William Katz remembers: I do solemnly swear
William Katz has had a long and varied career, as an assistant to a U.S. senator; an officer in the CIA; an assistant to Herman Kahn, the nuclear war theorist; an editor at the New York Times Magazine; and a talent coordinator at The Tonight Show. He is the author of ten books, translated into 15 languages. He admits to degrees from the University of Chicago and Columbia. When I asked him if he'd ever written about his various careers, he said that he hadn't but that he would be happy to do so. His reflections on his work for the Tonight Show are here and here. He took a look at the film industry in the posts "Hollywood, hurray for?" and "Hollywood, hurray for? The sequel." His most recent post (on the publishing industry) is here. Today he writes:
An American president will not be running for a new term. An unpopular war is on, and the White House approval rating is in the jump-off-the-ledge range. The country is angrily divided. Even some of the president's allies turn on him. The press, especially The New York Times, is endlessly negative, and portrays the war as hopeless. CBS sends its chief anchor to the combat zone. A new general is appointed to turn the war around. The makeup of the Supreme Court is a major issue. Critics decry American "arrogance."To comment on this post, go here.Today? Well, yes, of course, today. But that was also 1968. The war was Vietnam. The new general was Creighton Abrams Jr., whose vast contribution has been eclipsed by debate over the war. CBS sent Walter Cronkite to Vietnam, and has just sent Katie Couric to Iraq. We might, by the way, hope that Couric's reporting holds up better than Cronkite's.
In 1968 I was an editor on The New York Times Magazine, and had pretty much decided to strike out on my own as a writer. And so, as an early step, I wandered downtown one night to the Village Vanguard, the legendary jazz club founded by the equally legendary Max Gordon. The Vanguard was a basement room, and, aside from jazz, sometimes featured cabaret. Isaiah Sheffer, a fine drama teacher, was forming a new comedy group there called The DMZ, so named for the demilitarized zone separating North and South Korea. In the group was a young, struggling actor named Morgan Freeman.
I was sufficiently inspired by what I saw that night to submit a sketch to The DMZ. It was called, "The Presidential Oath," the oath of office as it might have been taken by Richard Nixon. The sketch was accepted, and I returned to the Vanguard to attend my "premiere." For the first time I heard words I'd written spoken by first-class actors. The audience response was terrific. There's nothing that thrills a writer more than hearing real people laugh when they're supposed to.
I was launched as a writer, on my way to throwing off the shackles of financial security.
That was ten presidential elections ago, and I recently wondered, how would that oath sound today? Well, given the passions in the country, it might not be a difficult update. So here, almost four decades later, is "The Presidential Oath – Mark II, January 20, 2009":
It is the U.S. Capitol, outdoors. Chief Justice John Roberts rises from his seat and takes his place. The president-elect then stands and faces the chief justice. The presidential spouse places a Bible between them.
CHIEF JUSTICE: Please raise your right hand and repeat after me. I, Hillary Rodham Clinton...
HILLARY: I, Hillary Rodham, and, when I need it, Clinton...
CHIEF JUSTICE: do solemnly swear...
HILLARY: do vaguely commit...
CHIEF JUSTICE: that I will faithfully execute the office of President of the United States...
HILLARY: that I will be President of the United States, and execute whom I please...
CHIEF JUSTICE: and will, to the best of my ability...
HILLARY: and will, with my charm and cash...
CHIEF JUSTICE: preserve, protect and defend the Constitution of the United States...
HILLARY: get Scalia's butt off the Supreme Court, followed by yours, pal...
CHIEF JUSTICE: so help me God.
HILLARY: So help me me.
CHIEF JUSTICE: Congratulations.
HILLARY: Now take off the black dress and sit down.
Cannons fire their salute. The Marine band plays "Hail to the Chief." Bill Clinton cabs to the White House to check the fridge.
You know, that's downright scary. We could actually see that picture.
In the next year we'll be deluged with political humor, satire, and new impersonations. If Hillary is nominated, female impressionists will break out as never before. So, a few words, if I may, about political comedy.
George S. Kaufman famously said, "Satire is what closes Saturday night." Political comedy is extraordinarily hard. First, it assumes that the audience knows what the comedian is talking about. But not everyone follows foreign policy, and Larry Craig is not a household name. The comedian takes a risk with the audience that other comedic forms don't require.
But there's another factor. Bob Newhart taught me the classic definition of comedy - "tragedy plus time." There's a reason why comedians are often serious, even tortured people. Comedy isn't funny. It usually has its origins in personal pain, or someone else's misfortune. But enough time has passed that we can try to laugh at the story. We could laugh at Bill Clinton's problems with Monica because, for years, we'd known of his affairs. Time had passed. We'd absorbed his faults.
Political comedy, though, reacts to fresh events. There's no perspective. Sometimes the characters are new to us. If Hillary flops in a way that reflects the traits we know so well, it's funny. But if Mitt Romney does the same, we may not know him well enough to get beyond a few little laughs. Much political humor will fail, and will close on Saturday night.
A word about impressions: You'll see loads of them. But impressionists rarely impersonate the person they claim. They impersonate the first impressionist who gets that character right. Readers might recall Ed Sullivan, early television's famous variety-show host. Some people said Sullivan couldn't be impersonated because he was so boring and stiff. But along came a young comedian named Will Jordan, who made boring and stiff into recognizable, and very funny traits. An impression was born. From that point forward other impressionists did Will Jordan doing Ed Sullivan. And today, most performers who do Bill Clinton are really doing Darrell Hammond, of "Saturday Night Live," the first to nail Clinton superbly.
A great impressionist doesn't simply mimic physical traits. He, or she, catches the target's attitude. When Hammond does Clinton, we see the conniving mind behind the "I feel your pain" exterior. We haven't had a great impression of Hillary because no one has gotten to her attitude, to the woman behind the speeches. I'll predict – a dangerous thing – that some young woman will capture that attitude, bring her impression to TV, and become very, very famous.
There's some laughter ahead, I hope.
