"Different Strokes"

To be distinguished from Diff’rent Strokes, an early eighties sitcom of the same name but with an apostrophe and Gary Coleman.

Writing in his essential blog bykenlevine.com a while back, Ken wrote a post in response to an L.A. Times article concerning why there have not been any hit sitcoms over the past few years.  In fact I believe that’s what he entitled it, except that, forming it as a question Jeopardy-style, he flipped the “have” and the “there.”

Ken’s analysis was comprehensive and, as usual, on the money.  However, I do have one minor quibble.  Minor, in the sense that you have this tiny bump on your overall immaculate and pristine skin surface.  But the bump itself is in need of further investigation.

I will not bother detailing the elements of Ken’s dissertation as to why there have been few new hit sitcoms lately that I agree with.  Network interference, an imitatively unhelpful “herd mentality”, deliberate niche audience targeting, hiring less experienced writers because they do not have any writing credits from the seventies, et cetera.  Not implying that the “et ceteras” are unimportant, I am simply ready to move on. 

To, as we lightheartedly like to call it,

“Quibble Time.”

To no small degree, my disagreement with Ken derives from a delineating difference in our personal characters.  As reflected in an expansive range of accomplishments – as a disc jockey, baseball announcer and award-winning television writer – Ken advances through life believing that anyone can do anything they put their minds to.

My perspective is considerably more pessimistic.  Specifically: 

No they can’t.

“Recent sitcoms are not funny,” asserts Ken, rationalizing why these new offerings have consequently not become hits.  Venn Diagram:  “All successful sitcoms are funny.”  “Recent sitcoms are not funny.”  “Recent sitcoms are not successful.”

(That “Venn” fellow really new his potadahs.)

Ken then goes on,

“It almost seems as if producers are avoiding big laughs, as if they’re embarrassed by jokes.  You want to be the next ‘Seinfeld’ or ‘Cheers’ or ‘Friends’?  Stop looking down your nose at laughs.  Stop being ironic and quirky.  Be FUNNY.”

Where do I start here?  Okay.

Fred Astaire could not dance like Gene Kelly, and Gene Kelly could not dance like Fred Astaire.  Though both of them were sensational dancers, it was not like they had a choice concerning their differing approaches.  Their style was their style.

“Fred, could you be a little less graceful and a little more athletic?”

“No.”

“Gene…”

“No, and get away from me or I’ll ‘high-kick’ you right in the face!”

No reasonable comedy writer (if there is such a thing) deliberately tries to avoid big laughs.  Each simply has their own unique strategy for eliciting them.  Ken and I frequently participated in the same rewrite sessions.  I could never come up with the kind of inspired comedics pitched on multiple occasions by Ken.  And, I would humbly suggest, vice versa.  Still, we both, I would assert, made substantial and productive contributions.

You do what you do in the way that you do it.  Even the three mega-hits – Seinfeld, Cheers and Friends – that Ken singled out (or more accurately tripled out) elicited their laughs in distinct and different manners.  Few comedic moments could be grafted from one of those hit series onto the others.

Your comedic “Voice” evolves from your innate sensibility.  Seinfeld’s, for example, deriving from both Jerry’s and Larry David’s delight in life’s most miniscule observed moments, produced this brief exchange between Jerry and George I saw recently on a rerun.

Elaine is calling someone on the phone, and to fill the “hole” of her dialing and her waiting for the phone to be answered, Jerry casually turns to George and says,

“I’m thinking of getting a yo-yo.”

To which George thoughtfully replies,

“I can see that.”

This comedic interlude could not play successfully on any other sitcom.  If it were written into a draft, it would invariably be cut for time, or for not being particularly funny.  I, on the other hand, found their exchange natural, unforced, believable and hilarious.

Exemplifying that not only does the writer have a specific sensibility.  So does the audience.  And that sensibility is constantly evolving.  (Or maybe more accurately, fragmentalizing, for want of a real word that I can’t think of.)  

To some, a joke formatted in the traditional setup-punchline “delivery system” feels generically contrived, and for them, it will never be funny.  No matter how funny it is to those untroubled by that format. 

What I am groping to communicate at this juncture is that “funny”, Ladies and Gentlemen,

Cannot be

Universally defined. 

Conclusion In Rebuttal To Ken’s Blog Post:  It seems to me that it is not a question of “avoiding being funny” as it is a question of avoiding being “jokey.”   Though, admittedly, there is a “chicken and egg” element in such matters.  Do you dislike “jokiness” because you can’t write jokes?  Or do you not write jokes because you dislike “jokiness”? 

In the end, the resulting consequence is the same.  Paraphrasing that memorable showstopper from the 30’s…

They won’t joke.

Don’t ask them.

"We Interrupt This Broadcast"

I was hoping it would stop, and then, as one of the more welcome consequences, for me and imaginably for you as well, I could stop writing about it. 

I have told you – not entirely proudly, but if I only wrote what I was proud about, this blog would have been finished numerous years ago – anyway, I have told you how, because I was unable to set the “Alarm” function on my old CD-Clock Radio, (and no longer had the instructions for it, and the print on the instructions I downloaded off of the Internet was too tiny for me to read) that I bought an entirely new CD-Clock Radio, ostensibly just for the instructions.  (Which I could not figure out but my daughter Anna helped me, and now I’m on top of things.)  (Until they change the clocks around Hallowe’en.)

I have complained about the fact that the cable company issued me remotes made by two different manufacturers, in which, on the new remote, every major button has been repositioned, the result being, for example, that every time I habitually press the button in the place that formerly turned on the television, I discover that I have inadvertently turned off the cable.

I thought I was done with that stuff.  I can (theoretically) program the CD-clock Radio, and only rarely now do I “turn on the television and the cable goes off.”

Who was I kidding?

It (“it” being technological change) never ends, and it never will.

It occurs to me, since this is the case, that I should perhaps stop writing about it, that I should just accept these changes as natural and inevitable, and take them comfortably in my stride. 

Yeah, right.

What am I, easygoing?

So here is the next one, the most recent intrusion on my untroubled existence.

Feeling not quite hated enough for making it impossible for 70 percent of Los Angelinos to watch the Dodgers on television (they bought the exclusive broadcast rights from the Dodgers and then set re-broadcasting fees deemed to be too high for the satellite companies to agree to), Time-Warner Cable, without explanation, warning or practical justification recently decided to move the channels to different locations on their spectrum.  Not all the channels, just the ones I most frequently turn to.  (The exception being on our non-HD TV’s, on which everything has been moved.)

For years, The Westerns Channel was 290, and Turner Classic Movies was conveniently right next door at 292.  Let’s start with those, my two favorite viewing destinations. 

Yes, there was a warning, an affectless automated voice called a few days before the reshuffling and informed me that the channel changes were imminent.  But then I forgot about it.

A few days later, I clicked my remote to 290, where, instead of The Westerns Channel, I found The Soul Player, VH-1’s Soul Music video channel.  No longer TCM, 292 was now Pop Hits.

Okay, so there’s an annoyance because the channels I was used to seeing at 290 and 292 were no longer there.  The considerably greater irritation, however, was…

“Where are they now?”

It is true that there is a “Guide” button listing all the channels in order.  But that “Guide” list currently runs, with some gaps, up to Channel 1999.  And there is no “Search” mechanism allowing you to type in, say, The Westerns Channel, where, after a “Click”, your television will go directly to the location at which The Westerns Channel is now situated. 

Instead, you have to click your way up the channels, one channel at a time, until you finally find The Westerns Channel.

Being as there are nearly two thousand channels,

That could take a really long time.

After dozens of futile “one-clicks”, I decided to use my head.  If you “Click” the “Menu” button, there is a “Magnifying Glass” icon, which, if you click on it, takes you to a list of categories, including one that says “Title.”  And if you click on that, a keypad pops up, allowing you to type in the title of a specific show, which ultimately lets you know what channel it’s on.

I went to “Menu”, clicked on the “Magnifying Glass”, and then on “Title”, and I typed in Cheyenne, a western that I knew was currently playing on The Westerns Channel (and one with a shorter title than The Life and Legend of Wyatt Earp.)

And I found it! 

The Westerns Channel.

Via Cheyenne.

No longer on channel 290, but on channel 607.

(Am I amazingly resourceful, or what?)

Feeling upbeat for having discovered a channel I was looking for in less than twenty minutes, I clicked up one channel, hoping I would find its former neighbor, Turner Classic Movies.

No such luck. 

I instead found ENFAw.  I do not know what that is.  But the programming suggests it is a movie channel targeted to young families. 

Since TCM has no predictable, regular programming, the strategy that had helped me locate The Westerns Channel was unavailable to me.  So I did not know how to find it.  Other than clicking up the “Guide” channels, one channel at a time.

Which, having more time on my hands than I am (once again) entirely proud of,

I did.

And there it was. 

TCM.

Channel 631.

Over the days since the “Big Change”, I have, in the most painstaking manner imaginable, located MLB (an all-baseball channel) – formerly 470, now 306 – the three C-SPAN channels – formerly, 201 to 203, now 225 to 227 – and the Solid Gold Oldies channel (1930.)  (No, I did not click through 1929 stations before I got to it.  If you click “Menu”, there is a “Music” icon, which, if you click on it, allows you to click through only forty or fifty channels to find what you’re looking for.  Whoo-hoo!)

And now, with your permission, I shall curtail this chronicle of un-asked-for frustration, and go look for The Hockey Channel.

Click on the TV…

Oh, wait!  I just turned off the cable!

"It Takes A...Well, Not A Village But Sometimes Three People"

Here’s a hopefully meaningful recollection that rose to mind while I was walking at the beach the other morning.

(The beach has nothing to do with this story.  I just enjoy the remembrance and providing the unsolicited reminder that I reside close to the ocean.)

(Also – and you may feel free to disagree – I choose not to wear headphones or the like when I’m out walking so as to allow thoughts to come to mind unimpeded by external interference.  Plus, rather than walking to a mixed tape, I prefer to sing to myself.  Not infrequently, out loud.)

Anyway… meaning apologies for the slow start… it occurred to me that my career, such as it was, would never have gotten off the ground without the direct participation of three people, only one of whom was myself.  The precipitating incident that got things rolling appears trivial in its specifics, but it led, as an essential first step, to my being invited to work in Los Angeles, and the magnificent adventures that ensued.

Setting The Scene…

I am in my second year of college at the University of Toronto, and they are putting on a show, an annual revue entitled UC Follies.  (“UC” stands for “University College”, one of the satellite sub-colleges that collectively makes up the University of Toronto.  And by the way, what kind of name is “University College”?  Isn’t that just “university” twice?  This “double-up” is not surprising, I suppose, in a city, one of whose primary thoroughfares is called “Avenue Road.”)

Anyway again…

I want to be in the show.  (As an undergraduate several years earlier, my older brother Hart had appeared in UC Follies to memorable acclaim.  It is possible I may be the tiniest bit competitive.) 

I audition for the show’s writer/director, a man who will become Lorne Michaels, but at the time was Lorne Lipowitz.  (Surname notwithstanding, Lorne was the one who eventually invited me to Los Angeles.  The audition marks our original encounter.)

I am later informed that I was extremely funny at the audition.  There was only one problem.  I was not at all funny while performing the material in the script.  I was hilarious around the material, masking my anxiety with convulsing improvisations, such as, after failing to evoke laughter from the part I had been assigned to read, moving to a different position in the room and saying, “Maybe I’ll be funnier over here.”  Trying again, failing again, and then observing, “I guess not.”

Unable to bring the scripted material to life, I was understandably rejected for the show.  But as it turned out, the revue’s script was a little short, and additional material needed to be found.

Lorne called up my Hart – I am not certain of their relationship, if any; it is hardly beyond Lorne to “cold call” a stranger.  (Hart and Lorne would eventually team up for five or so years as writer/performer/producers, mostly in Canada, but in the States as well, most notably as writers on the hit variety show, Rowan and Martin’s Laugh-In.  But that happenstance is substantially down the line.)

Lorne asked my brother if he had any suitable material Lorne might be able to his revue, thus bringing it to its appropriate length.  At the time, my brother had been writing “spec” (audition) material with somebody else (who went on to producer Sanford & Son.) Hart informed Lorne they had just the thing Lorne was looking for.

“We have written a ‘Blind Date’ sketch.  You can have that for your show.  On one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“My brother has to be in it.”

If you are scoring at home, that was “Participant Number One.”  If my brother had not provided that material linked to a non-negotiable caveat, I would never have appeared in UC Follies.  (And never have met Lorne, and yada, yada, yada, yada.)

So there’s that.  (For which “Thank you” brother Hart.)

But it wasn’t just that.

When Lorne subsequently called to inform me that I had been, belatedly, included in the show, he, entirely out of the blue, proposed that I write an additional piece of material for myself – a stand-up comedic monologue for the Second Act, as a follow-up the “Blind Date” sketch, scheduled for the First.

Lorne had fulfilled his obligation to my brother by including me in the show.  The additional monologue was entirely his idea.  And at that point, he didn’t even know I could write!  I didn’t know I could write.

“Participant Number Two”:  Lorne Lipowitz/Michaels, showing faith in and support for an entirely untested commodity.  (This insightful assessment of talent would serve Lorne well in his subsequent endeavors.  And by the way, "Thank you" to Lorne as well. )

“Participant Number Three”, of course, was me.  (You're welcome.)  First, I said, “Yes”, both to the “Blind Date” sketch that I had never seen and to a seven-minute monolog that had yet to be written.  No small accomplishment for a congenitally frightened individual. 

And then, to my surprise, though apparently less so to others’,

I did it.  (Successfully, others have said.)

It occurred to me that it might be instructive to pass along that story.  Three people got me started on my way.  (Possibly even more.)  It could not have happened without me.  But it could equally not have happened without them. 

That is simply the way it works.