Elysium and political science fiction, part 1: All about sketch comedy and political points!

In Austin a few weeks ago, I saw this hilarious New York-based sketch comedy duo named Skinny Bitch Jesus Meeting. Their first sketch involved these two men teaching bird-watching and bird-calls, before their teaching was derailed by their personal issues, mostly around women.

When I was at Second City, my first sketch comedy teacher emphasized the idea of "point" or "point of view"--you don't just throw random things into a sketch; you organize the sketch around some central premise or idea. Coming from grad school, where I taught expository and argumentative writing (where every paper wasn't just "here's some ideas I had" but organized around some central point), I immediately latched on to that idea--and twisted it, so that each sketch had to have some argument.

So I wrote a sketch where two rich people try to convince a poor person that it's okay to eat endangered species, which ended with the idea that they were really stuffing him up to eat him later. Point: the rich want to eat you. I also wrote a hi-larious sketch where some lipstick executives wondered how to make more money, including some tasteless projects (marketing to older women for their funeral lipstick needs), and devolving into violence--lipstick specially marketed to stalkers to write on bathroom mirrors (as happens in all the stalker movies). The last line of the sketch was one executive turning to the other and literally saying "I'd kill you all for a buck."

Don't get me wrong: I still love those sketches and there are still parts of those sketches that make me laugh. And don't get me wrong (again): I don't mind really political comedy.

But let's not fool ourselves about the difference: when Skinny Bitch Jesus Meeting makes a sketch about men who are obsessed with women and sex, they start out with bird calls (for mating?), and they never really have someone state the point of the sketch. (For some of their sketches, I'm not sure I could even articulate the point. When they sing Little Shop of Horrors's "Suddenly Seymour" as "Suddenly Lemur," with one of them wearing a ridiculous lemur costume and shoving food into her face, there's not a lot to analyze--but they had so much electricity and chemistry that I nearly cried laughing.) By contrast, when I was writing my sketches, I would start with the point and have someone say it. Maybe in another draft I'd cool that down a little, make that point only hinted at rather than said baldly.

Which brings us to Elysium--which I'll talk about next time!

Finding joy in a group project

Before I left Chicago, a bunch of my friends from the improv program at Second City decided that we wanted to continue working together. But what would we do? Improv, sketch, something else? We discussed some ideas loosely one day, and then we decided on a particular project: Yard Times, the misadventures of a scraggly group of lawn work laborers.

Except I wasn't there the day that decision was made; and I wasn't too interested in that premise. So how has it gone, working on something that I wouldn't have chosen?

OK, I'm going to say: like any group project, there are differences in taste and interest. For instance, when we broke the story for this season's episodes, there was one episode involving a "slambook," a concept I'm only dimly familiar with thanks to Mean Girls. And I got to write that episode. I wouldn't have thought of using a slambook on my own; but since I was doing the first draft of the episode, I got to make it my own.

(In this case, my own means it turns into its opposite: a book of praise, an encomiumbook instead of a slambook.)

So here's an ongoing lesson I've learned and am still learning from group writing projects: take what's offered and find your own joy in the idea, without losing sight of the group's shared goal.

Which in our case is money.

Penultimate (I hope!) on sketch-writing: don't be so clever

I had hoped to have a video to show you by now, but I think it's still being edited/paid for/sent to me. See, we decided to have our final show taped by a professional videographer.

And wouldn't you know it, my main sketch in the final show didn't come off perfectly. It would be easy to say that this was all the actors' fault, but...

Honestly, I wrote a sketch that was hard to remember because (a) actors have a lot of stuff to remember, including other people's sketches and (b) my sketch has a lot of similar moments.

So if an actor skips one line and says another line because it is very similar, it's partly my fault. That's one last lesson to learn about writing pieces for other people to perform live:

Don't be so clever and complicated.

And here's the sketch:

“Law and Disorder”

Ver. 6 / 10-29-2011

CAST

COLIN WELLER, law school professor

SARAH, applicant

(COLIN seated, SARAH just entering the room with a briefcase)

                               COLIN

Have a seat, Sarah. We only have a few minutes, so I’d like to dive right into the interview.

                               SARAH

Absolutely, Professor Weller. I’m really excited about Northwestern Law School.

                               COLIN

Really? Because according to your personal statement, you want to go to law school to become a screenwriter of legal dramas.

                               SARAH

And legal drama-comedies--or “dramedies.”

                               COLIN

Northwestern only admits people who are interested in the law.

                               SARAH

But I am interested in the law. Ever since I saw James Spader in Boston Legal as Alan Shore, Esquire defend a man from murder charges, even though he loved the man’s wife--

                               COLIN

Stop. How should I put this? Do you know what frivolous litigation is?

                               SARAH

Totally: in Ally McBeal season 2 episode 13, “Angels and Blimps,” Ally explains to a boy with leukemia that suing God--

                               COLIN

Sarah, we can’t admit you to law school so that you can become a screenwriter.

                               SARAH

               (Getting scripts out of her briefcase)

I have some screenplays that might change your mind. Ipse dixit.

                               COLIN

That’s not the right way to use that phrase.

                               SARAH

Here’s a screenplay about a lawyer who’s a cop and a ghost at the same time. I’ll play Lance Manspear, Esquire and would you play Judge Candy, the reformed prostitute?

                               COLIN

No.

                               SARAH

Overruled!

                               COLIN

What?

                               SARAH

“I’m just a simple country ghost-cop-lawyer, but--“

                               COLIN

Sarah, you’re not going to get into law school with a script.

                               SARAH

But my agent says--

                               COLIN

You’re not going to get into law school with a script because every lawyer I know hates legal dramas. We waste so much of our time dealing with people who think that courtrooms should be more like Law & Order.

                               SARAH

               (Makes Law & Order ba-ba-bum sound)

                               COLIN

I care about the law, Sarah. You clearly don’t.

                               SARAH

               (Getting out last script)

I care about the law--I even… love the law. There, I said it: love. And I can change your mind by performing this climactic courtroom scene. I’ll play Jack Goodheart, Esquire, and if you could play Salazarinovich, Esquire, the lawyer for the Columbian-Russian mob, which my agent tells me is very timely.

                               COLIN

I think we’re done here.

                               SARAH

(Gets up, gets in character)

Ladies and gents of the jury, Mr. Salazarinovich, Esquire here wants you to think that law is a thing of rules.

                               COLIN

Sarah--

                               SARAH (IC)

He doesn’t want you to know that law is an affair of the heart. It's about how people feel--isn’t that so, Salazarinovich?

                               COLIN

               (Flips through script, reads)

It’s true that I’ve been--

                               SARAH

Could you do an accent?

                               COLIN (IC)

--I’ve been hiding the truth from the jury for years.

                               SARAH (IC)

Judge Velvet, permission to treat the opposing counsel as a hostile witness.

               (moves over to play Judge)

Unorthodox, but I’ll allow it.

                               COLIN (IC)

I don’t have to stay here. I recuse myself from this room!

                               SARAH (IC)

               (As if casting a spell)

Obiter dictum!

                               COLIN (IC)

Curse you, Jack Goodheart, your legal spell has paralyzed me.

                               SARAH (IC)

Salazarinovich, has the Columbian-Russian mob been funding legal dramas?

                               COLIN (IC)

Ahhhh! Your spell compels me--we have been funding legal dramas, such as The Good Wife. And all just to manipulate juries.

                               SARAH (IC)

               (As Judge Velvet)

Amazing, Jack, you truly are the best magic lawyer ever, even if you are haunted by your alcoholism.

               (As Jack Goodheart)

I’m just a simple country magic lawyer, Judge Doctor Velvet.

                               COLIN (IC)

I confess: law is an affair of the heart.

                               SARAH (IC)

Ipso facto. We need legal TV shows and movies.

                               COLIN (IC)

Jack, now that I have confessed my sin, I can pass on to the afterlife… since I was a zombie all along!

               (Dies)

                               SARAH (IC)

Salazarinovich! Don’t die! Not on my watch! Nooooo!!!

               (Out of character)

And… scene.

                               COLIN

My character was a zombie?

                               SARAH

A gay zombie--pretty powerful stuff, right?

                               COLIN

No, it’s terrible.

                               SARAH

But my agent says--

                               COLIN

But you have an interesting idea there. Maybe we do need more screenwriters who are trained as lawyers.

                               SARAH

So you’ll approve my application for law school?

                               COLIN

No. I’m quitting my job as a professor to become a screenwriter of legal dramas. Can you get me in touch with your agent?

                                              (blackout)

Post-Mortem on "Unicorns, The Middle Class, And Other Mythical Creatures"

I've seen my show twice: on opening night, thanks to a friend's Facetime-enabled iPhone; and on closing night, from the booth, with the rest of the writers laughing at our own material (still!) and with the director providing free commentary on what hit and what missed.

From my minor experience on stage--you know, in high school--I feel like there's a 50/50 chance with closing night: it's either a finely-tuned machine; or it's the show where the cast brings out their personal, untested tweaks because they're bored or where the cast just stumbles over lines because they're thinking about their next shows.

 I will have more to say about this show after our official post-mortem with the director and the other writers; but from what I heard from the other writers, it sounds like closing night was messier than some other nights. For instance, in one of my sketches, there's a series of jokes about bad scripts, and the actors jumped to the final, longest joke. But it all still worked, I thought. (Friends were there and they seemed to like it. And, heck, we all laughed.) So even if this closing night was a little messy, it was still a lot of fun.

Especially because I got to go up after the performance and take a bow. We got diplomas and nice writing pads; and friends told me that my uncomfortable smile didn't look forced at all. So, all in all, teleconferencing in from Texas was hard; and I might be more interested in some of the other writing classes (for instance, there's a class that seems more professionally useful, like writing a tv spec); but the transition from writing sketches to putting them on was very educational. So what did I learn? More on that after I think about it.

How'd that sketch get away? (Writing a sketch revue, part 4)

"C.R.E.A.M" was one of my favorite early sketches and it always worked for the in-class readings--so why didn't it make it into the show?

1) Well, first, when I say that it always worked during readings, I should be clear that not every joke worked; and the sketch definitely had some evolution from Writing 2 to Writing 5 (when it was clear that it wasn't going to work for the show).

For instance, the first version was messier because I was still learning about heightening. That is, you can't start with a joke about stalkers and then move on to a joke about "lipstick classic" because the stalker idea is so much worse. What you should do is start off small and "heighten" by moving on to more outrageous aspects. (My first version hit the Betty White/funeral joke really soon.)

So, let's be honest: not every joke is a laugh-getter. That's one reason why this sketch didn't move on.

2) My ultimate POV in this sketch was captured by the last line--corporations will do anything for profit. (That's part of the reason why the characters in this sketch are so flat and also named after people on popular bills/money: I didn't want to pick on any particular businesspeople, but on business more generally.)

But the jokes throughout are about how corporations will do anything to make money off of women. So my director asked me to partner up with some of the women in our class and see if we could revise towards that angle.

And... well, not all collaborations are successful. I didn't want to let go of my point (corporations, grrrr!); but I tried to slant some of the terrible comments toward women, which just meant that the ending got too dark too quick: it ended with a joke about murdering women for profit, rather than murdering people for profit. (Violence against people: funny. Violence against women: less funny.)

So we had a collaborative block: I liked my POV, my director liked my premise. That's reason no. 2 why "C.R.E.A.M." isn't in the show.

3) The usual cast for a Second City show is three men and three women. Men and women do play the opposite gender in sketches, but when you can, it's probably better not to ask the audience to do extra imaginative work. (Or only to cast cross-gender for a reason.)

One version of "C.R.E.A.M." took that into account, and changed one of the businessmen to a businesswoman. (As my director pointed out, that solution would let us get away with more murder: the most misogynistic lines would sound better coming from the businesswoman.)

But our cast of Unicorns turned out to be four women and two men. (Why? Because, in the audition process, that's whom we really liked/thought we could write for.)

Conclusion: So now I had a sketch with some funny jokes in it; a strong POV (corporations, grrr!) with a strong but not identical premise (let's get money from women!); and with a mismatched gender cast. And so this sketch didn't make it into the show.

But here's another way to look at it: this sketch was killed by collaboration.

A) If my director had the same vision as I did for the sketch, we could've honed it down to where the POV and the premise matched. (And this is not uncommon: I saw lots of sketches where the writer had funny ideas, but no coherent POV--but the sketch gained a coherent POV through writer-director collaboration.)

B) And if my fellow writers and director wanted to cast the show so as to preserve this one sketch, we could have. (To be clear, we did cast the show with sketches in mind--X would be perfect for my lawyer sketch, Y would be great for your doctor sketch; but the idea of casting the whole show for one single sketch is crazy.)

So what do we learn about sketch collaboration? It's like the reed and the willow analogy people always use to discuss compromise: bend your sketch or lose it.

The sketch that got away (On writing a sketch revue, part 3?)

I seriously have other interests--I'm still obsessed with politics and still feel a mix of rage and empathy towards the contemporary right wing. But, yes, today it's another post about writing sketch comedy.

Let's recap what I've said so far, because I've forgotten it:

• Part 1: an overview of the writing program at Second City; it's impossible to know if you're being funny without an audience.
• Part 2: writing for an audience is a form of collaboration. (Which I guess means that only someone like Henry Darger or Austin Tappan Wright isn't collaborating, since they're just stuffing their desks and drawers full of stuff without showing them to anyone.)

I'm definitely going to have to revisit and clarify Part 2 (there's different forms of audience-collaboration, from sucking up to an audience (see: GOP debates) to imagining an audience that doesn't yet exist). But let's put off more collaboration-talk and look at a sketch that didn't make it into the show. Here's the sketch, with a short discussion after:

SKETCH

“C.R.E.A.M.”

Ver. 4 / 9-3-2011

CAST

GEORGE, businessman

ABE, businessman

ANDREW, businessman

BEN, businessman

AD A

AD B

(Businessmen sitting at a table in an office, center stage; AD A and AD B in the dark, stage right)

                               GEORGE

Gentlemen, we have a serious problem: If we don’t boost our profits next quarter, Mayb-oreal Corporation will not survive the year. Abe?

                               ABE

We need to boost profits from our core product--lipstick. And we need to do it fast. Andrew?

                               ANDREW

Or else we’ll all lose our jobs. Ben?

                               BEN

I can’t lose this job. I don’t have any other skills. George?

                               GEORGE

Don’t panic, gentlemen. This is the same question we always face: How do we boost our corporate profits?

                               ABE

We could market to women’s nostalgia for a simpler time.

                               ANDREW

Like Coke Classic and Reebok Classic--Lipstick Classic.

                               BEN

We’d offer a limited range of colors, just like mom had.

                               GEORGE

For the commercial, I see a modern woman.

               (Lights up on AD A)

She works hard and she plays hard.

               (AD A switches from typing to tennis, or so)

But why should she have to think hard about her lipstick?

                               AD A

               (Trying to decide between lipsticks)

Mom didn’t need all these colors to be confident and elegant. She just needed her red lipstick and her valium.

               (Lights out on AD A)

                               ABE
But our profits would crash if women only bought one color.

                               ANDREW

We need to expand consumer options.

                               BEN

A color for every occasion. How does the serious professional woman say she’s a serious professional woman? Lipstick.

               (Lights up on AD B, applying lipstick, ad-sexy)

                               AD B

Congressional Confirmation for a Federal Judgeship Coral. I’m ready for your questions, senator.

               (Lights out on AD B)

                               GEORGE
Of course multiple colors is key to maintaining profits. But let’s think outside the box.

                               ABE

R&D is doing work on integrating computers into our lipstick.

                               ANDREW

We’re researching a GPS-tracking lipstick that should be a hit with the overprotective mom, jealous husband, and conscientious pimp demographics. We’re working out the kinks still.

               (Lights up on AD A, applying lipstick)

                               AD A

Well, I like the color, but should my lips be tingling? And they kind of feel like they’re burning? And--oh God--I'm blind!

                               BEN

That’s good, but we need something to boost our profits now. Or I won’t be able to pay for my boat.

                               GEORGE

How can we get women to buy more lipstick?

                               ABE

Apply it to different body parts. Andrew?

               (Lights up on AD A and B)

                               ANDREW
Ear lipstick, to add that splash of color. Ben?

               (AD A applies ear lipstick)

                          BEN

Body lipstick, to cover up blemishes. George?

               (AD B applies body lipstick)

         

                               GEORGE

Vagina lipstick, to increase confidence.

               (AD A gives GEORGE the finger, lights out on ADs)

                               ABE

It’s interesting, but are women insecure enough about their vaginas for us to make a profit off them?

                               ANDREW

The Vagina Monologues may have ruined this profit base for us.

                               BEN

If this doesn’t work, I’ll have to move back home with my mom. Wait, what if we concentrated on lips, but got consumers to continue buying lipstick later in life.

                               GEORGE

We could ramp up our brand-vertising targeting the key demographic of women over 65.

                               ABE

Their husbands are dead--we could roll out a widow line for senior dating.

                               ANDREW

Cross-promote with Viagra.

                               BEN

Get a celebrity endorser that speaks to that demographic.

               (Lights up on AD A and B)

                               AD A

I’m Judi Dench--

GEORGE

Too mannish.

                              

AD B

I’m Helen Mirren--

                               ABE

Sounds expensive.

                               AD A

I’m Betty White--

                               ANDREW

And maybe get senior women to buy lipstick for a new event.

                               AD A

I’m Betty White, and like you, I worry about what lipstick I’ll be wearing at my funeral.

               (Lights out on ADs)

                               BEN

Fine. But we should concentrate on getting repeat customers. George?

                               GEORGE

Instead of creating a market, we should tap into a market that already exists. Abe?

                               ABE

What if we got men to buy lipstick? Andrew?

                               ANDREW

How could we get men to buy lipstick?

               (Lights up on ADs)

                               AD A

Check out the flame details on my car, bra. And it won’t smear!

                               AD B

Ayuh, foh bass fishing, I prefeh All Day Cherry. But foh trout, I get mohre fish with Rose Serenity.

                               AD A

This lipstick on my collar? No, I haven’t been cheating on you--that’s my color, dear.

                               AD B

I used to have a lot of trouble leaving notes for women on their bathroom mirrors while they took showers. But now--

               (Writing on a mirror/wall, reading out loud)

You can’t get away from me, you bitch.

               (Considering it)

Now with Mayb-oreal Lipstick for Stalkers, I’m stalking in style.

               (Lights out on ADs)

                               BEN

We’ve got a lot of good ideas for boosting lipstick profits.

GEORGE

But maybe we should branch out into new products. What’s the next big thing? Abe?

                               ABE

We could turn a healthy profit on alternative meat if we could overcome the taboo on cannibalism. Andrew?

                               ANDREW

I still think we’d net a greater profit on weddings if we made incest marriage acceptable. Ben?

                               BEN

There’s a lot of demand out there for torturing people. George?

                               GEORGE

Why stop at torture? Murder is where the real money is. People would pay a lot to kill strangers.

                               ABE

And even more to kill their co-workers.

                     (All businessmen laugh)

Seriously, though, I’d kill you all for a profit.

(Blackout)

DISCUSSION

This sketch started in Writing 2, and has three seeds:

1. a funny (to me) scenario: I've seen lots of thrillers where male stalkers use lipstick to leave messages to their targets, so what would a stalker focus group for lipstick look like?
2. a theme/point/POV: our teacher in that class believed that every scene should have a point--it's not just a collection of funny jokes, but a collection of funny jokes unified by a single POV. So my POV here was almost directly stated at the end: businessmen will do anything for a profit.
3. a format: I wrote this after I saw a real Second City sketch that featured "break-outs"--where characters will jump up and do a mini-scene to illustrate something from the main sketch. In my original draft, I had the four businessmen do the break-outs, but a) break-outs take time; and b) the standard cast is six people, so writing a six-person scene gives everyone stage-time.

(Sidenote: "CREAM" is an acronym from a Wu-Tang Clan song for "Cash Rules Everything Around Me." This scene has no reference to that song, but the feeling seemed apt--and if someone ever found our list of scenes, this title would give nothing away.)

You've read enough for today, so tomorrow I'll get into how this sketch changed along the way and why it doesn't appear in the show.

Oh, but: how does it read to you? Did you smile, chuckle, or laugh?