Don’t look back with laughter
Comedy is a dying art. And with each successive year – with the passing of each Walter Matthau and Jack Lemmon – the once great floodlight of the vaudeville stage is progressively dimming.
This past week saw the loss of three of the most brilliant people ever to contribute to the universal laugh track – Milton Berle, Dudley Moore and Billy Wilder.
These three men have been mourned by countless crowds of people who worked with or were influenced by them, or simply grew up watching them. This outpouring seems to beg the question, what will happen when today’s comedians – our Seinfelds, Cedrics and Wayans brothers – are no longer with us? Will they be remembered for their routines, one-liners and innovations? Or will they be seen as historical footnotes as the art of humor disintegrates into knock-offs, derivations and mislaid anger?
Berle, Moore and Wilder may have been funny men, but more importantly, they were comedic innovators. Berle, affectionately referred to as “Mr. Television,” was a pioneer of television comedy (not to mention cross-dressing). As the host of Texaco Star Theater from 1948 to 1956, he put television on the cultural map, and convinced many households to buy their first sets (his show was seen by an astounding 97 percent of those who owned them). As a former headliner at the Zigfeld Follies, he was instrumental in creating the vaudevillian foundation that television comedy is based upon – variety formats with slapstick, over-the-top sight gags, music and self-deprecating comedians. More than any other entertainer of his time, Berle was a master of the “bad pun,” thousands of which he collected in books. (“Marriage is one of the few institutions that allow a man to do as his wife pleases … I’m so henpecked, I cackle in my sleep!”) Practically every comedy show host, from Ed Sullivan to Johnnie Carson, has Berle to thank for creating the genre. In 20 or 30 years, will the same be said of David Letterman? Jay Leno? Conan O’Brian?
Billy Wilder was one of the most influential and popular writer/directors in the world, whether dealing with the nightmarish hell of alcoholism in The Lost Weekend or making insurance salesmen seem sexy and dangerous in Double Indemnity. However, in my mind he was also a pioneer in the fields of comedy and satire. He wrote the screenplay for Sunset Boulevard, a film that many people judge superficially on its romantic kitschy-ness; this overlooks the fact that it was one of the first times a director dared to openly parody the superficiality of Hollywood. He wrote and directed The Apartment, one of the most human and unassuming movies ever made, and one of only a few comedies that won the Academy Award for best picture. His list of movie credits – among them Some Like It Hot, The Seven Year Itch, Ninotchka, Irma La Douce, The Fortune Cookie, Sabrina and Witness For The Prosecution – reads like a top list of the most defining moments in cinema history, an accomplishment that is even more astounding when you consider that all of these movies are usually classified as comedies. In 20 or 30 years, will the same recognition be awarded Sleepless In Seattle? Austin Powers? Scary Movie? … Carrot Top’s Chairman of the Board?
I think that of last week’s three deaths, the one that I was most impacted by was Dudley Moore’s. It’s only been in the last few years of my life I’ve become acquainted with his work, and having only known him from Arthur, 10 and his various marital problems, I’m amazed at what an incredibly versatile entertainer he really was. He studied the piano at Oxford and was a masterful concert pianist and composer, writing film soundtracks and selling several successful record albums. He was a member of the four-part comedy troupe that created the stage show “Beyond the Fringe,” which started the satire revolution in England and inspired countless other acerbic British comedians, including members of Monty Python. He was in the cult television show “Not Only … But Also” with Peter Cook, and re-teamed with Cook to produce the “Derek and Clive” albums – truly racy comedy that would probably make George Carlin and Chris Rock blush. Unlike Carlin or Rock, however, Moore’s talents allowed him to go beyond such stuff, a fact which is evident in his skill at playing the a-typical Hollywood leading man. I think that it is perhaps this wealth of talent that sets Moore apart from modern-day film and television comedians – even when he wasn’t “on” (and this tended to be an unfortunately common trend in the last 20 years of his life), you knew that Moore still had that talent in him. This is not the kind of thinking that occurs whenever Tom Arnold decides to do another cameo appearance in a Mike Myers’ film.
The passing of Berle, Moore and Wilder was a true loss for the comedic world. It’s difficult for me to emphasize the word “loss” enough. Perhaps the only way I can express my feelings is with an overblown, idiotic simile: It’s like gold paint gradually flaking off a great theatric “comedy mask,” until all that’s left underneath is lead. Sure, you may mock me now … but in 10 years, look back on Sorority Girls and Van Wilder, and see if you can’t convince yourself that the real comedian is a dying breed.
