Read Memoirs of a Muppets Writer: (You mean somebody actually writes that stuff?) Online
Authors: Mr. Joseph A. Bailey
Memoirs of a Muppets Writer: (You mean somebody actually writes that stuff?) (12 page)
Later, I found out that the last job the camera truck driver had done was shooting race car footage in front of racing legend, Mario Andretti. This guy could drive! And, at Jon’s urging, he was leading us through those mountain roads at speeds over 80 miles per hour. And, I was hanging in right behind him with the pick-up.
I vaguely heard something banging around in the truck’s bed, but keeping up with the camera truck required all my attention. I knew there were a few props back there, Oscar’s trash can among them.
We reached the location with no time to spare. I screeched up next to the camera truck in a cloud of dust. That’s when I discovered the production’s still photographer had jumped into our truck bed as I pulled out of the restaurant’s parking lot. It was he who had been banging around in the back of the truck along with Oscar’s trash can and various and sundry other things. I can only imagine what it was like bouncing around in that truck bed while I careened through the mountains at 80 miles per hour.
E
ducational Goals: Full/Empty - Man Made Environment - Telephone
OPEN TO A MUPPET STREET SET. ON THE STREET IS A TELEPHONE BOOTH.
ENTER GROVER
GROVER
Oh, dear! I must make a telephone call. It is very important. I must find an
empty
telephone booth. Hello! There is a telephone booth, and I think, yes, there is no one in it. It is empty. Look at that! An empty telephone booth.
OFF CAMERA VOICES
What’d he say? An empty telephone booth? Hey! There’s an empty telephone booth!
A GAGGLE OF ABOUT 17,000 MONSTERS GALLOP INTO CAMERA AND JAM INTO THE TELEPHONE PHONE BOOTH WITH GROVER. NOTE: THIS COULD BE DONE WITH SPEEDED UP TAPE.
GROVER
Hey, fellows! What is going on here? What are you doing in my telephone booth?
MONSTERS
We’re making a call.
GROVER
But nobody can make a telephone call, because the booth is
full!
MONSTER
I thought something was wrong.
GROVER
Okay, everybody out! Out! Out! Out!
GAGGLE OF MONSTERS EXITS PHONE BOOTH IN SPEEDED UP MOTION. GROVER FLOPS OUT.
GROVER
Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaa! That is better. Now, I can make my telephone call, because the booth is empty.
OFF CAMERA VOICES
Hey! Did I hear there’s an empty telephone booth! Etc.
GAGGLE OF 17,000 MONSTERS (IN FAST MOTION) ENTER CAMERA AND SQUASH GROVER INTO THE TELEPHONE BOOTH..
GROVER
Oooooooch! Now this telephone booth isn’t empty any more! It is
full
of Monsters.
MONSTERS
Hey! That’s my foot! Can’t you move over a little! Etc.
GROVER
I told you, nobody can make a telephone call when the telephone booth is
full!
Everybody out!!!
MONSTERS EXIT GRUMBLING.
GROVER
Ah, now the telephone booth is…
SFX: TELEPHONE
GROVER ANSWERS
GROVER
Hello?… Who?… Don’t think so. But, I’ll ask. (CALLS SOFTLY) Anybody here named Monderporg?
MONSTERS RUSH IN AND FILL THE BOOTH, CRUSHING GROVER.
MONSTERS
Monderporg My name’s Monderporg! It’s probably Uncle Rufus Monderporg from Cleveland! Monderporg! I’m Clarence Monderporg! Etc.
MUSIC BUTTON
FADE OUT
I
n March of 1977, when Al Gottesman finally returned from vacation, I solidified my deal to write The
Muppet Show
. I was to get so much per script plus appropriate Writers Guild residuals, so much per diem expenses; a certain number of trips home from England and first class travel.
The deal was made quickly and cordially to the satisfaction of the both of us. In fact, I have to say that doing business with the Muppet organization was always a pleasure. Al Gottesman is such a decent, straightforward guy that I never needed “people” to talk to Jim’s “people.” I could talk to Al myself.
Several weeks later, Jim and I flew to Los Angeles for a series of creative meetings. We stayed at the Beverly Wilshire Hotel, which was one of Jim’s favorites, but not because of the rooms or cuisine, which were outstanding.
Jim traveled constantly. He had projects in New York, London, Toronto, and of course in Los Angeles. So, clean laundry was always a problem. The reason Jim was so fond of the Beverly Wilshire, he told me, was that you could get laundry and dry cleaning done in two hours.
Sure enough, when we arrived at the hotel, Jim pointed to two very large suitcases in the trunk, all of his luggage. He told the bellboy, “Take these directly to the laundry, please.”
The creative meetings, along with Jim, Jerry Juhl and myself included Bernie Brillstein, Jim’s manager, Larry Grossman, the music director and Don Hinkley, the third member of the writing staff. If you wonder what goes on in a “creative” meeting, the subject matter ranged from new Muppet characters to potential guest stars and possible musical numbers.
Of course, an awful lot of navel contemplation goes on at these things, too. But I remember during one of those sessions around the hotel pool, we created
Pigs-in-Space
and named the Spaceship: the
Swinetrek
. We also created First Mate Piggy’s two ship mates: Commander Link Hogthrob; and Science Officer, Doctor Julius Strangepork.
After attending Kermit the Frog’s 21st birthday party at Chasen’s restaurant, I returned to New York where I spent the next few weeks preparing for an extended stay in London.
M
ay 8, 1977, the date of our sailing from New York was fast approaching. Jerry Juhl and his wife, Susan flew in from Cambria, California, which was then their permanent residence. Don Hinkley, his wife Karen and their two young sons, left their home in Santa Monica and wound up crowded into a tiny hotel suite along with piles of suitcases full of enough clothing to last the entire family for a year.
I called Don at the hotel to see how they were doing. Don told me that his son, Tommy, wasn’t feeling well at all.
It turned out May 8th was Mother’s Day. So, I went to New Jersey to spend it with my recently widowed mother. After dinner, my wife and I went to the pier.
Unfortunately, even in 1977, the lovely tradition of
Bon Voyage
parties had ended, a practice which is still sadly in place today. Because of the fear of terrorism, security was tight and only passengers were allowed to actually board ship. The only difference between then and now was the terrorists. In those days the fear was the Irish Republican Army instead of al Quaeda.
So, the Muppet contingent boarded the Queen Elizabeth II. Besides the Juhls and the Hinkleys were Jim and Jane Henson; Jim’s manager, Bernie Brillstein and his wife, Debbie; puppeteers Jerry Nelson, Richard Hunt and Frank Oz, and me.
I checked into my cabin and then went on deck to watch the ship’s departure. There, I ran into Don Hinkley. As the tugs pushed us away from the pier and out onto the Hudson River, I asked Don, “How’s your son, Tommy, feeling?” “Oh, he’s coming along.”, Don replied. Then, with an evil twinkle in his eye, he continued, “It’s just a touch of cholera.”
The QE-2 was a real throw back to the days when ocean liners were the only transportation across the Atlantic and the formalities that were observed then. Since we were traveling first class, it was black tie for dinner every evening. We had two tables in the dining room with our own waiters for each. Someone had even consulted Emily Post to make sure that every night we each had a different seating and, thus, different dining companions.
It was at the end of dinner one night when Jim and I independently came to a realization. The QE-2, being a British ship, has one of the most elaborate dessert menus on the planet. The English are real sugar junkies. They’ve actually gone to war over it once or twice. While trying to decide on dessert, a number of guys in our party started complaining about their diets and their weight while they lamented having to pass up all these amazing desserts.
Jim and I were the exact same body type. I’m 6’2” and at the time, I weighed 135 pounds. Jim was my height and not much heavier. I was regularly mistaken for him from behind. We also shared a metabolism which allowed us to eat whatever we wanted and not gain an ounce.
While the chubbies were groaning and drooling over the dessert menu, an evil grin crossed Jim’s face, and he impishly asked me if I thought the raspberry torte had enough calories in it. I quickly realized that Jim’s “Ernie” personality was surfacing and replied I thought so, but then went on to suggest the almondine strudel might be more fattening.
In an instant, Jim and I realized this was the Skinny Kids revenge against all the muscle guys who were the athletes in high school and took all the girls. Now all the jocks were at the age where weight was becoming a problem. Revenge really was going to be sweet.
So, Jim and I proceeded to devilishly discuss the merits and caloric value of every item in the dessert menu, as the ex-athletes and other dieters suffered. Finally, we both decided on separate sugar laden, whipped cream and candied fruit extravaganzas.
After we ordered, and the subject of conversation had just changed to the relief of the others, Jim said loudly to me, “And, we can have some deep dish apple pie with double Devon cream sent down to our cabins later.” Richard Hunt quipped, “You know, you need a prescription to get that in the States.”
On another evening, our two waiters invited us to go bar hopping with them in the crew’s quarters. I declined and have regretted it ever since.
Richard Hunt accepted the invitation and reported back of a parallel universe of neon and linoleum instead of paneling and carpet. There were six crew bars (called “pigs”) on the QE-2. By tradition, crew members do not wash glasses for each other. So, bar hoppers carry their own glasses as they travel from one pig to another.
Sailing the Atlantic on the Elizabeth was a wonderful experience and something I never would have done by myself. It was one of those lovely things that seemed to happen whenever I was associated with the Muppets.
But the writing staff was also expected to turn in a script when we reached South Hampton at the end of the week. So, although our evenings were spent in Cary Grant splendor, our days and nights were spent in cramped cabins trying to write comedy on a pitching ocean liner.
Late on one of those nights I was struggling mightily with a sketch that just wasn’t coming together. Frustration is an occupational hazard of comedy writing. But this particular night, the late hour and the boat’s pitching were really getting to me.
In desperation, I pushed the steward button on my night table. (First Class QE-2 cabins had 24 hour steward and maid service.) Moments later, the steward arrived at my door. As far as I can remember, I snarled something absolutely incomprehensible at him.
“Not to worry, Mr. Bailey.”, he replied soothingly. “How about a bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwich, a few bottles of cold Heineken and a hot pot of coffee?”
I immediately realized that was exactly what I wanted.
My snack arrived almost immediately. The sandwich was perfect. The beer was presented in a champagne bucket full of ice and the coffee was fresh brewed.
This
was real service. Forget about mints on the pillow and extra shampoo. Real service is anticipating what the patron wants before he knows it himself. Alas, this kind of service is all too rare these days.
Of course, the Queen Elizabeth was ideal for the kind of benign mischief that hovered around the Muppets wherever they went.
One night, puppeteer Frank Oz invited me to have a drink with him after dinner. Frank had scoped out the bar at the highest point of the ship that had a dance floor. The day had been a bit rough. And since a ship pivots at the water line, the higher up you go, the more pronounced the ship’s rocking becomes.
Frank and I got ourselves securely seated on a couple of bar stools, which were bolted to the deck, and spent a pleasant evening watching the other patrons, after a few drinks, trying to dance as the ship continued to pitch and roll precariously. To make the evening even more entertaining, we surreptitiously requested the orchestra to play tangos, rumbas, cha-chas, with the occasional hula or Mexican Hat dance thrown in for good measure.
Another evening, during a cocktail party in the cabin of Richard Hunt, he announced that he had made a startling discovery. The main hallway on our cabin deck ran the length of the ship from bow to stern. It was periodically intersected by smaller halls that ran across the ship from port to starboard.
I can tell you from experience, when you’re walking these halls, out of sight of the horizon, it’s easy to become confused about which direction the ship is actually traveling as it plows through the Atlantic at approximately 25 mph.
Richard ushered us to a corner of one of the cross halls where we would be unseen from the main corridor but still be able to see it. He went to the opposite corner to wait for an appropriate prey. Along came three elegantly dressed couples, togged out in tuxedos, evening gowns and high heels, walking unsurely up the main hallway.
When they were about 30 feet from our cross hall, Richard nonchalantly walked across their line of vision,
backward.
This caused them to lose the last tenuous hold on which direction was forward, back, or side to side. The six of them collapsed against each other like rag dolls. It was as though someone had removed their skeletons. So, this became our nightly pre-dinner entertainment for the remainder of the voyage.
The QE-2’S first stop out of New York was Cherbourg, France. After docking for a few hours, she set out across the Channel for South Hampton. For safety reasons, all north/south traffic on the English Channel is usually stopped when the Elizabeth crosses.
It was after sunset and we were having dinner as we made the crossing. Suddenly, out of the dark appeared another ocean liner headed in the opposite direction. It seemed like every window and porthole was lit, and her rigging was outlined in lights as well. She came and went quickly from view. It was one of the most spectacular sights I have ever seen - literally, ships that pass in the night.