Lorne would always ask the host if he or she had any ideas. Usually, the host would say not really and gracefully defer to the staff. Most of them had never been there, and no matter how famous they were, they were on our turf. Sometimes, however, they brought ideas of their own. Sometimes they would have some great ideas; sometimes they would make fools of themselves. Most fell somewhere in the middle.
Mike Myers once told me a story about Christopher Walken pitching ideas. As the pitches went around the room, Walken sat stone-faced, with an almost angry expression. Idea after idea hit the floor like a bowling ball. Walken didn’t budge. After everyone in the room had finished, Lorne asked Walken if he had any ideas of his own. Walken paused to gather his thoughts. “Bear suits are funny. Ape suits as well,” he said. Uh, okey-dokey, meeting’s over. Let’s get cracking on the bear suits and ape suits, people!
John Travolta thought he had some funny ideas. Thought. What worked against him was the fact that this particular week was one of the funniest pitch weeks I can remember. Every person in the room was on fire, and Tom Davis refrained from asking him to tap dance for chicken. We pitched him everything from the Sweathogs to Saturday Night Fever. At the end, Lorne asked Travolta if there was anything he had on his mind.
Travolta pulled out a yellow legal pad filled with pages of notes. Slowly and methodically, he read us his ideas. At the time, he was coming off Pulp Fiction, so he was inarguably the man. We all listened as his ideas just kept pouring out. We sat there for forty-five minutes as he flipped through the pages and giggled at his own pitches. We were trapped. The one that he was most jacked about involved him as a Hasidic private detective, complete with a tallith over long sideburns. Without exception, we all thought it was retarded—though in hindsight, it does sound funny. The problem was the meeting should have been over and we should have been back in our offices, but it wasn’t. It was being prolonged by John Travolta.
Sometimes the host could blow you away, which is exactly what Nicole Kidman did when I laid eyes on her. To the point, she is the most beautiful human being I had ever seen. She has these crystal blue eyes. When she looked at you, it was like you were getting laid that night. Of course you weren’t, because she came with Tom Cruise, who stood in the back of the room wearing jeans, a peacoat, motorcycle boots, and a Notre Dame cap. Tom didn’t say anything. He just blended in until he looked at you and smiled. There was no denying that movie star smile: If the guy pumped gas in South Dakota, he would still be Tom Cruise. In my case, Nicole wasn’t a sexual fantasy, anyway; she was someone associated with the show who was looking me in the eye when she talked to me. (“How are you?” she’d say. “I’m good,” I’d respond. “How are you?” Wow!) People who spoke back to me in the office during my first season on the show were the most fascinating people in the world.
When Sally Field hosted, she gave me a shoulder massage at the rewrite table, but that wasn’t nearly as exciting as her tearing Ellen Cleghorne a new asshole. Ellen pitched Sally Field her recurring character Zoraida the NBC page. Ellen started off by telling Sally Field about how Michael Jordan had done it. Then she explained some of the things they could do together. Through it all, Sally Field smiled politely and nodded. Then, in front of all of us, she took out a (metaphorical) knife and sliced Ellen up.
After Ellen finished, Sally looked at her coldly and said, “Oh, I know, that’s the sketch where you have all the jokes and I just stand there like an idiot and do nothing.” Icicles formed on the walls and we all huddled together for warmth. It was, to say the least, a little uncomfortable to hear the host verbally dis one of the cast members. To her credit, Ellen took the high road and gave
Mike Myers once told me a story about Christopher Walken pitching ideas. As the pitches went around the room, Walken sat stone-faced, with an almost angry expression. Idea after idea hit the floor like a bowling ball. Walken didn’t budge. After everyone in the room had finished, Lorne asked Walken if he had any ideas of his own. Walken paused to gather his thoughts. “Bear suits are funny. Ape suits as well,” he said. Uh, okey-dokey, meeting’s over. Let’s get cracking on the bear suits and ape suits, people!
John Travolta thought he had some funny ideas. Thought. What worked against him was the fact that this particular week was one of the funniest pitch weeks I can remember. Every person in the room was on fire, and Tom Davis refrained from asking him to tap dance for chicken. We pitched him everything from the Sweathogs to Saturday Night Fever. At the end, Lorne asked Travolta if there was anything he had on his mind.
Travolta pulled out a yellow legal pad filled with pages of notes. Slowly and methodically, he read us his ideas. At the time, he was coming off Pulp Fiction, so he was inarguably the man. We all listened as his ideas just kept pouring out. We sat there for forty-five minutes as he flipped through the pages and giggled at his own pitches. We were trapped. The one that he was most jacked about involved him as a Hasidic private detective, complete with a tallith over long sideburns. Without exception, we all thought it was retarded—though in hindsight, it does sound funny. The problem was the meeting should have been over and we should have been back in our offices, but it wasn’t. It was being prolonged by John Travolta.
Sometimes the host could blow you away, which is exactly what Nicole Kidman did when I laid eyes on her. To the point, she is the most beautiful human being I had ever seen. She has these crystal blue eyes. When she looked at you, it was like you were getting laid that night. Of course you weren’t, because she came with Tom Cruise, who stood in the back of the room wearing jeans, a peacoat, motorcycle boots, and a Notre Dame cap. Tom didn’t say anything. He just blended in until he looked at you and smiled. There was no denying that movie star smile: If the guy pumped gas in South Dakota, he would still be Tom Cruise. In my case, Nicole wasn’t a sexual fantasy, anyway; she was someone associated with the show who was looking me in the eye when she talked to me. (“How are you?” she’d say. “I’m good,” I’d respond. “How are you?” Wow!) People who spoke back to me in the office during my first season on the show were the most fascinating people in the world.
When Sally Field hosted, she gave me a shoulder massage at the rewrite table, but that wasn’t nearly as exciting as her tearing Ellen Cleghorne a new asshole. Ellen pitched Sally Field her recurring character Zoraida the NBC page. Ellen started off by telling Sally Field about how Michael Jordan had done it. Then she explained some of the things they could do together. Through it all, Sally Field smiled politely and nodded. Then, in front of all of us, she took out a (metaphorical) knife and sliced Ellen up.
After Ellen finished, Sally looked at her coldly and said, “Oh, I know, that’s the sketch where you have all the jokes and I just stand there like an idiot and do nothing.” Icicles formed on the walls and we all huddled together for warmth. It was, to say the least, a little uncomfortable to hear the host verbally dis one of the cast members. To her credit, Ellen took the high road and gave
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