Joe, including some Super Bowl ads.
But I have to admit, it also gave me a false sense of security about who I could tease. On subsequent shoots with Joe, it was common for me to talk back to him during his fits—which the crew loved—and he’d jokingly say, “Ah, fuck you,” back to me. Or I’d go yell at him during one of his basketball breaks, and he’d laugh. But much later, when I did an elaborate commercial with Joe that starred Shaquille O’Neal, I learned the real pecking order of power. Shaq had to pick me up at one point, and while I was in his arms in between takes I made some inappropriate joke at his expense, and Shaq gave me this death stare, like, “Did you just fuckin’ talk to me?”
And just like that crew member running up to me years ago when I spoke out of turn about Joe, now it was the seemingly all-powerful Joe Pytka in the damage control position, covering for my big mouth. He had to touch Shaq gently and keep saying, “She’s a comedian! She doesn’t mean it! She’s a comedian!” People really do lose their shit around athletes. So thank you, Joe, for the commercials career, and for preventing me from being tossed like a free throw.
Shaq’s not going to read this book, is he?
Shaq! I’m a comedian!
I was in the Groundlings, I was doing commercials here and there, but it still wasn’t happening for me. What else could I try?
Commercials are great, but when you’re in the Groundlings, it’s Saturday Night Live you want most. Especially when your classmate Jon Lovitz gets plucked from the main company so fast he leaves a little puff of smoke like in cartoons. The problem was I could never get Lorne Michaels to laugh. I had two private meetings with him that I’m sure he doesn’t remember, but it was the opposite of my success with Joe Pytka: Being myself and trying to shock him into laughter wasn’t working.
It was always best, though, if Lorne could come see you perform, and thankfully he decided he was going to see me, Lisa Kudrow, and Julia Sweeney. In my case, I was one of the three because somebody at Brillstein/Grey, a very powerful management company, thought I was worth seeing. I wasn’t represented by them, but I sure wanted to be. My impression is that if I got the job on Saturday Night Live, I would have been represented by them very quickly. So the Groundlings essentially geared the late show so that the three of us rotated scenes: It was all about Julia, Lisa, and me. I remember there was one Groundling girl backstage who wasn’t chosen to audition, and she was throwing costumes into a bag saying, “This is ridiculous! As if you’re any more talented than I am!”
Lisa Kudrow and me with our old noses.
I thought, What an awful thing to say to someone before the biggest tryout of their career. But her reaction certainly hit home how important it felt, because that’s what it was: the biggest audition of our lives. I had heard Lorne had a no-Groundlings policy for many years, so we considered this a make-or-break moment.
Well, sure enough, I had a bad night. My sketches were bombing. I was dead in the water. Especially when the audience—all too aware of the TV starmaker in their midst—held their laughter to see how Lorne reacted, as if they were scared of enjoying the wrong thing. It just stressed the fact that this was a performance for one, not a typical show. Ultimately I failed to do my characters as well as I had hoped that night. Nerves got the better of me. Even Lisa, who before the world knew her from Friends was great with role playing and a true standout at the Groundlings—always doing something off the beaten track, always a little better than everyone else—couldn’t get it together the way she usually did. My dear friend Julia, though, rocked it. She knocked it out of the park with all her characters, including Pat—her soon-to-be-famous gender-nonspecific nerd who she’d developed at the Groundlings—plus her improvisations were
But I have to admit, it also gave me a false sense of security about who I could tease. On subsequent shoots with Joe, it was common for me to talk back to him during his fits—which the crew loved—and he’d jokingly say, “Ah, fuck you,” back to me. Or I’d go yell at him during one of his basketball breaks, and he’d laugh. But much later, when I did an elaborate commercial with Joe that starred Shaquille O’Neal, I learned the real pecking order of power. Shaq had to pick me up at one point, and while I was in his arms in between takes I made some inappropriate joke at his expense, and Shaq gave me this death stare, like, “Did you just fuckin’ talk to me?”
And just like that crew member running up to me years ago when I spoke out of turn about Joe, now it was the seemingly all-powerful Joe Pytka in the damage control position, covering for my big mouth. He had to touch Shaq gently and keep saying, “She’s a comedian! She doesn’t mean it! She’s a comedian!” People really do lose their shit around athletes. So thank you, Joe, for the commercials career, and for preventing me from being tossed like a free throw.
Shaq’s not going to read this book, is he?
Shaq! I’m a comedian!
I was in the Groundlings, I was doing commercials here and there, but it still wasn’t happening for me. What else could I try?
Commercials are great, but when you’re in the Groundlings, it’s Saturday Night Live you want most. Especially when your classmate Jon Lovitz gets plucked from the main company so fast he leaves a little puff of smoke like in cartoons. The problem was I could never get Lorne Michaels to laugh. I had two private meetings with him that I’m sure he doesn’t remember, but it was the opposite of my success with Joe Pytka: Being myself and trying to shock him into laughter wasn’t working.
It was always best, though, if Lorne could come see you perform, and thankfully he decided he was going to see me, Lisa Kudrow, and Julia Sweeney. In my case, I was one of the three because somebody at Brillstein/Grey, a very powerful management company, thought I was worth seeing. I wasn’t represented by them, but I sure wanted to be. My impression is that if I got the job on Saturday Night Live, I would have been represented by them very quickly. So the Groundlings essentially geared the late show so that the three of us rotated scenes: It was all about Julia, Lisa, and me. I remember there was one Groundling girl backstage who wasn’t chosen to audition, and she was throwing costumes into a bag saying, “This is ridiculous! As if you’re any more talented than I am!”
Lisa Kudrow and me with our old noses.
I thought, What an awful thing to say to someone before the biggest tryout of their career. But her reaction certainly hit home how important it felt, because that’s what it was: the biggest audition of our lives. I had heard Lorne had a no-Groundlings policy for many years, so we considered this a make-or-break moment.
Well, sure enough, I had a bad night. My sketches were bombing. I was dead in the water. Especially when the audience—all too aware of the TV starmaker in their midst—held their laughter to see how Lorne reacted, as if they were scared of enjoying the wrong thing. It just stressed the fact that this was a performance for one, not a typical show. Ultimately I failed to do my characters as well as I had hoped that night. Nerves got the better of me. Even Lisa, who before the world knew her from Friends was great with role playing and a true standout at the Groundlings—always doing something off the beaten track, always a little better than everyone else—couldn’t get it together the way she usually did. My dear friend Julia, though, rocked it. She knocked it out of the park with all her characters, including Pat—her soon-to-be-famous gender-nonspecific nerd who she’d developed at the Groundlings—plus her improvisations were
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