Funny Business, by Sol Saks

The Craft of Comedy Writing

Don’t judge a book by its cover. In this instance, don’t read a book by its cover.

Just legible, for those red letters don’t work on such a shade of pink. It’s nearly like a celebrity rug, without the wardrobe malfunction.

The colour scheme will put you into a deep depression if you stare too long. Which is a new one to explain at therapy.

“I can’t stop looking at this book cover.”

“Then turn it over.”

Now you’re on to the rear end. What about that malfunction?

But back to the book, and your survival hinges on the unimaginable; opening it.

Author Sol Saks lived to 100, but unlike his longevity, the intro gets done in just two pages. The blue collar version of a man who drops into a vat of chemicals.

And he was a sweet man…. after the accident. Before that, he smelt pretty bad.

Saks uses those chemicals to craft magic perfume over the next 200 pages, and as you move on to chapter one, the heading returns to that blasted cover font.

Whoever chose this style really didn’t want you to read the book. Might as well have had the printing press roll straight into a dumpster.

“Is that 10,000 copies of Funny Business in there?”

“Yes. 10,000 copies of Fusny Bunny.”

First thing, Saks believes the subject of the book unteachable. But then a contradiction as soon as page 19;

“Ass, toilet, urinate, breasts, penis, etc.”

See, you can do it already.

I mean etc! Hard consonants, brevity, a variety of applications. There’s nothing funnier.

Whatever.

If you don’t want him to go over the unteachable, he says you have the option to return the book (purchase date, 2008. I don’t think so).

While he says comedy writing is harder than flying…he lived to 100.

I guess he wasn’t a pilot.

Saks also likens writing to stripping, in that to succeed at either, you need the equipment and motivation.

So get yourself an ergonomic keyboard with a central hole, and that is space for a pole. Combine the two and your articles will come out like wadijmnaicnewqnciii ninwqfi

but the dancing’s great. Just be careful how you type when your hands are on the stick.

The first chapter can be summed up as 3 ½ pages of general techniques, which move on to What’s Funny?

If you’ve read 101 books of this type, this one tells you anything and everything. If that’s not the answer you were expecting, this is comedy. Plus, there’s more explanation over the following paragraphs.

Outright hostility can be funny, and while Saks moves away from it, he nods to Don Rickles, to show it’s possible.

Then there’s one thing in comedy writing you have to tolerate. And if you can’t, look for another job.

Maybe try flying.

He mentions a difference between a wit and a comic, and a few other bits. While he sometimes takes time to reach a point, certain things — like his short tail of time on a show and his three responses to Hiroshima — keep the text moving.

More chat moves into chapter 3, Anatomy of a Joke. After the talk, there’s a paragraph with the ingredients of comedy.

S. J. Perelman, James Thurber, and Erma Bombeck, all get mentions in this tasty cake.

On misdirection, Saks says;

“.. done with dexterity, and without cheating, your audience will be as charmed as children seeing magic.”

Or if you fail, as charmed as seeing a new dentist who drills to dubstep. You’ll be awake for nights with the pain of the music.

Henny Youngman’s back.

If he lost a wife every time his joke was used… then his marriage must have been very crowded.

One ceremony, 1,000 wives. Talk about meet the family. No wonder he ended up giving them away.

Classic stand up setups are used as reference to the three acts in jokes. Then, a reasonable bit on page 38 about segues. A half page to show you how to avoid cliches, by example of a couple more natural transitions.

Natural, like a bronzed beauty under 12 pounds of fake tan. But more natural than that.

The closing bit on the three acts of jokes ends with a warning; if you can’t write strong punchlines, keep away from TV.

Or stick to Medium.

While the book’s been quite gentle on topics so far, chapter four dedicates an entire 4 + pages to the third act. Not many, but you get some questions to help resolve dilemmas, plus the method Saks used to lay the foundations for a story’s final part.

The chapter on style is another brief one.

And it should be.

The full length, flowing red dress, can never compete with one that gets caught in brambles. Just face it, those tears add to the strength of the design.

Other advice is to get to the point.

More info comes, and while there’s sometimes a bit of vagueness in its instruction, there’s one word of note, as doing the opposite means losing your audience. A bit on Jack Benny helps reinforce this.

Sol Saks lived to the age of 100.

In his life, he worked as a journalist, on radio comedy, and on five sitcoms. He wrote the script for Walk Don’t Run, as well as writing short stories and stage plays. He taught writing courses at California State University at Northridge.

He was both industrious and incredible.

The shortest chapter — by word count, not pages — contains ten commandments. There are also shalt nots, seven deadly sins, four essential steps, and three required attributes of comedy writers.

The third is a true and tragic punchline all writers will understand.

The brevity continues. And there’s a mention of Edmund Kean (or whoever it was), and his famous, “Dying is easy, comedy is hard.”

Truth is, the people beside him couldn’t stop laughing. No surprise with the sound he made. I mean, death rattle? He broke out the maracas.

Page 65 tells you to be scared. And if you’re reading this during flight practice, pull up, quick.

Phew.

And now.. you’re tangled in the trees, but if you didn’t realise, with comedy writing, there’s more to being scared. Saks says you need to be brave, to take out that white sheet of paper.

Personally, I just didn’t want the skid marks.

Then he gives you suggestions on courage. And while it may sound silly, this isn’t too bad. In fact, it’s pretty good. The harsh reality of being a comedy writer from someone who’s had the t-shirt and managed to cope.

Next on display is the time you spend writing. It’s somewhat standard advice for the hours you keep, but he adds something with regard to when you finish. He talks you through if a scene isn’t working, with a bit on his own doubts of being a capable comedy writer.

Considering the amount his career covered, this is well worth a listen.

And it’s fine to have doubts. We all fail (well, I don’t).

Say you’re a burglar escaping a botched job, you wouldn’t ponder your failings and stare into the night, as the alarm wails and a guard dog bites your leg.

But comedy writing is different. Feel the fear.

Just get that dog out, because your desk is meant for working, not for animal attacks. But if you feel differently, invite a bear.

Away from this, Saks does a bit on what if, and there’s some talk on dialogue. He also mentions trying an experimental piece, which he names as…

Buy the book.

This goes into a page and a bit on cutting.

And out.

The Marketplace is standard fair; Saks talks about different types of work, which is the least interesting part of the book. Conversely, the attitude to possible financial rewards bears a read.

When Saks talks on selling work, his personality shows. You’ll get some amusing thoughts, and while some parts which aren’t about writing feel dated, anything on writing is still relevant to this day.

For chapter 11, it’s sensible questions and answers. Want to find out what they are? You know my answer.

Just go on Google and have a look. No, no, no. I mean, buy the book.

More Q & A follow. This time it’s the authors contemporaries answering. Mainly vague advice, or answers that can’t be translated to your own work. But if you think about them, really, really hard, then actually, you probably will have wasted a lot of time.

Everett Greenbaum gives the longest answer — with a mighty half page — and it’s about plugging away.

Saks seems to be going off on an unnecessary tangent with radio talk, but it’s another story to show how much work is required.

Then he talks of Jack Benny’s character, and why the public loved him, despite his supposed failings.

It’s one of the nuggets in the book.

More radio talk comes, with the idea that life is demanding and difficult at the bottom of the ladder. Or totem pole. Or Christmas tree.

Especially if you buy cheap import lights that have poorly coated wires. But at least you’ll put on a show for the guests.

“There’s my angel.” Bzzzzzz…

The Rites of Passage continues with some history of tv and radio. While it may not be relevant today, the author’s prose is more than fine to follow (his prior job as a journalist, surely a big help).

Saks’ piece of analysis on his screenplay for the remake of The More the Merrier is something to think about.

One scene, despite being scripted just as the original, and just as effective, was lessened by one director added word. Cary Grant, who starred in this remake, disagreed with a small aspect of the script, is also noted here.

The book has more reassurances. Saks aims to calm your nerves through the pages by talk of your social life & fitness. And to show he’s a comedy writer, he says you’ll slip off the exercise bike if you keep eating cream cakes.

Actually, he doesn’t say that, but there’s some less serious advice as well, which helps the flow.

Those recommendations keep up, with a serious and amusing four lines, which tell you not to team up with other writers, in certain conditions.

And I don’t mean they’re still in a full body cast from that motorbike stunt. Either way, it looks better without wheels, and the explosion was pretty cool.

A Bewitched script is in the book. The background to it comes first.

The initial idea, casting choice, problems with them, and a serious flaw noted by Saks — after he’d finished the first draft. Everything was on the line. Which makes it a great bit, because it shows the power of rewriting and that big hurdles can be overcome (despite that major flaw, it had an eight series run).

A final item before the script is the show’s prospectus, which is explained as primarily for the sponsors. This is helped by Saks’ comments, which highlight why certain parts were included, and gives reason to others.

Chapter 17 begins with a short introduction to the original pilot script for Bewitched. Then the script itself, which is a brilliant read. Because it’s an initial episode, it also gives insight to introducing the cast (after that, the story gets underway).

Chapter 18 is Saks’s two recommendations for comedy writers, and his sign off for the book.

For the review, here’s mine.

Verdict

While Saks sometimes feels like he goes off on a story, his pacing and anecdotes are good, and the lessons keep you engaged. The information never goes into deep or practical exercises, but the theory covers all aspects of writing.

It’s a nice read, especially with the lead up to the final ‘real’ chapter, and particularly the whole pilot Bewitched script. It’s excellent to have it.

Recommended for:

Seeing what it takes to be a comedy writer.

Not for:

That blasted type face.

There are no specific exercises. Bring your own.

Other thoughts:

I wish there was a whole book of Bewitched scripts. Maybe there is, out there. If I just twitch my nose..

Length

237 listed pages, but with numerous blank ones, those for chapter headings, the more sparse circa 60 script pages, 7 of index… you can knock off about 60 from that total.

Quicker readers will be through this in a day and a half.

Slower, more dedicated readers will take a couple of weeks. Those 18 chapters seem more challenging than they are.