TALES FROM THE SCRIPT: THE BEHIND-THE-CAMERA ADVENTURES OF A TV COMEDY WRITER (6 page)
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Authors: Gene Perret
The performers also voiced any reservations they had about the
script. Some questioned the motivation or asked for funnier dialogue. Others requested an explanation from the writers or producers for certain moments in the script.
That first reading of the script was an opportunity for the cast, the
creative staff, and the stage crew to spot potential deficiencies.
After the table reading, the cast and the director went into the
rehearsal hall to get the show “on its feet.” That’s a phrase we used
that meant to transform the teleplay from just words on paper to active performing by the cast. The writers generally weren’t invited to
these rehearsals. First, we all had work to do to prepare for upcoming
shows, and second, it was less inhibiting for the performers to add
physical moves and suggest line changes without the writers present.
Of course, if there was a problem that needed clarification, or a segment of the show that demanded immediate creative attention, they
called in the writers to see and hear the problem and help to resolve it.
The writers, after the table reading, met with the producers to discuss their notes. if rewrites were required after that get-together, certain writers were assigned that task. Those who had no rewrites for
the current show continued to work on material for upcoming shows.
On Wednesday afternoon, after the cast had two days of rehearsal,
they, along with the creative staff and the stage crew gathered for a
run-through. The run-through was a performance in a rehearsal hall
of the entire show. There were no stage costumes involved and only
minimal props. The sets were indicated by taped lines on the floor.
However, the run-through gave the technical people a chance to see
what was expected for the actual taping. it gave the performers a feel
for how the show would be received by a live audience, and, of course,
the writers could also visualize where some changes might be made.
After the run-through, the performers and writers met with the producers to exchange notes and decide on rewrites. The writers then met as
a group to make the changes quickly so that new scripts could be delivered
to the cast that evening and they could be prepared for the next morning’s
rehearsal. Wednesday, for the writing staff, usually meant rewriting sessions that lasted until late in the evening or even early into the morning.
All day Thursday and Friday, the cast and crew had rehearsals on
stage. At those sessions, camera angles were figured out, movements
on stage were planned, and so on. Again, unless there were specific
problems that required immediate attention, the writers weren’t involved. We were busy writing for upcoming show episodes.
On Friday afternoon, we had a “Dress Rehearsal.” it was called a
rehearsal, but it was actually a full taping of the show complete with a
live audience. The writers usually watched that show on a television
monitor in the producer’s office. We took notes on areas of the show
that we felt could be improved.
After the dress rehearsal, the cast, producers, and writers met
and quickly decided on any changes that might be made on the spot,
and those were delivered to the cast in the form of notes. They studied these changes and incorporated them into the next taping of the
show—the final air taping, which was done almost immediately following that meeting.
in effect, we had two complete versions of the show on tape and
the director and producers later decided, in editing, how to intercut
the best versions of each performance into the finished tape that was
delivered to the network for broadcast.
On one episode of
The Carol Burnett Show,
characters played by
Carol Burnett and Harvey Korman were having a romantic dinner. The
crew lit the candles on the table for one show, but forgot to light them for
the other taping. When the show aired, the viewers watched the candles
go out and then magically re-light themselves during the sketch.
The writing for those shows, of course, had to be done in advance.
The writers spent most of their time working on sketches and bits of
comedy that were used on shows that might be three, four, or five
weeks later in the schedule.
Writing on a variety show took many different forms. The writing
staff brainstormed as a group in order to come up with workable ideas
for a given show or a given guest star. At the brainstorming sessions,
we threw out possible ideas, discussed them, changed them around,
and then had the head-writer either reject the premise or give the goahead. Along with the go-ahead, one team of writers was assigned that
particular sketch idea to develop into a fully-written comedy piece.
To give you an idea of how the process worked, at one session,
a writer talked about dining out the evening before. He and his girlfriend went out to dinner and their waitress had another girl following her around the entire time. The second girl never spoke. Finally,
they asked what the reason for this was. The waitress explained that
she was a new girl, who was in training. She was learning to become
a waitress.
The group liked the craziness of that idea, but couldn’t immediately figure out how to use it in a comedy sketch. Then two writers
announced that they wanted to give it a try.
The resulting sketch worked very well on the show. Carol Burnett
was a bank teller in the sketch. Harvey Korman came in, handed her a
note, brandished a weapon, and demanded money. He was about to
rob the bank. Carol called over Vicki Lawrence. She explained that
Vicki was a “teller in training” and she should be involved. Harvey
Korman then signaled for Tim Conway, who entered the scene. Harvey explained that he was teaching Tim how to be a bank robber. At
the end of the sketch, a policeman came in and, of course, called for
another policeman, who was really a “policeman in training.”
Most of the writing on variety shows was done by teams of two writers. it sometimes took from two days to a week to finish a first draft of a
comedy sketch. The head-writer then reviewed the sketch, made notes,
and handed it back to the original writing team for changes. Sometimes
a sketch was discussed and rewritten by the entire writing team. The
completed sketch was handed in to the producers and could have been
rejected, but usually was slotted into one of the upcoming shows.
Situation comedies were those shows that had a story each week as
opposed to variety shows that were composed of unrelated musical
numbers, comedy bits, and guest star performances.
The production schedule on situation comedies was pretty much
the same as the variety shows. They began with the table reading.
Then, the cast rehearsed, taped the show, and then the process started
over again for the following week’s show. However, the writing protocol was slightly different.
Many situation comedies were written on a freelance basis. Writers sold the show one episode at a time. The process began with the
pitch session. That was where a team of writers were invited into the
producers’ offices to present story ideas. Then, the producers either
rejected the ideas or bought one.
if the writers made a sale, they were usually invited to turn in an
outline. From that, the producers took notes, usually scheduled another meeting, and handed the writers suggested rewrites.
The original writers then were generally out of the loop. Any rewrites required after that were handled by the in-house writing staff.
The in-house writing staff was writers working permanently on
the specific sitcom. They occasionally wrote episodes for the show,
but in that capacity, they functioned and were paid as freelance contributors. However, their main function on the show was comparable to staff writers on a variety show. They attended rehearsals, took
notes, offered suggestions, and did those rewrites that were required
after the freelance writers were no longer involved.
Specials were . . . special. Each one was handled however the producers wanted to handle them. The writing took any form that fit the
producers’ concept. Because of that, it was hard to define any single
procedure.
That’s a brief analysis of what television comedy writing entailed.
Of course, as i mentioned, i knew none of that on the day i arrived in
Hollywood.
Engineer in Hollywood
The day i arrived in California, i sent Phyllis Diller a telegram: “Have
been in Hollywood for two hours. not yet a star. Please advise.”
This was a strange world to me, and i must have seemed even
stranger to it. Hollywood was a place for beautiful and talented people with lofty aspirations. i was an engineer falling through the looking glass into Wonderland. On my first day at work, i wore a white
shirt and tie. The other writers did not wear white shirts and ties; they
did not even own white shirts and ties.
Years later, when i was on
The Carol Burnett Show
staff, another
writer was going to be married. He borrowed a suit, tie, and shirt
from the wardrobe department for his Saturday nuptials, and then he
returned the strange apparel when he returned to work.
More offensive than the shirt and tie, though, was the pocket protector that i wore—the kind that nerds wore. The mechanical pencils that i
carried in it were arranged by colors. The black pencil that we engineers
used for our drafting work was to the left. To the right of that was the red
pencil that signified a deletion on our electrical drawings. To the right of
that was the yellow pencil that we used for marking additions.
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after the first day at the writing offices. i can take a joke as well as
anybody, but i could not endure 743 of them a day.
Even out of uniform, i was still an engineer. The producers had
me share an office with a more experienced writer. i asked him,
“When do we go to lunch?”
He said, “Whenever.”
i asked, “How long do we get for lunch?”
He said, “As long as you want.”
i looked confused and almost offended by that freedom. i wanted
supervision, someone to guide my actions.
He noticed and said to me, “Schmuck, you’re a big shot now.
Start acting like one.”
it wasn’t easy for me. Though i bought new clothes—what i
thought would be more appropriate clothes—my fellow writers still
kidded me about my dress. One day after lunch, i noted on my desk
calendar how much i paid for lunch.
Such records might be useful,
i
thought,
in submitting my tax deductions.
One of the other writers noticed the figure $8.95 on my desk calendar. He said, “What’d you do, buy a new suit?”
i didn’t mind the kidding so much, but i did feel uneasy at work.
Everyone was kind, generous, and supportive, but i didn’t feel at home
yet. For many years, i did all my writing at the kitchen table. i was
going to make my official logo a gravy stain. My writing was solitary,
lonely, but then it moved into a busy office with veteran writers. Everything i wrote was scrutinized, discussed at meetings, and rewritten. it
became hard for me to write. My fingers froze over the keyboard.
My solution was to fake it. i showed up at the office, but did very
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little creative, original work there. in the evening after dinner, i did
all my writing lying across my bed in the motel room, which was my
headquarters until i found a permanent home in Southern California.
There, i was alone, away from the wisecracks and the instant critiques. i concentrated on my work. The jokes simmered in my brain
for awhile before they were committed to paper.
Then, the next morning, i took all my notes and jokes to the CBS
offices and typed them out, pretending that i was creating on the spot.
it worked, at least until i became more comfortable with my surroundings and my colleagues. i thought i was a good comedy writer,
but i just had to get used to being part of a comedy writing staff.
Those first several weeks were difficult and frightening. My contract ran for only thirteen shows. After that, if they didn’t pick up my
option, i was to be unemployed and on a whole different coast from
where i could get employment. However, the discomfort i felt and the
hardships i endured were all worth it. i was a comedy writer for television. no one could destroy the thrill of that, but one guy came close.
My family did not make the trip to the west coast with me. My
wife and four kids remained behind to finish the school year; they
wouldn’t join me for several weeks. So, as i mentioned, i booked a
room in a motel across the street from CBS Television City. i did my
shopping in a supermarket a few doors further down the block.
A gentleman seemed to be following me. i saw him on the street
and in the supermarket. He seemed very interested in me. What
frightened me was that he was not very neat or clean-looking. He had
long hair, a scraggly beard, and terrible-looking clothing. i thought
he was a homeless person.
He probably thinks that I’m a celebrity,
i thought. in my mind’s eye,
i was because i was writing for television.
How much more of a celebrity can one be? He probably also knows I’m rich.
Again, in my mind’s
eye, i was. My salary was more than i ever dreamed of, and i could
not see how the stars were making much more than i, nor could i believe that they were.
What on earth would they spend it on?
i felt he was
either going to rob me or kidnap me for a healthy ransom.
Then, one day in the supermarket, he made his move. He came to
me and said, “You write for television, don’t you?”
i started backing away from him, but said, “Yes, i do.”
He came closer, making up the ground that i had gained in backing off, and said, “You work on one of the shows across the street,
don’t you?”
i said, “Yes.”
He said, “So do i. i’m writing on Glen Campbell’s show.”
i did not know whether to feel good at that news or not. i was
happy that he was not going to do me any harm, but i was unhappy
that such a bizarre-looking creature was in the same profession i was.
i was happy that i was working in television and on a show that the
experts were predicting would be the runaway hit of the new shows
for the upcoming season—
The Jim Nabors Hour.
