Don't Ask, Do Tell

In the spirit of the repeal of the infamous (and stupid) "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" policy, I thought I would share a scene I wrote clear back in 2003 when I was a student in the Second City Conservatory Writing Progam.

I just want to say that Obama has knocked another one out of the park. If only Gomer Pyle were still around to enjoy this. And I can't wait to see what happens to the Beetle Bailey comics now.

Enjoy!

Chris Othic
“GAY FOXHOLE”
February 26, 2003 (Version #2)
CAST
JOE – 30’s
BILLY – 30’s
SARGE – 40’s

(A foxhole in Afghanistan)

JOE
That was Sergeant Wiggams on the radio. He says we need to lock and load. Those bastards are coming our way.

BILLY
Oh God, no. I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die in this hellhole. I have everything to live for.

JOE
Well, then you better start shooting. Here they come!

(They both start shooting like crazy.)

BILLY
Joe, there’s something a need to tell you.

JOE
Die you bastards!

BILLY
There’s something I just have to get off my chest. (fires frantically) I’m, I’m gay.

JOE
You need a grenade?

BILLY
No, I said I’m gay. I’m a homosexual.

JOE
(laughs) That’s a good one, Billy. Don’t let the war ruin your sense of humor.

BILLY
No, really I am. And I just want everyone to know it before I die.

JOE
I don’t believe it.

BILLY
It’s true. I wear flip-flops every chance I get.

JOE
If you’re gay then I’m gay.

BILLY
And I love show tunes!

JOE
You’re killing me, Billy-boy!

BILLY
Really, I do. I love them more than Rosie O’Donnell. Oklahoma, Guys and Dolls, La Cage Au Fox. I even like opera.

JOE
That don’t mean your gay. You just have bad taste in music. Hell, I like disco but I don’t like di--

(A grenade lands in their foxhole)

JOE
Grenade!

(JOE grabs the grenade and throws it out of the foxhole.)

JOE
Whew! That was close. No more gay talk.

(Sgt. Wiggams comes crawling up to the foxhole.)

SGT. WIGGAMS
How you fellows holding out? It’s a goddamn hornet’s nest out here!

JOE
We’re hanging in there Sarge. Hard Core!

BILLY
Sergeant Wiggams. I told Joe I’m coming out of the closet.

SGT. WIGGAMS
What the hell are you talking about, soldier?

JOE
He thinks he’s gay Sarge. He likes show tunes.

BILLY
That’s right, and if I die here today, I want you to tell my parents that I died a gay man. Today is my coming out day and I want everyone to know. As a matter of fact (shouting) hey Talibans, I’m gay!

SGT. WIGGAMS
Stop saying that, damn it! I don’t think you want to open this can of worms. Remember the “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy?

BILLY
But what about be all you can be? I want to be as gay as I can be! I love the penis!

SGT. WIGGAMS
I order you to not be gay!

BILLY
I’m sorry, Sergeant. I’m tired of living this lie, and I want everyone to know, if I should die today, that I’m wearing panties.

SGT. WIGGAMS
Soldier, I’m warning you!

BILLY
And a bra.

SARGE
Stop it!

BILLY
As a matter of fact (shouting) hey Talibans, I’m wearing panties and a bra. It’s a matching set I got from Target.

JOE
You know, Billy, honestly, I hate to smear your queerness, but, that’s really just a fetish, you know. Lot’s of guys wear women’s clothing that are perfectly heterosexual.

BILLY
Not me. I wear them because—(shouting)—I’M GAY.

SGT. WIGGAMS
If you continue in this manner I will shoot you myself.

BILLY
Sarge, come on. Stop playing dumb. What about me and you?

SARGE
I don’t know what you’re talking about.

BILLY
I’m tired of all the hiding and sneaking around behind everybody’s backs. Tell Joe that we’ve been lovers for the last three months.

JOE
What?

BILLY
That’s right, Sarge and I are lovers. And I don’t care who find’s out. As a matter of fact (shouting) hey Talibans, Sarge and I have been doing it regularly for the last three months!

SGT. WIGGAMS
Stop saying that! We are not lovers.

JOE
You know Billy, I hate to rain on your little gay pride parade, but, uh, that’s just part of the survival training.

BILLY
The what?

JOE
Yeah, the survival training. He’s been porking the whole platoon for a long time now, myself included. And I’m definitely not gay. Good training though.

BILLY
Oh, god, Sarge. You two-timing bastard.

JOE
Actually, it would have been more than just two. There’s a lot of us, you know. So I guess you’re still not gay, you’re just well trained like the rest of us.

(We hear the whistle of an artillery round)

SGT. WIGGAMS
Incoming!

(Explosion. BILLY is hit.)

BILLY
I’m hit. Oh god, I’m gonna die.

JOE
Yeah, that’s a bad one.

SGT. WIGGAMS
I’m sorry soldier.

BILLY
Please, just tell them that I died in a gay manner, that I had an accident while decorating my foxhole or something. I don’t want people to know I died on a battlefield. It’s too stereotypically masculine. (BILLY reaches in and pulls out the letter.) And I want you to give this letter to my wife. It tells her that, well, that I’m gay.

JOE
Oh Billy, even facing death, such a kidder.

BILLY
Please, just do this one thing for a dying homo.

(Billy dies.)

SGT. WIGGAMS
Do you really think he was gay?

JOE
Hell no. If he was gay, he would’ve joined the Navy.

BLACKOUT

Topical Sketch Writing

Welcome to another lesson on the art of sketch writing. Today we discuss topical sketch writing. Topical sketches are the backbone of television programs like Saturday Night Live and My Favorite Martian. A topical sketch includes two vital elements: a recent news story and a dick joke. Let's use a recent news story - the Pope being tackled at the Vatican. Here is how we turn that into a topical sketch:

The Pope Gets Tackled
December 25, 2009

Characters: Susanna, Margaret, Pope Benedict XVI

(The Vatican. Pope Benedict XVI is walking down the aisle. Susanna and Margaret are in the crowd.)

SUSANNA
Look! There's the Pope.

MARGARET
You should knock him down.

SUSANNA
Ok.

(Susanna jumps the barricade.)

MARGARET
Pull him down by the dick!

POPE BENEDICT XVI
Meine wurst!

(Lights.)

Good luck and good writing!

How to Put On a Show / The RvD Process

Recently, an actor gave me a false sense of importance by sending me the following email...

---

Some friends of mine are putting together a sketch show right now and I was wondering if you could give us any advice on putting a show together? How does RvD go about it? Does each person do their own work and that's it or do you work on drafts as a group?

Anything you could offer up would be great.

---

I ended up writing a massive response--I am clearly not used to being taken seriously, and apparently I had all kinds of pent-up advice welling up inside of me. And I said some things about process that might be of interest to readers of this blog.

Here it is. If you want to encourage my false sense of importance, you can read it.

---

Hello, [anonymous friend],

To start, I would ask these questions about your group:

1) Are the people who are writing also performing?

Whether you answer the first question yes or no, I think there are strengths and weaknesses either way. I'm probably biased as a writer, but I think there's some truth to my feeling that you're going to have a better show if at least some of the writers are not performing. What ends up happening otherwise is that many writer/performers write things that showcase them as a performer. Not necessarily bad on its own, but most people become so blind with infatuation over what they're doing (or trying to do) and they have no perspective on whether it's funny or interesting or not. Often it's not. So if the answer to this first question is yes, then I would either ask an outside person like a director to join your group to keep everyone in check with what's actually resonating. You can bring that person in during the writing, or after all the material has been chosen.

2) Do you have a director, and if so, is that director part of your group?

For all the reasons stated above, and to protect the performers from getting their feelings hurt by another performer or performers, I recommend getting one, especially if the writers are performing. Because you can kind of have your head in it too much when you've been essential to the initial creative stages. The director can say things that other performers can't say without hurting feelings, so I highly recommend this.

3) Is there a similar sensibility between everyone involved?

I don't think success depends on a yes or a no to this question, but knowing the answer will help you manage your own expectations for what your shows might look like. I belong to one sketch group with 2 other writers and our comic sensibilities are different from each other. This can be frustrating, obviously, when creative differences turn into arguments and unresolved disagreements, but it also has maybe made the shows appealing to a larger range of people. RvD is more like-minded, although we definitely have our share of disagreement--fortunately, everyone is thick-skinned and trusts that everyone is just trying to help, not tear each other down.

RvD's process:

I'm an active writer/director for three groups, and all of the processes are a little different. I'm making some assumptions about how many people are writing this show, so correct me if this is not a group of 4 or more people who are writing, but RvD's is the process most likely to fit your own group. I'm not necessarily suggesting that you follow this model to a T, but since you asked, here it is.

We meet once a week for a few months. For the first 3 or 4 weeks, everyone is encouraged to write individually throughout the week and then bring in a scene or two or however many to read with the group. Although our shows have all eventually had themes (with the exception of Palindrome, which was a collection of stuff that we liked that hadn't fit in our other shows), we don't start out with a theme, so at first everyone is invited to write scenes about whatever they want. The writer will divvy out the roles for everyone to read, including someone for stage directions. When it's my scene, if there are few enough roles, I'll try to avoid reading so that I can listen to the scene to see what words people get hung up on, what things get laughs, and just take a more birds-eye-view in general (otherwise, I'm too focused on when I need to speak again). Except in very rare circumstances, the writer is forbidden from making apologies or explaining anything before reading the scene. Because we are a rude bunch of people, we sometimes mock each other gratuitously about typos and jokes that don't work. (This is not a recommendation, just the way it is with us.) Afterward, we have an open and candid discussion of the scene, saying what we loved or hated and brainstorm ways of making it more successful. That person is free to use or reject any of those ideas, but it's often a good thing when they DO incorporate those ideas. If someone is too protective and sensitive about their own work, it usually makes for a lower quality. In a group the size of RvD, if 5 other people are telling you there's a better way to go, there probably is. Typically, unless the rewrite is major, people don't usually bring back rewritten scenes until much later in the process, once we've picked a theme for our show and that scene looks like a contender.

Once we have a bunch of scenes to pick from, we see if there are any themes going on. We identify one or two and then start generating more material on those one or two themes. After a month or a few weeks, we look again at what we have, pick the best stuff, weave it together (we like having "seamless" transitions which are unique, although there's also something to be said for the standard, relatively unconnected sketch show), and then cast it. In the case of Mrs. Gruber's Ding Dong School, once everything was put together we did one last line-by-line readthrough of the script to tighten jokes and add some new ones.

---

Of course, the Second City's model for writing shows is completely different, as I'm sure you already know. In that case the writers are the performers, and my impression is (you might know better) that a lot of scenes are never really written down, but are performed over and over again until they're more or less set. Still, in the case of the Second City, the director is a crucial part of that.

Another "group" I'm with is just me and one writing partner, and we have very similar enough voices that we often feel comfortable writing collaboratively, in the same room, line-by-line. Othertimes we'll bring completely new scenes, like RvD does. Or we'll talk about ideas first, then go home and write them. In the most successful meetings, those ideas become so collaborative that by the time we're done with them, we can't always remember who had the original kernel and who came up with which plot twist, joke, etc. I think this kind of relationship is rare, and is an indication of a good thing going on, at least for us.

I guess the key thing with any group is to be honest and candid with each other, and to give and accept feedback without intimidation, which is hard to do when you know that someone loves something they created and you think it's just OK or totally flawed.

That's just kind of the creative side of it. There's a whole practical side, too, like picking a venue, marketing, props, budget, all that stuff. In some ways it sounds like more work than it really is, not because it's not a lot, but because it's usually fun, even when it's not.

---

I now end with the same apology I gave to her, for writing such a long post. I will now go back to feeling unimportant again.

Caption, My Caption

ROBOWRITER'S ASSIGNMENT

Go through a magazine and cut out all the single-panel cartoons. Avoid iconic characters that you may be too familiar with, like Ziggy or Marmaduke and avoid cartoons that don't need or don't have a caption. The joke's already there and it could be creatively problematic when you try to do something different with it. In cutting out the cartoons, remove the captions and throw them away. Use the remaining cartoons as springboards to writing scenes. A great magazine to use for this is The New Yorker. Their cartoons are fairly neutral and hardly ever funny. You don't have to worry about the caption being stuck in your head, because you'll promptly forget it.

I wrote two scenes this week with the exercise, "Oblique Oblige" and "Climate Change."

Join us on Sundays!

Sundays 6:30pm - 8:30pm
Bourgeois Pig Cafe
738 West Fullerton, 2nd floor
A weekly drop-in workshop for sketch comedy writers of all levels. Come to get feedback on a scene you are already working on. Come to get ideas for new scenes. Come to hang out, read scenes, meet other writers. $5.

Chicago Reader Article and, on an Unrelated Note, Dry Humping Shark Mascot!

I posted this already over at my other blog, Clever Title, but I figured what the hell. This is sketch comedy related, and someone other than Chris has to post occasionally.

This is a link to an article from the Chicago Reader featuring interviews with various Chicago educated comedy writers. It's a good way to kill some time, particularly if you want to be a comedy writer.

What else did I want to share with you?

Oh yeah! This:



Now that's some comedy right there.

A Few Things I’ve Learned About Comedy

It’s always funnier on the out.

That just means when you say something really funny, leave, so you won’t be tempted to say something else and everyone will realize you just got lucky the first time.

It’s a great feeling to hear that huge roar of laughter just as you step into the wings.

Fart jokes, people getting kicked in the balls, jokes about bodily functions, those are funny because everyone can relate to them. But good comedy should be like a really good Disney movie. You need some jokes that the adults are gonna like, too. So you have to have some clever humor, something witty, like a play on words or a great observation about the world or relationships. Like a guys says, “I was driving in my car at just below the speed of sound, and I sped up just a little, and there was a sonic boom, and then you know what happened? My wife suddenly became more bearable.” And all the smart, married people in the audience will maybe chuckle a little.

Then someone kicks that guy in the balls, and everybody else will laugh.

I tried to make up a rule of comedy I am calling “The Male Underwear/Footwear Correlation.” Jack Black is an expert in the use of this. It goes sort of like this: A guy in his underwear is funny, but never as funny as a guy in his underwear and also wearing shoes. I don’t know why this is, but it’s true. Something about the juxtaposition. And socks and shoes are funnier than just socks. If it’s black socks and dress shoes, even funnier. As for the underwear part, tighty whiteys are funnier than boxer shorts. I’m not sure if speedos or banana hammocks are funnier than tighty whiteys. I’m still working on this part of the formula. But it is possible that shoes and underwear can be extrapolated out to the point where a man wearing a diaper and a pair of snow shoes may be the funniest possible version of the Correlation.

Also, male full frontal nudity is hardly ever funny. I think the exception might be someone wearing a tank top and footwear, but nothing else.

I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about this. Too much.

I think the difference between sketch comedy and improv is it’s a lot harder to create bad sketch comedy than it is to create bad improv. With a sketch you have to write a first draft, read it to your friends, do a rewrite(s), agonize over every word, cast it, then rehearse and perform it. Hopefully, somewhere down the line, if it sucks, someone will discourage you from actually producing it, or they will help you make it better. With improv, you are only ever one audience suggestion away from performing a bad scene.

So with improv you are more or less just tossing out a bunch of first drafts at the audience.

The comedy for improv and sketch is different, too. A lot of it has to do with the audience’s expectations. They will laugh at a well crafted joke whether it was written or improvised. But they will laugh at the situation more in improv, because they know it is being made up on the spot, without a net. They are a lot more forgiving. They will also laugh at something because they know an improviser has just dug themselves a hole, and the scene becomes about that improviser trying to dig themselves out of it. The audience will go into the hole with them so they can watch.

With sketch, if you dig yourself a hole, nobody gives a shit if you can get out of it, because once you’re in the hole, the audience ain’t gonna follow you into the hole. They’re thinking “You should have covered the damn hole in rehearsal.”

I think sketch writers should take a turn at writing some stand-up comedy, at least once in their lives. If nothing else, it will make them see the importance of crafting a good set up and punch line. I see a lot of punch lines that are funny, but if the order of just two or three words were changed in the punch line, it would be even better. Same joke, just better. That’s the craftsmanship part of it.

The joke should hit them on the last word of the sentence.

I think ad-libbing in rehearsal is helpful, but as an actor you shouldn’t take it too far. Respect the script. Someone has (hopefully) spent a lot of time agonizing over every word in that script. But sketches are works in progress, so it’s okay to play around with it. It’s up to the director to kind of set the mood for how far you can stray from the script.

The first place to start when ad-libbing is to memorize what’s written. I had an actor at one time who was off book before they had even bothered to memorize the lines. That’s a good way to get a writer to punch you in the mouth.

I think if it’s funny, it stays. You can never have too many jokes in a scene, or in a show. The audience is there to laugh. The only time I think you have to get rid of a good joke is if it derails the scene by screwing up the logic or the pacing or if it’s coming from the actor or the writer and not the character. That’s where the director has to step in and protect the show from the killer joke you just made up. You have to keep the integrity of the scene.

I love a well executed, high concept scene. Like clash of context, or a social satire, or a great parody. But I think the scenes that audiences really love and remember are character scenes, where there is a really strong character. If you look at SNL and all of the scenes that went on to become movies (good or bad) they were all character-based.

Actors love character based scenes, too. Give them a great character and it’s like giving them the keys to a high-end sports car.

After they see a really high concept scene, audience members say it was “smart.” But then they try to tell their friends about it and end up doing the whole “I guess you had to be there” thing and then they just do their Ace Ventura impression and everyone loves it. So characters.

When it comes to comedy, the most common note I have heard as an actor or given as a director is “Louder and Faster.” That’s not just a sex thing, either. And it usually fixes the problem--in both areas.

Jokes about cancer, rape, abortion, etc., I used to think they were funny, but now I’m not so sure.

Of course, I think one of the main purposes of comedy is to be able to deal with some really bad things (like rape, cancer and abortion) that we wouldn’t normally be able to deal with. We laugh so we don’t cry. So jokes about cancer, rape, and abortion, there must be some good ones, I just haven’t written any lately.

A lot of times the difference between a tasteless joke or a tasteful joke is whether the humor is directed outward or inward. It’s not the fact that we are joking about the holocaust that’s funny, it’s the fact that the person telling the joke is oblivious to what everyone else thinks about what he is saying that is funny.

You can get away with almost anything if it is coming from a character. What I mean by that is I could never call someone the n-word, but if I wrote a redneck or racist character that would use that word realistically in the scene, you can get away with it. It helps if you are making fun of that character’s ignorance, though. And there should be a kernel of truth in it, too. And it better be funny.

Sometimes good humor offends, but that’s okay, unless the person you offended is holding a knife or a gun and you’re not standing near the door.

When people ask me what I do, I used to say “I work at so and so, but I want to be a comedy writer.” Now I just say “I’m a comedy writer and I also work at so and so.” It’s liberating.

When something happens to me, or I see something interesting, I usually say “That would make a great scene.” I say that so much my wife and friends get tired of hearing it. But that’s how I know I’m a comedy writer, because I’m always thinking like one.

The other way to know you’re a comedy writer is if someone is paying you, but I haven’t made it to that point yet.

If I’m standing next to you and you say something funny in a normal conversation, I will tell you “That’s mine. I’m taking that.” Then it’s the first one who puts it down on paper.

I bet over 90% of all the sketches I’ve ever written have never been produced. But I don’t mind, because I equate writing sketches to doing pushups. So by the time I write a scene that goes before an audience, it’s pretty damn strong.

Writing a lot of stuff also frees you up so you can write some bad material and get it out of your system. It takes the pressure off. Every scene doesn’t have to be perfect because no one will see it except for you and maybe your close peers. If it flops you can just stick it in a drawer and move on. Maybe someday your kids will discover it and think you were a horrible writer.

I think to be a good comedian you have to have a certain mindset about life, like “I get no respect” or “The world hates me” or something like that. You have to feel like you are getting a raw deal.

For me, the mindset is “It’s always one thing.” I feel like I’m doing pretty well in life, but a lot of times I’ll look at a situation and think “This would be great if it wasn’t for that one thing.” My example would be how I often have dreams of flying, and they are awesome, except for the fact that I can usually only fly at like seven miles per hour, or at a maximum height of sixteen feet. So I wake up and think, “Wow, that was an awesome flying dream, but damn, only seven miles an hour?”

So even my dreams are unsatisfying.

You always hear, “It’s all in the timing.” But what does that really mean? A slow pause or a quick retort? When in doubt go with Louder and Faster.