Gasping for Airtime - Jay Mohr [71]
Thirteen
“Good Morning, Brooklyn”
GETTING YOUR legs broken was a euphemism my manager and I used to describe what it was like not having a sketch on the show. It was appropriate because when I wasn’t in anything, I felt like I could hardly walk. The most painless way to get your legs broken was not to have anything picked for the show on Wednesday night. If Lorne’s corkboard didn’t have an index card with your sketch, you knew right away that you were shut out and it was time to start drinking heavily.
Sometimes it wasn’t until Thursday night rehearsals that the sledgehammer hit you. Perhaps the show was running long and your sketch had to be removed from the rundown so the show would stay on time. The bad news could also find its way to you on Friday night. If you were still in the game on Saturday, you still had to clear the live dress rehearsal at 8:00 P.M. before the 11:30 P.M. live show. Even after the live dress rehearsal, something always had to go.
An hour before the show, everyone would wait outside Lorne’s ninth-floor office for the final verdict. We all knew that no matter what happened, at least two sketches would be removed from the corkboard and thumbtacked to the side. No one spoke much during this time. Too much was on the line, and everyone was a little nervous, always knowing how arbitrary the process was. Sometimes the funniest sketch would be cut. I don’t know why, but it happened regularly. Even if your sketch survived the live dress rehearsal, it could still be bumped if the show started to run long.
On “Good Morning, Brooklyn,” my legs got broken not with a snap, but slowly and gently, which was even more painful. I first pitched “Good Morning, Brooklyn” when Marisa Tomei hosted, which was the second show of my second year. She seemed like a real nice gal. When I said hello, she said hello back. With memories of how my first year had ended still fresh in my head, I needed no more. Say hello back to me and you were forever cool.
“Good Morning, Brooklyn” was perfect for Marisa Tomei. It was basically a parody of Regis and Kathie Lee, but with Italian hosts and the show set in Brooklyn, with all the guests being people from the neighborhood. My character, the host of “Good Morning, Brooklyn,” was named James Barone, and his cohost was Angela Tucci. I was particularly pleased with myself in naming the characters because James Barone was actually a classmate of mine in high school. We had remained friends, so I derived great pleasure knowing that he was about to be immortalized on television—assuming the sketch didn’t get cut.
The sketch generated huge laughs from the normally tough crowd, both when I pitched it on Monday and then again at read-through on Wednesday after Steven Koren, a writer, and I fleshed it out. I felt good about its chances because it passed the SNL litmus test. Rule number one: Make the host funny. Marisa had several zingers in “Good Morning, Brooklyn.” Rule number two: Put the female cast members in your sketch. I had written parts for Molly Shannon and Janeane Garofalo, and made sure they would get laughs as well.
I waited around the writers’ room while Lorne, the producers, and Marisa decided if “Good Morning, Brooklyn” would make the cut. For an hour and a half they deliberated behind closed doors. None of it bothered me. I waited like everyone else and felt no anxiety. Everyone knew the sketch was hilarious, and they knew that I knew. It was almost assumed that my sketch would be chosen. After everyone got to know each other a little better during my first