What I have needed to survive in this terrible business of the purchasing of talent and integrity (only to have it thrown back at you when you don’t fit a particular agenda or other things go wrong that have nothing to do with how hard you have worked for a quarter of a century or how you have clawed your way through this jungle of unfunny to emerge unscathed and intact and funnier still) is a strong and genuine appreciation of disappointment.
I am devastated not to be able to do my new sitcom, which would have been an absolute riot, and I still think that if any other network were smart, it would snatch it up faster than you can say “greenlit.” It would have starred Mommy, who is such a compelling character. More compelling than any on tv today, maybe more than anyone since Maude. I truly believe in her, the way she could teach America a thing or two about living, and keep them wildly entertained throughout. I am not sure what is the problem in bringing her to network television. Is she too dangerous?
My favorite show, “The Shield,” is chocked full of characters so unpredictable that watching the show is somewhat like watching a powderkeg with 12 year old boys carelessly tossing lit firecrackers inside, lighting them off their cigarettes, sometimes forgetting the cigarette and throwing that in, and returning the lit firecracker between their lips and pow – we go to commercial. I think my mom would thrive in that environment. First of all, she loves Michael Chiklis. “He’s handsome! So handsome. MMMMMM – Greek!!” Like he is souvlaki or something. I think they would be good together. Like filo and feta, like spanakopita. They are exactly the same size, vertically and horizontally. You couldn’t find a better body double, except for the fact that my mom has hair, though it is thinning slightly, as she is just past menopause, so a few hormones here, a few hormones there – and who knows? “Wondertwin powers activate!!! Form of – a spin off series!”
I guess I appreciate disappointment because it makes me want to work off the pain. The sadness that I (actually not even me, but an approximation of me, a weak me cocktail diluted with lots of other people’s opinions of me and not just a bracing shot of me with no chaser) might not be wanted somewhere becomes metabolized into brain power focused on finding the next thing, which lies dormant within, and only needs to be discovered, shaken awake and not stirred.
Anyway don’t bother to look for me this fall, anywhere, at least for now. The revolution will be televised, but first, we’ve got to get through pilot season.