Jon Stewart: The Playboy Interview (50 Years of the Playboy Interview) (3 page)

Playboy:
You’re known for being lightning quick and dead-on yourself. Did you two ever trade professional secrets?

Stewart:
No. I’ve spoken to some of his representatives and they have agreed with me, but I’ve never spoken to Garry directly. He was kept in a plastic bubble when we worked together.

Playboy:
Can comedians really be friends with other comedians? What’s the rule?

Stewart:
They have it up in the bathroom at the Improv, but I can’t remember it. No, no, that’s “Wash your hands before you leave.” [
pauses
] Most people have this impression that among comedians it’s like
Diner
, a bunch of guys doing shtick over French fries; or that all we do is analyze comedy; or that we’re all neurotic and crazy. Well, maybe that last bit is true. But some of the best conversations I’ve had with other comics at three a.m. sitting in a diner were not about comedy.

Playboy:
Are you the kind of guy you imagined becomes a comedian?

Stewart:
Preconceived notions are invalid. With accountants the big gag is that they’re boring. But I’m sure there’s a hang-gliding accountant out there who knows how to play the drums and fucks like a champ. I’m sure there’s an accountant somewhere who comes home late at night drunk, sticks his dick in the butter, laughs his ass off and goes, “If they only knew.”

Playboy:
What’s the most important thing to you about comedy?

Stewart:
Nothing. It’s silly. You want something important? Learn to take a guy’s heart out of his chest, restart it and put it back in.

Playboy:
Isn’t humor also curative? A way of enhancing the human spirit?

Stewart:
Oh boy. Most comedians are incredibly cynical, and the last thing they’re doing is enhancing the human spirit. [
pauses
] Most are feeding their own gratuity machine, ingesting something they need and popping it out on the other side. If it happens to have a positive effect on people, that’s great. But I believe very few comedians got into it because the children need to laugh. They do it to feed something in themselves. Somewhere in their brains a neuron fires happily and a need is eased, like a drug. It’s almost self-medication.

Playboy:
Even so, the public gets something out of it.

Stewart:
Yeah, but there’s no Mother Teresa of comedy saying, “I’m going to go to Calcutta and live there for years in poverty and entertain the children.” There are no development deals for martyrs. We’re out there getting our swerve on.

Playboy:
Why did you want to become a comedian?

Stewart:
Like most of the comedians I know, I was uncomfortable in other settings. Before I found comedy, nothing fit my receptors. But this felt right. As bad as I was when I started, it still felt better than anything else I’d ever done. It soothed a need, and that was good enough for me.

Playboy:
You did kids’ puppet shows before stand-up; why didn’t that feed the need?

Stewart:
This is actually a great example that illustrates my point.
Kids on the Block
was a performance program in which half the puppets were disabled and half the puppets weren’t. They interacted in a way that helped children understand people with disabilities and how to interact with them. It was a truly good and decent thing to do for people; an enlightened, wonderful performance. Yet I thought to myself, Fuck this. I need stand-up.

Playboy:
Like Larry Sanders, you wrote a book. But instead of an autobiography, yours has comic essays in which you take on Bill Gates, Hitler, the Kennedys, Hanson, Leonardo Da Vinci, chat rooms, Judaism, sitcoms, local news and more. What did you leave out?

Stewart:
[
Laughs
] There was one piece called
Les Marlboros
. It was a parody of
Les Miserables
where the revolution was smokers versus nonsmokers. It actually included Jean Valjean, who didn’t understand the whole thing, but he was French and he liked to smoke, so he decided to lead the band of rebels. It was long and boring.

Playboy:
What can’t you wait to write about in the next book?

Stewart:
As far as I can tell, in this country we can’t keep a secret about anything. We even found out that Dick Morris was sucking the toes of a prostitute. So how come the guys protecting the truth about whether or not we’ve been visited by extraterrestrials have their shit together? I would love to figure out a way to write about the sciences. Cloning: We just hit 6 billion people and we’re still working on a new way to make new people? It’s fascinating that, with all the world’s problems, scientists decided to make hard-on pills. I might write about how to make Viagra palatable. It could come in a gelatinous form, like Jell-O cubes, because we need to make it fun for kids, too! And I guess if you’re 80, Jell-O is just easier to swallow. Pretty soon it’ll be a Viagra patch. Or it’ll be a pull cord somehow. It’s this crazy idea that if we somehow keep old people fucking, everything’s going to work itself out. It boggles my mind that that’s where the money goes.

Violence is another interesting area, especially with kids who don’t realize that everything they’re so bummed out about now will turn around. My idea on solving that issue is to take high school kids on field trips. But not to planetariums and museums; take them to 20-year high school reunions. “See the fat guy over there? Bald? Crying in his beer? Captain of the football team.” “That nerdy guy with the pocket protector? A billionaire.” Giving them a sense of perspective would be good, and maybe we’d even come up with a cool T-shirt to give the kids.

Playboy:
Let’s investigate your style. Thin ties or wide ties?

Stewart:
You mean to wear? I wasn’t sure. It’s
Playboy,
so I figured at some point I’m going to have to throw in my sexual proclivities.

Playboy:
Better topic. Go ahead.

Stewart:
I fuck cheese!

Playboy:
Anything else?

Stewart:
In bed I always apologize. I take responsibility for a job poorly done. I like to end sex with, “I beg your pardon.” Sometimes, if I’ve been doing a film, I’ll say, “Check the gate.” Or: “Sign this form and you can go. You can take something off craft services on your way out. We’ll call you for the premiere.”

Playboy:
When was the first time you had sex?

Stewart:
What time is it? I guess I was 18. I was a freshman in college.

Playboy:
When was the first time you had good sex?

Stewart:
Boy, I’m not good with dates. You mean sex with love, where there’s actually emotion involved, other than fear?

Playboy:
Yes. When did fear leave your sexual routine?

Stewart:
[
Whispers
] It was Christmas 1984. We hadn’t had much snow that year and the potato crop had been good. We huddled around the hearth. [
pauses
] I think for men the fear is never gone. While he may not be on your shoulder, he’s certainly around: “All right, buddy. Don’t get any ideas. I’m right here in the hall.”

Playboy:
What are your turn-ons?

Stewart:
People who ask me what my turn-ons are. Also, honesty and long hair.

Playboy:
And turn-offs?

Stewart:
Short hair and lying. Makes sense, right? You never see: “Turn-on: Honest people. Turn-off: People who tell the truth.” There’s never that.

Playboy:
Tell us the truth: What was it like to kiss Gillian Anderson in
Playing by Heart
?

Stewart:
I was upset. I blacked out and woke up with makeup on my face. That’s all I remember about it, but I know the truth is out there. It’s weird to kiss somebody you don’t know in
that
way. It’s not natural. I don’t think anybody would tell you it’s the most comfortable thing in the world.

Playboy:
So it was your first time?

Stewart:
No, I kissed Jennifer Beals onscreen a few years ago. And I kissed Fran Drescher on
The Nanny
. Luckily, everyone was professional and nice about it. I’ve never had a situation where I did it and the woman turned to the director and said, “Uh, can we just get the stunt guy in here?”

Playboy:
Do you bring the kiss from home or do you act the kiss?

Stewart:
I guess it’s my personal kiss, but it’s not like it’s from home because it lacks the huge emotional thing. Also, a lot of what we’re doing is impressions of what we think we’re supposed to be doing. Remember those old Forties movie kisses?
Those are kisses
. The-war-is-over, we’re-in-Times-Square, I’m-wearing-a-uniform, you-look-pretty, I’m-gonna-smack-you-one-right-here,
bang!
kisses. They dip and do the thing.

Playboy:
But they don’t even open their mouths.

Stewart:
Right, but look at how they go for it.
Bang!
The new thing in kissing is the lean-in, the I-have-to-show-you-that-we’re-just-coming-to-this. I don’t recall that ever happening to me. It’s usually far more awkward than that, and afterward you have to talk about it for six hours. In some ways we’re doing an impression of what a Hollywood make-out scene is now. Have you ever watched soft-core movies on Cinemax? They’re not having sex, they’re doing an impression of what sex is. The girl sits on top and you raise your arms to cover her breasts, depending on if she signed a release about her nipples. It’s fake sex. It’s the impression of sex as we have come to know it through movies. It’s sort of like comedians who do an impression of Jack Nicholson. It’s actually an impression of a comic you saw doing a Jack Nicholson impression.

Playboy:
Which films moved you as a child?

Stewart:
I can tell you the first two films I ever saw:
Ring of Bright Water
and
Yellow Submarine
. It was a back-to-back drive-in thing.

Playboy:
Did they influence your career?

Stewart:
Well, it was a long time before I realized that the world wasn’t animated.
Ring of Bright Water
is the most amazing movie. It was back in the old days when animal movies were supposed to end horribly. Now they have the kid weeping as he looks up to see the dog limping on three legs after traveling 2000 miles by train, with a smelly hobo, to come home. This movie is about a kid who had an otter. The otter helped the kid out of a tough jam and he and the otter were tight. So you think everything is OK; the kid’s life is going to be good. Instead, he’s walking along with his otter, moseying down this country road, when a farmer comes up and, in a split second, decapitates the otter with a shovel. Then the movie ends. It is the most bizarre thing I’ve ever seen. And the kid just looks at him like, What the fuck? It’s sick. It’s sadistic. I loved otters. [
pauses
] Imagine a Disney movie today that got away with an ending like that. Mighty Joe Young shot through the head. At least they didn’t roll the end credits on Bambi’s dead mother: Bambi’s an orphan, the fire is burning, see ya.

Playboy:
Let’s break your life and career into
The Daily Show
segments. What are the headlines?

Stewart:
“Stewart’s Acne Clears up Just as Back Hair Appears: Will He Ever Win?” “Stewart Scores Seat at New Jersey Bar, Given Tenure: Will He Accept It?” “Stewart Hits the Bitter End, Robin Williams Not Shaking in Boots.”

Playboy:
Your first gig was there.

Stewart:
I chose the Bitter End because of its vaunted history of comedic performances; also it was within walking distance. I thought of Woody Allen in front of the brick wall, spinning yarns, and Cosby and Richard Pryor. Then I remembered that that was 20 years earlier. It had become Doors cover bands. I went onstage and after only two minutes received my first “You’re an asshole!”

Playboy:
Your reply?

Stewart:
Well, I’m known for my rakish comebacks. I believe I said, “Nuh-uh” and let him take it from there. It was raining as I was leaving, and I remember thinking, What a lovely literate metaphor for my career right now.

Playboy:
What kept you going?

Stewart:
The combination of rejection and laughter. They didn’t laugh ten times, but they laughed once and I gambled that I could get them to do it again. I also realized that stand-up was about getting your face beat in, and I might as well get used to it. Comedy became like a new girlfriend. I’d wake up at four in the morning, and instead of a hard-on, I had an idea, and I wrote it down. Ninety-eight percent of them were garbage, but I was in love.

But there was no epiphany after a 28-hour cocaine binge, as I sat there, staring at my sweaty self in the mirror, thinking,
No one gets out of here alive!
It happened over two years. I was living a comfortable life: I made fine money working for the state of New Jersey. I had a car. I had a house. I played on the liquor store’s softball team. That could have lasted 40 years.

Playboy:
Sounds like you were Jon Bon Jovi in that Ed Burns movie
No Looking Back
.

Stewart:
You know what? I think I might be telling you that plot. I’m sorry. No: I didn’t grow up around there at all. Wait! Hold on a second. No: I was an Army kid. No, that’s
Three Kings
.

Playboy:
What did you do for the state of New Jersey?

Stewart:
I was a contingency planner for emergencies. I happened to be a bit of a whiz at the then-new Lotus 1-2-3, so I had to make charts of centers for psychiatric treatment and how many extra beds they might have, just in case we were attacked by Pennsylvania and took some casualties. At what point could we set up a triage center and where would we find an extra minivan? I was responsible for our level of readiness in 1985. Let me tell you: We had a lot of canned goods. We were ready. It took me six months.

They were about to re-up me for another 40 years in Jersey, and before I signed the papers, I thought, You know what? I’m 23. If I leave, no one’s going to miss me. I don’t have kids, I don’t have a girlfriend. I don’t have anything that I’ve always romanticized having, so now’s the time. I didn’t want to be 30 years old and doing the same thing. I thought, I can always be one of the bitter guys in my town, so why not go to New York and fail and come back? It’s not like they won’t save a seat for me. I checked out in a week and a half. I’d never told my friends or my family what I wanted to do, so to them it was like a bombshell. I walked in and said, “I’m selling my car and moving up to New York to become a stand-up comedian.” They looked at me like I had the three nipples I have.