Yeah, after posting this, other thoughts came to me and now it's turning into a limited edition series. We'll see how it goes...
Dan vs. the Rock
Ah, the writer’s life, sitting alone in front of a blank piece of paper (virtual or otherwise), allowing your imagination to run free and gather the thoughts and impulses needed to generate prose, to create a story, to come up with a sketch. Writing isn’t always easy, but sometimes an idea comes to you in a flash, and you are merely transcribing inspiration. You can fall into the zone as you write, where time and effort fall away like a flaky biscuit. I treasure those times. And after the muse has come and gone, you have something tangible to hold; a short story, an article, a comedy skit. Not just any comedy skit, the comedy skit; the one that would get me noticed!
I was a fan and fascinated by comedy since I was a kid. I wrote up school plays, drew comics, and filmed movies with the neighborhood kids, all trying to get laughs. I was so totally influenced by the classics I watched; Abbott & Costello, Laurel & Hardy, the Marx Brothers. Then a new wave of comedy started to bubble up, Woody Allen, National Lampoon and Monty Python. My prose would take on a very Allen-ish style. My comedy sketches easily steered into Python-land. Before that, as a youngster, I was a very tradition comedy writer, mimicking the styles of Bob Hope or Carol Burnett. When Monty Python appeared in my high school years, I couldn’t get over the silliness of it all, and yet was thrilled the way it was handled so earnestly. My sketches, which had been essentially set-ups, straight lines, punchlines and puns, were now veering into the absurd. Yet the more absurd the situation I’d create, the more formal the words became.
I remember one (if not the first) sketch I wrote was a very Groucho-esque geology teacher talking to his class about rocks, using the terms I had picked up in my semester of geology class. It was serviceable, but it was a breakthrough for me in that I could write and complete a wholly original sketch. I wrote others. I typed them up. Why? No one would see them. It’s not like I belonged to a sketch group out in the suburbs. But I continued writing anyway. I had decided I would be a writer and that I needed a portfolio of material. It was going to be a very old school type of portfolio.
Then Python-mania hit and I was struck and my style re-directed. I was inspired anew.
Then Python-mania hit and I was struck and my style re-directed. I was inspired anew.
After several tries I wrote something that would turn into my signature bit. I wrote a sketch that I was proud to make my calling card, the sample I would submit to any and all. A sketch that showed I could ride the new wave of comedy. In my mind this was some type of turning point. Granted, the skit still ended in a flurry of puns, but still...
I’m really dragging this out for dramatic effect. It was a great sketch, but one day the premise was killed by reality.
Okay, so, “The Pet Store” sketch was a man entering a pet store to purchase a pet (already we were deep, deep into Python territory). After several ridiculous suggestions were made, the shopkeeper offered the man the perfect pet. It was the most ridiculous suggestion of them all, but the shopkeeper had perfectly sound reasons why it would be the perfect pet. The back and forth was wonderful; the skepticism of the shopper, the seemingly logical retorts of the salesman, all the give and take worked. I wrote myself into several corners, yet managed to write my way out again, all staying true to the spirit, premise and logic of the sketch. I was a giddy with the outcome. Sorry, I’m still dragging this out. Anyway, the pet offered was…a rock. I wrote it pre-1975. I showed it to so many people. I performed it at my first year of college. There were other sketches I had in my portfolio, but this one was my strongest bit by far.
I’m really dragging this out for dramatic effect. It was a great sketch, but one day the premise was killed by reality.
Okay, so, “The Pet Store” sketch was a man entering a pet store to purchase a pet (already we were deep, deep into Python territory). After several ridiculous suggestions were made, the shopkeeper offered the man the perfect pet. It was the most ridiculous suggestion of them all, but the shopkeeper had perfectly sound reasons why it would be the perfect pet. The back and forth was wonderful; the skepticism of the shopper, the seemingly logical retorts of the salesman, all the give and take worked. I wrote myself into several corners, yet managed to write my way out again, all staying true to the spirit, premise and logic of the sketch. I was a giddy with the outcome. Sorry, I’m still dragging this out. Anyway, the pet offered was…a rock. I wrote it pre-1975. I showed it to so many people. I performed it at my first year of college. There were other sketches I had in my portfolio, but this one was my strongest bit by far.
Then in late 1975, some guy began selling Pet Rocks. Pet. Rocks. With an instruction manual that echoed many of my jokes and gags. I mean, c’mon! The sketch was now dead. And dead forever, like a parrot. If the sketch’s premise is completely pinned to the idea that no one would be stupid enough to buy a rock as a pet and suddenly plenty of people did, and it was such a fad that the term “pet rock,” forever entered the public consciousness, then it had become an ex-sketch. Also, it would look like I was ripping them off, that my skit was unoriginal.
I tried to rework the material to build to a pet Paramecium, but despite a fairly pithy take (look at him tap dance!) the entire idea of an absurd pet just didn’t work anymore. Damn you, reality!
I’m still a student of classic comedy. I’ve had sketches performed and produced. I’m still churning out material. But that one sketch still haunts me, a fledgling bit struck down too soon by circumstances beyond its control. Anyway, I show everyone my “Abbott & Othello” sketch as a sample now…
I tried to rework the material to build to a pet Paramecium, but despite a fairly pithy take (look at him tap dance!) the entire idea of an absurd pet just didn’t work anymore. Damn you, reality!
I’m still a student of classic comedy. I’ve had sketches performed and produced. I’m still churning out material. But that one sketch still haunts me, a fledgling bit struck down too soon by circumstances beyond its control. Anyway, I show everyone my “Abbott & Othello” sketch as a sample now…
