And Here's the Kicker: Conversations with 21 Top Humor Writers on Their Craft

by Mike Sacks

  That policy is the exact opposite of what the writers for Seinfeld had: no hugs, no lessons learned.

  It was. I was in favor of having emotion — nothing wrong with it in and of itself, but I didn't want to have sentimentality. It's really all in how you pull it off.

  With Arrested, we had very, very basic sitcom tenets. The difference was that we tried to hide those tenets behind a certain type of cynicism.

  Is it different writing for a multi-camera show, such as The Golden Girls and The John Larroquette Show, versus a single-camera show, like Arrested Development?

  Yes. For a show like The Golden Girls, here's the weekly schedule: There's a table read on Monday; you hear the actors read the script out loud, and then you see what does and does not work. You receive notes from the network and from the studio, and you re-write the script. The next day you have a run-through on the set; the script is basically the same but with new jokes, new lines, a new attitude. Once again, you see what's funny and what's not funny. The joke that didn't work at the table reading might now work with the actors as they perform the lines on the set. You stay up late and fix the current version of the script, and then on Wednesday you have another run-through. This time the network executives watch the episode, and they give you more notes. That night, you re-write again.

  On Thursday, the director begins to block the show with cameras: “Here's where this camera is going to be, here's where that camera is going to be. We need a close-up here, and a close-up here.” Sometimes a joke is ruined with a close-up. It's strange what will and won't work when cameras become involved.

  On Friday evening, an audience arrives. You have a show, which can last for three to four hours, through many reshoots. You watch what jokes get laughs and which don't — and you make more changes accordingly.

  And how is that different from shooting a single-camera show?

  Once you start shooting the script for a show like Arrested, you might make a few changes — but not many. You don't spend days and days tweaking the script after the rehearsals and once the shooting starts.

  With Arrested, the writers would watch the show on a live feed in the writers' room. If a scene or a joke felt flat, you quickly tried to re-write it. There was never any external force — like an audience or network executives — telling you what was and wasn't funny.

  Did you tailor your jokes to that specific process? For instance, some of the jokes for Arrested Development may not have worked with a studio audience.

  We did. The audience might have been too nervous to laugh at a certain type of joke for a multi-camera show shot before a live audience, or the jokes might have flown by too quickly for them. If we wrote Arrested for a multi-camera show, it would have been written very differently. I remember one joke in Arrested that we never could have gotten away with on a multi-camera show. In the “Out on a Limb” episode, we had the one-handed character of Buster Bluth [Tony Hale] sit on a bench that read, ARMY SURPLUS OFFICIAL SUPPLY, but all you could see around Buster's body were the words: “Arm Off.”

  A joke like that will never get a laugh in a live setting. With Arrested, I could put that sort of joke in, because the standard wasn't, Will this get a studio laugh? I just didn't care.

  Here's another example: In one episode [“Let ‘Em Eat Cake”], the whole family was on the Atkins Diet and they were only eating bacon. At one point, George Bluth Sr. [Jeffrey Tambor] pretends that he's had a heart attack. He keeps pushing away the IV, and the doctor says to his family members, “He keeps trying to get this IV out of his arm. I don't understand why. It's just glucose.” And Jason Bateman says, lost in thought, “We're all trying to stay away from sugar.”

  If I had written a similar joke for The Golden Girls, it would have been perhaps the same line, but a different phrasing that allowed for punching the joke instead of throwing it away. [Screaming] “Oh, god … no sugar!” It's the same joke, but it's a different version. It's like two versions of the same song, each performed differently. The Golden Girls version would have been loud and brassy; the Arrested Development version was acoustic. It was unplugged — because there was an audience that needed to, well, hear it.

  Do you think performers act differently before a single-camera setup than they do in front of a live audience?

  Absolutely. Jason Bateman always used to talk about the difference between acting and performing. He's done both. He would say, “I would perform in front of an audience, but with this show, I'm acting without an audience. I'm being a character.”

  You want to please a live audience. You want to get a laugh. You don't just want to stand up there onstage and bomb. It's no fun to bomb.

  How does that affect the comedy?

  I think it improves it. It changes the scale. It goes from big to small — unrealistic to real. A character on a multi-camera show might have to come out in the second act wearing a chicken suit. On a single-camera show, like Arrested, that same character can just come out and act like a normal person. Although, come to think of it, I think we did once have Tobias dress in a chicken suit.

  And yet nothing was overplayed on Arrested Development.

  No — well, not until the payoff. The setup was as real as we could make it. And that was a direct reaction to working on The Golden Girls and The John Larroquette Show. The actors on those shows always had to sell these jokes really hard. They would sell those jokes to the back row of the audience. Also, there was a very specific rhythm to those shows: bada-da-dum, bada-da-dum, bada-da-dum!

  One of the key ingredients with humor is surprise. When you have a rhythm that everyone's familiar with — the rhythm that we've all seen a million times on sitcoms — it takes the surprise out of the equation. We didn't have to worry about that with Arrested, which was nice. There's a reason why bada da dum works with a traditional show. But we wanted to take a breather.

  With Arrested, the dry style we used was the only style that would have worked. It was the only style that made me really laugh. Eventually, that style became a rhythm in itself, so instead of [screaming], “I am going to prison!” it became [dryly], “Uh, I'm goin' to prison.”

  But I must point out that rooting the comedy in reality — or starting in the real world — is nothing new. The first act of any I Love Lucy was as real as anything on TV. Lucy would be incredibly centered and reasonable and calm; only later would she earn the right to stuff candy off a conveyer belt into her mouth.

  This is a standard question for me, but I'm genuinely puzzled by it: How did a show as unique as Arrested Development ever get on the air to begin with?

  Mostly because Ron Howard was behind it. Ron is one of the few people who has consistently created art that's also successful with a mass audience. Ron, along with [producers] Brian Grazer and David Nevins, helped articulate and sell the comedy of the premise. I know for a fact that without those guys, the show never would have been made.

  The system behind TV development is designed to fail. If you, as a producer, jump through all the hoops that the network asks you to jump through the show probably won't work. If you look at the success of the best shows, almost all are a result of someone breaking the rules.

  Look at shows like All in the Family or Seinfeld — any great show, really. There are always executives who are going to say, “This isn't going to work. You can't have people not learn a lesson. You can't have unlikable characters.” But you have to ignore all that. With that sort of attitude, you're not going to create the best material. Let the creative people do what they feel they have to do. And that's what Ron, Brian and David have done.

  Do you think if writers were given the opportunity to create whatever television shows they wanted they'd have a better success rate than the executives?

  I'd say so, only because their intentions would presumably be “purer.” It would presumably be just for what's best for the creative endeavor. I do think it would be more successful creatively. If the question is what will bring in a large audience, it sort of depends on
what the network is. There are networks that find audiences by breaking rules and allowing invention. There are others that succeed by keeping the maximum number of people unoffended, and entertained. Those executives might excel in that regard, but it's kind of a flawed theoretical construct, because there's no material without the writer.

  I will say that the most successful TV show in the history of the medium has never received a single note from any executive. It's a shocking fact, but James Brooks apparently disallowed network or studio interference when he agreed to produce The Simpsons. They've never been given a note. It's all self-regulated. It's also hugely successful. Perhaps it would have been successful with the noting process, as well, but it does seem unlikely. The executives wouldn't have been able to help but to “clarify” and “simplify” it.

  But that opportunity can't just be given to everyone. It's a test; it's a gauntlet. You don't tell a soldier, “We want to see if you can climb over that wall, but since you're going to end up on the other side anyway why don't we just put you there to start with?” It doesn't work like that. You have to get over that wall by yourself. Whenever I work with young writers I always tell them that they have to find out for themselves whether they can make it over that wall.

  With that said, there are always writers who — even without experience — will be in complete control of their craft. It's like Picasso putting the eye on the wrong side of the head. The real voices out there will always insist that the “eye” goes on the wrong side — and they'll always be right.

  All creative types think they're a Picasso, though. Very few wish to become the next Thomas Kinkade.

  Yes, but to succeed you need a vision. And maybe not everyone has a vision.

  A lot of writers approach TV work by saying, “Well, I can't write as poorly as most of the shit that's already on the air,” and that's not the right way to approach it. I would say that 80 percent of writers come out to Hollywood thinking they just can cash in. You can't approach this job with that type of attitude.

  What other advice would you give to young writers wanting to work for sitcoms?

  To readers of this book? If you're reading this book in a library or a used-book store, immediately put it down and make your way to a proper bookstore and purchase it at full asking price.

  Perhaps the most brilliant advice I've ever heard.

  As for specific career advice, I think it's important to work with other writers, in a group setting. Even if you're not a writer yet — even if, at this point, you're just delivering the coffee — it's a great thing to be around like-minded creative people — those who have been in the business for years. One of the great joys of television work is that, as a young writer you can find your way and your style and your voice while working with other similar people. There's a great sense of camaraderie. And that's a good thing. You get to hear a lot of different comedic voices, and you hear things you never would have thought of if you just happened to be writing alone at home.

  Also, being around other like-minded people, allows you to understand the specific rhythms to comedy. I really consider my years working on The Golden Girls to have been a college of sorts. I started off delivering coffee and doing odd jobs, but through that I was fortunate to experience a very strict training. That's difficult to understand when you're only 24- or 25-years-old and attempting to break into a business. You feel that you don't want to be in this type of situation. You just want to be a writer working in the business. You were the funniest guy in college, and you don't deserve to be just delivering coffee.

  But you have to learn the basics.

  Quick! What are the basics?

  Compassion would be one.

  Meaning … ?

  I recently read a spec script by a young writer, and I could just tell that he was very mad at his characters and he had great contempt for his subject matter. But here's the thing: if the writer doesn't like his characters, why should the viewers?

  One must assume that David Chase, the creator of The Sopranos, had great affection for Tony Soprano. It was just obvious. Yes, Chase explored Tony's flaws as a human being, but that made the show incredibly compelling to watch. When a viewer isn't being preached to, it allows him to gain insight into his own behavior.

  At The Golden Girls, I was writing for these characters who were fifty years older than me. What did I know about being in my seventies? Absolutely nothing. But even being much younger, I could show compassion for these characters by empathizing with what they were going through. That's all you have to do: show compassion.

  My grandmother once looked in a mirror and said, “This is not what I really look like.” I always thought that was such a sad and beautiful thing to have said. She was old, and she looked old. But inside, she felt young. I later borrowed that moment for The Golden Girls. You don't need to live through an experience, necessarily, to write about it with depth and compassion.

  But that's not to say that you have to pander. Yes, you can be creative, and you can be different, but it's also essential to have an awareness of what your audience wants — and what it needs.

  Do you think people will look back at Arrested Development as having been influential?

  I hope it will be. I can already sort of see the influence it's had on other sitcoms — the vérité style, the quick cuts, the more than fifty scenes per episode, and so forth, but perhaps my arrival at that style was the result of influences that other shows are also inspired by.

  If young humor writers enjoyed Arrested Development, and the show somehow got them interested in comedy, then that's really, really exciting for me.

  And if the show happened to have turned them off to comedy?

  Fuck 'em. [Laughs] But only after they pay full price for this book.

  Quick and Painless Advice for the Aspiring Humor Writer, part five

  ACQUIRING AN AGENT OR MANAGER FOR YOUR SCRIPT

  Advice From David Miner, producer, manager, and partner at 3 Arts Entertainment

  If you build it, reps will come. Before you start chasing representation, make sure you are ready. Be an artist first; develop your skills and put your best foot forward. Go to where things are happening; immerse yourself in a culture, wherever you see work that's exciting to you. Be a part of it, and let yourself be challenged.

  The best representative is often the one that finds you, not the other way around. This is because he or she (no matter how high up the food chain) was excited by your work. That is the spark that will drive all of a representative's efforts on your behalf, and it cannot be manufactured.

  Some representatives accept unsolicited submissions for potential new clients, but it tends to take a while, and you may never hear back. Often, the best way to find a representative is to contact younger agents/managers who are newly promoted and who are hungry to discover new talent.

  Unsolicited e-mail may as well be spam. Send a letter in an envelope. If it's not worth a first-class stamp to you, it's not worth thirty seconds to me.

  Your cover letter is more important than you realize, as it may be your only writing that gets read. Generic letters do not work. Know what sort of agent you are submitting to. I can't tell you the number of blind submissions that are addressed to me but that have nothing to do with my specialty. When I see letters about thrillers or action films, I instantly know they're meant for someone else.

  A writer's first sample is often not their best. One of the common mistakes I see is material being exposed before it's ready to be widely seen. Once material is out of your hands, it's out of your hands. That first writing sample will define who you are, at least until you write something new. However, at that point, you may have cashed in all your favors to get that first piece of material read.

  Ask a represented writer friend for a reference. References from clients are the ones we take most seriously.

  Many people ask the difference between an agent and a manager. In the broadest strokes, agents tend to have more clients, seek out work fo
r their clients, and drive negotiation. Managers, on the other hand, have fewer clients and tend to work toward shaping and executing their clients' overall career goals. Managers also make sure all the pieces of a career work well together. Of course, these jobs overlap. The best agents also have brilliant vision, and the best managers have sharp negotiating skills.

  Last, if you are reading this book and just starting out, go along with the enthusiasm of the representative that is interested in working with you — no matter what his or her title. All that matters is that he or she believes in you.

  David Sedaris

  David Sedaris describes his suburban upbringing in Raleigh, North Carolina, as something akin to a white-trash gumbo, with a few Greeks thrown in for extra spice. His family includes a father who hoards rotting food, a foulmouthed brother who nicknames himself “the Rooster,” a younger sister who tries to lure their father into an extramarital affair with a next-door neighbor, and a chain-smoking mother who welcomes a former prostitute named Dinah into their home on Christmas to share stories. Many critics have tried to sum up the bizarro worldview of Sedaris, but Publishers Weekly probably got closest when it called him “Garrison Keillor's evil twin.”

  While his stories and essays are always irreverent, Sedaris never comes across as mean-spirited as many humorists tend to do. Whether he's writing about his family or any of the rotating cast of eccentrics and wackos he's met through the years — which have included a breast-obsessed midget jazz guitarist — Sedaris doesn't write as a wry, winking narrator who thinks of his characters as comedy chess pieces. Sedaris, or at least the Sedaris of his essays, is a vain, chain-smoking, morbidly curious, stubbornly naïve outsider who, more than anything, longs to become a part of the craziness.

  There's very little Sedaris considers too personally embarrassing to share, from his obsessive-compulsive disorder (which drove him as a child, he writes, to lick doorknobs and light switches) to his amphetamine addiction (which inspired his ill-advised “conceptual art” period). During a particularly memorable moment in his story collection Naked (1997), he describes being trapped in a dead-end job washing dishes. But he doesn't feel superior to the other working-class employees. He's the deluded one, entertaining himself with fantasies of starring in a TV show with a proboscis monkey named Socrates. The show's working title: Socrates and Company.