"The Curious Case of Leo Benvenuti"
March 10, 2009
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I think to myself, "Don't force me to do the math. I hate that." This has been happening a lot to me lately. I meet up with people I've known for a long time and they somehow mention their age. I do the math and think, "Wait, that means, when I first met you, you were just 15 years old. Could that be?" I run the numbers in my head again and they don't jibe. Sure, I know, people lie about their age, especially when they get to be in the 40 to 60 year old age range and especially in this youth obsessed world of show business. I get it. I see the benefits. As an actor, you're pretty much dead at 35 and as a writer, you're out at 40. Who am I to blame these fibbers for trying to squeeze a few extra years out of this business?
I'm 49 years old but I'm beginning to think this reinventing of one's self is not a bad idea. That's why, starting tomorrow, I am 19. So what if the numbers don't fit, so what if they think, "That means I met you when you were negative 12." I wouldn't even care if people said "Leo looks like shit for 19," behind my back. Who knows? Some idiot might actually believe it. But for the others, the psychology would be that people would know I'm lying but feel sorry for me because of my need to lie. A small lie might be corrected, but, it being such a big lie, they'd play along, out of pity. It's a win-win situation. I'll take sympathy over ageism any time. People might say, "That Leo is a liar." Yes, a 19 year old liar. Let's face it, the younger you are, the longer you can generate money for "the powers that be" out there. The studios and/or networks don't care if you're an artist. They only care if you bring in money. As it stands, there's a regime change in the studios and networks every 3 to 5 years. That's great for the liars. With each new regime, I will become viewed anew as one of the "young breed of hotshot writers." Whatever it takes for them not to shut off my electricity, I say. I’m now 19.
I don't care if people wonder how I've accomplished as much as I have in such a short lifetime. How was I able to work comedy clubs in the 80's? I wasn't born until 1990. My mother was born in 1933. That means she was 57 when she had me. Yep. She sure was. My dad died in 1998; how do the numbers work with that? I don't know, they just do. I have a wife of 27 years and two children, ages 21 and 19. Yes, I'm the same age as my youngest child. How could that possibly be? I don't know; piss off. BUT if it gets me another 20 years in show business, who am I to argue?
I ran this past my family. My wife seemed really, really on board... somewhat keen on the idea of being married to a younger man. The kids hated the idea. My son, the 19 year old, wondered if it meant that we had to "hang" together or if I'd show up to his parties. I tried to reassure him I wouldn't. Still, he thought it would be much cooler if I just pretended to have a mental collapse and institutionalize myself. He continued, "I could tell my friends that you thought you could time-travel. That would so freak everybody out." He obviously doesn't get what I'm after here. My daughter was a little more sympathetic. She referenced some facts from her Abnormal Psych class, but also deactivated her Facebook account.
Hey, you might think poorly of me, that I'm desperate, that this whole thing is immature but, hey, what do you expect? I’m just a teenager.
Leo Benvenuti
3/10/09
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"Did You Know?"
Leo's favorite grain is millet.
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"Did You Know?
Leo was twenty-two years old when he first tried cottage cheese.
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"Comedy Writing Secret... Revealed"
by
Shmeo Shmenvenuti
February 18, 2009
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| Shmeo Shmenvenuti (not real name) |
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I
am a professional writer. I've written on a dozen TV shows and sold as
many movies. You may ask if the hundreds of writers that I've worked
with are funnier than you? My answer would be "no." What they have
that you don't, is "comedy writing secrets."
Almost every
writer working in show business implements the following "trade
secrets" on a daily basis. Why don't you know about this? Well, for
one, the Writer's Guild of America's bylaws forbids it. Number one
rule of WGA: The WGA doesn't exist. The number two rule: Never reveal
comedy writing secrets to the public... UNTIL NOW, (which is why I don't
use my real name in this article). I will let you in on this
exclusive, esoteric language, the professional verbiage that sets the
profession apart.
Let's begin.
The Switcheroo: take something and do the opposite.
To Tee something up: setting up a joke or situation.
To make Edgy: make something dirty.
The Send up: take something and make it funny.
To Irish it up: take something and put an alcohol twist to it.
The Upsie Daisy: a big build-up with immediate letdown with comedic twist.
The Titsy McHooterman: a laugh received by employing a funny character name.
The Penile twist: a comedic turn that ends in pain or discomfort.
The Voce Dominus: take something and make it louder.
The Gran Rippen Gauche: ripping off somebody's big idea or concept.
The Petite Rippen Gauche: ripping off somebody's line or joke.
The Reach around: take something, dismiss it, re-introduce it through some back door method, then employ a bodily function to pay it off.
To do a Miss Hobenhabermish: take something and do it like Jerry Lewis would.
The Punani Mon Amore: anything analogous to the complexity of the female reproductive organs.
The Labia Majora: The big broad joke or take.
The Labia Minora: a subtle joke or take.
To Put the stones to it: similar to a "send up" but with a sexual innuendo payoff.
The Shaking the bush, boss: a non edgy misdirect.
The Piss pot porridge: an edgy misdirect.
A "Robert Fulton": an obscure reference.
To Pop a queen: adding insult to injury.
To Pop a queer: adding insolence to injury.
To Pop a quince: adding obnoxiousness to injury.
To Pop a pimple: An outburst.
To Poo in a piddle: telegraphing a joke.
The Clitoral Hood: a capper to a capper
The Dagoba System: any ethnic joke
Before
I learned these terms, I used to say, "How can we make it funnier?" but
that's when I sounded like an amateur. There are literally 1000's of
tools employed by professionals to say just that. But the more you
know, the more precise you can be in achieving your comedic goal and
the more precise, the more professional.
The following is an
actual, eye witnessed account taken from a television writer's room.
I've labeled the players by their credits as to protect their identity
and their standing in the WGA.
A room of ten writers, all with script in hand look to the Show Runner who stands behind a podium. A spotlight isolates him.
Show Runner: I don't like how this next scene plays out. It's like we need some kind of Voce Dominus in there somewhere.
Writer One: Piss pot porridge?
Show Runner: I don't know. I just don't know.
Pause.
Writer Two: May I pitch a send up?
Show Runner: We don't have time. Let's concentrate on just this scene.
Writer Three: How about we take the existing scene and put the stones to it?
Writer Four: Yeah, yeah! But with a Robert Fulton.
Show Runner: You might be on to something. Labia Majora?
Writer Five: As long as we don't poo in the piddle and don't lose sight of the switcheroo.
Show Runner: Of course, of course.
Writer Six: Can we start with a reach around?
Writer Seven: Yeah, start with a reach around and end with a penile twist!
Show Runner: (laughing) Brilliant!
The
rest of the writers join in on the laughter. There's a knock at the
door. They stop laughing. An ordinary man delivering lunch enters.
The writers dart their eyes back and forth in a sinister way. One
writer sneers at the man, who's beginning to feel very unwelcome. One
writer snickers. The man puts down the food and leaves. The writers
burst into laughter.
Actual conversation from a real writer's
room. Can you imagine if these comedy writing secrets got out to the
general public? Yes... this elite, secret sect, known as the WGA would
have to hire from the outside, decimating its highly paid and exclusory
group of fat cat writers. Why am I doing this? Well, I don't want to
pop a queen here but this punani mon amore patronage system has to
stop.
Leo Benvenuti
Shmeo Shmenvenuti
2/18/09
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LEO'S Turn Ons LEO'S Turn Offs
Fine Cheese Apples
Good Wine Neck Ties
Millet Elastic
Family Sandals
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"34-4-16"
(a short short story)
January 29, 2009
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Keaton
loved visiting sporting goods stores. He especially liked the gun
section. He had never been to this one. As he walked through the
store, he mouthed his locker combination with each step. "34" step,
"4" step, "16" step, and so on. This was his routine for the last forty
years, and he hadn't forgotten the combination yet.
"Hi, my name is Keaton."
The salesman looked up, "Hi Keaton. How can I help you?"
"That's a big gun."
"Sure is," replied the salesman, "Why a gun like that'd blow a hole through three cheating wives."
Keaton
blinked and looked again at the shotgun mounted on the wall, sizing up
its length with amazement. "How big is that gun? From here, it's
gotta be, at least, seven, maybe an eight footer."
The salesman
turned to the gun then back at Keaton and said, "Nah. It couldn't be
more than four, four and a half feet long."
"Really?" responded Keaton. "From here it looks bigger."
"I could measure it, if you want."
Keaton looked at the salesman and nervously stepped from side to side, thinking, "34-4-16, 34-4-16."
Embarrassed that he might be wrong, Keaton changed the subject. "How much does it cost?"
The salesman turned around and flipped the price tag on the shotgun
and said, "Four-hundred-seventy-five." When the salesman turned back,
Keaton was gone. The salesman then took out a yardstick and measured
the gun's length... not because of Keaton, but for himself.
Two weeks later the salesman was busy showing some handguns to a
customer. He picked one up, handing the gun to the customer like a
waiter shows a fine bottle of wine. "Now this baby'll blow a hole
through a lotta cheating wives."
The salesman's right eyebrow
twitched; he sensed he was being watched. From across the way, he
could see a pair of eyes looking through the fishing rods that stood
like a hedge of bamboo. The salesman raised his hand and made the
shape of a gun and pointed it at the hedge. He pulled the trigger back
and said, "Not this time."
Keaton ran out of the store,
34416, 34416, 34416... He would never come back. That night, Keaton
cried when they turned off the lights. How could he have been so wrong
about how long that gun was?
Leo Benvenuti
1/29/09
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"Sundial a Wife"
(a short short story based on real events)
January 18, 2009
RATED R FOR LANGUAGE
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I used to
work at one of those big banks in downtown Chicago when I was in
college. It was Continental Bank. I was a janitor. My boss was Willy
Thomas. Willy was a tall, skinny black man, well into his sixties. He
slurred, lisped, slanged and spoke with no punctuation marks, teeth
always clenched. He swore more than anybody I'd ever met. I worked
there for a couple of years and I never understood what he was talking
about. You could only make out every fifth word. We could be talking
about sports, politics, whatever. His responses had nothing to do with
the subject.
Me: "How d'you think the Cubs'll do this year?"
Willy: "Fuck'n over huh for dust on tits-a-glass."
See what I mean.
I
got tired of constantly asking, "What? What, I didn't understand."
The more he'd repeat what he said the less it made sense. Soon, I
became the master of the meaningless, non-response. For example:
Willy: "Poop shoot in a jizz blanket oh for a suck mah-tha-fuckah"
Me: "Eh, what'ya going to do?"
Willy: "Y'gotah ease d'cock nah pink onah isside."
Me: "Yeah, what's up with that, Willy?"
Willy
was my boss but he was cool. He didn't ask too much of me. We
janitors had our duties so Willy pretty much became part of the
background.
Willy was unemotional and distant. He never went
out with us after work. He took lunch at his desk, which faced a wall
in the break room. We could only guess that Willy unclenched his teeth
to eat. I didn't tease him like the other guys; it's 'cause of this
that I sensed he sort of liked me.
It was time for me to move
on. I put in my two weeks notice 'cause I was going try my luck at
stand-up comedy. On my last day, Willy called me into his office. He
put his hand on my shoulder. He seemed sad to see me go. There was
even a little quiver in his voice.
In a whisper he said,
"Sundial a wife cunt smacksya eel boner dove hacksya bleed'n whore'ess
moist." and that was the last thing Willy ever said to me.
Well,
months had passed and I was hard at work on my stand-up routine. At
one of my exceptionally bad shows, my jokes and routines being boo'd,
hissed, heckled, stared at... everything but laughed at. I was feeling
pretty low after my set. Alone backstage I sat and looked out at the
air in front of my face and seriously contemplated giving up on this
stand-up. Willy's final words popped into my head. He was right and he
couldn't have said it any clearer.
"Sundial a wife (Sometimes
life) cunt smacksya eel (can make you feel) boner dove (alone and
unloved) hacksya bleed'n whore'ess moist." (that's when you have to
believe in yourself the most).
I guess, in looking back, my only regret with Willy was that I didn't listen better. I wonder what else he had to say?
Leo Benvenuti
1/18/09
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"Studio Notes"
January 12, 2009
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It's been a hobby
of mine to collect studio notes from executives and/or their reading
services. These are an inspired amalgam pulled from the 20 or so
scripts Steve Rudnick and I have sold.
P.33 Needs
more of a punch in the opening dream sequence. Give us something never
before seen; maybe pull something out of the opening of "Indiana Jones."
P.8 Character of Maxine is too stereotypical. Make her more of an Anna Nicole Smith type.
P.22 We love
the scene where Dave finds out about his father's past affairs? One of
the funniest scenes in the script. It's still too long though.
Explore the possibility of shortening it or cutting it all together.
P. 50 Tom's
wedding. Tom's anxiety and fear alone isn't big enough for the comedy
to play out. Needs more urgency. Perhaps a giant meteor is about to
hit the earth or we're on the brink of nuclear war. Whatever you
decide, it should be background stuff; it shouldn't overwhelm the scene.
P. 55 Can we
get more comedy mileage in changing it from a Catholic service to a
Jewish one? Maybe it's a New Age ceremony where we can pull the funny
out of all religions, still keeping it respectful.
P. 80 Jack's
speech should be funnier but keep it real. This is his opportunity to
expose his father for the fake that he is. This should be an honest
moment. Perhaps he does it in a PowerPoint demonstration, a video
journal, perhaps he hires actors to play out his father's past.
P. 22 The confrontation between the characters seems uninspired. Watch "Four Weddings and a Funeral" for new ideas.
P. 101 This is
still our favorite scene and the bread and butter of our movie.
Everything has been leading up to this moment and it still doesn't
disappoint. Once you incorporate the new First Act and new plot points
and new characters, we're sure it will make this scene stronger.
Leo Benvenuti
1/12/09
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