary. I do not talk about her that much, because she does not want me to. Just know that my enforced reticence is in inverse proportion to my admiration and affection.
What can I tell you, I got lucky. And I have remained so fore thirty-three years.
And counting.
3 comments:
Happy birthday and congratulations to both of you.
wg
Ibid.
Will you any need make-up?
Maybe it's time for Lena and Jill to rehash 'Leave it to Beaver'.
Ps- Congrats on 33 years!
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