I cannot stop thinking about the interplay between death and humor, probably due to Rosina's departure from this dimension, and the fact that I know her via the Warner Brothers crowd.

Death is, by the way, the only thing that really sobers comedy writers up. I was at the funeral of a little girl once—attended by veterans of Warner Brothers, Acme Comedy Theater, and the Groundlings—when M.D. Sweeney (still in the comedy/improv business at that time) looked around at the maybe 100 very silent actors and comics present. "Well, this shut them up."

He didn't mean it in a good way. It was just an observation.

Of course, even Mr. Death doesn't always win; he doesn't have the final word. As we paid our respects to the greiving father, my husband—who has a superb rapport with this man—made an outrageous suggestion that he ought to loan us money—a few dollars so we could go out to lunch—and it was just the right kind of black humor. The guy threw back his head and laughed, seemingly for the first time in weeks. He needed it, too.

It was one of the husband's shining moments: knowing someone well enough to find something on that line—funny, when it could easily have been sick.

I love these people: I'd never really experienced gourmet humor before I fell in with this crowd. And they aren't snobby about it at all; they'll still make puns and the like, if they're relaxed enough. And they aren't afraid to laugh; they aren't parsimonious with their laughter.

Best of all, they aren't mean. When funny people can manage not to be mean, it's the best thing in the whole world. And it's out there!

Posted by: Attila Girl at 06:58 AM | No Comments | Add Comment
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