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Three Writers at Tony's Grill
Defying Gravity                    Return to Views Directory Page

"Dullness is the coming-of-age of seriousness."
                                                     - Oscar Wilde

"A Fish Called Wanda."

        "Dave Barry."

        "Staples commercials."

        The topic is favorite funny things.  We all nod at each other's suggestions as we gaze into the flames, glad we arrived early enough to get a table by the fireplace.  "People love to laugh," Elaine muses, and as if to prove her point a small office party in the far corner breaks into a roar of laughter so spontaneous that it makes us smile, too.

        "Yea," Marc says, "but put that crowd in a planning meeting and I bet they turn serious as stone."  He stretches his legs onto the hearth.   Immediately the snow on his boots begins to steam.

        "I wonder why that is?" Elaine says.   "Clients squirm in their seats at any suggestion of doing a corporate piece as a comedy."

        "They don’t trust our writing," Marc smirks.

        "I think they don’t trust humor," I say.

        Elaine frowns.  "They all say ‘We want to use humor,’"—her fingers draw quotation marks in the air—"but they think of humor as decoration only."

        "Yep," Marc agrees.  "One opening joke and one funny story per speech, thank you—just enough to set everyone up for the serious stuff."

        "Then they don’t trust their audience," I say.

        The server arrives with our holiday cheer.  She is wearing a red cap edged in white fur, a plastic reindeer pin with a brightly blinking red nose, and matching red lipstick.  I suspect that our tab will be printed in green ink, just for balance.

        "Clients spend a lot of money to get a message across," I continue, "and they’re afraid people won’t take it seriously unless it’s delivered seriously."

        "But comedy sells," Elaine insists.   "Look at all the funny ads, funny movies—"

        "Almost-funny sitcoms."  Marc has a thing about sitcoms.

        Elaine ignores him.  "People love funny.   John Cleese and a lot of ad agencies have built fortunes on that fact."

        "You know what I love?" Marc smiling broadly.  "That Staples back-to-school commercial with the Dad riding the shopping cart ..."  He laughs.

        "See?" Elaine blurts.  "So why is humor so hard to sell to clients?"  The intensity in her voice is almost pleading.

        "I think she wants an answer," Marc says.

        I sip my ale.  "I think comedy has always been hard to sell.  Clients see funny as a big risk.  It’s not the way they communicate.  All day long they write and read memos and marketing reports and P&Ls.  Jokes are for coffee breaks.  So naturally they think that way about corporate communications: keep it serious except for the ‘breaks’—the opening joke and the funny story in the middle.  When you live in that culture, it’s hard to visualize that Patch Adams might be the best way to roll out your new $3 million health care plan."

        "And I sure can’t change their minds." Elaine slumps back in her chair.  She loves writing humor and clearly isn’t getting much opportunity.

        "He can," Marc says, suddenly realizing that his boots are smoking.  He yanks his feet away from the fire.

        "I don’t know about that," I say.   "I just show clients that I’m willing to share the risk."

        "Meaning—" Elaine says.

        "Meaning that if I really believe that comedy is the way to go and I think there’s a chance the client will agree, I offer to write a treatment or a couple minutes of the presentation to show them what I have in mind.  No charge—unless they go with it."

        "Whoa.  Get burned often?"

        "Not often.  Once they see that I’m not making them or their message look silly, they usually warm up to the idea.  And if what I write makes them laugh once or twice, all the better.  Even if they don’t go for 100 percent comedy, they wind up using more than they would have.   And when they get good feedback from their audience, they’ll go farther next time."

        "You remember that Simpsons episode where Homer coaches Bart's football team?" Marc chuckles.  To Marc, animated sitcoms are not sitcoms.

        "God, if I had clients like Marc," Elaine says, "I’d be a happy writer."

        "Well, then," I say, raising my glass, "here’s to more clients with funny bones in 1999."

        "Here, here!" Elaine says, clinking her glass against mine.

        "I don’t know," Marc says, raising his glass uncertainly.  "I’m not sure I write funny enough."

        "Oh, I wouldn’t worry, Marc," Elaine says drily.  "Everyone knows you write real funny."

        I’m sure she meant that as a compliment.

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