The Cast of Saturday Night: The Playboy Interview

A nice talk with one producer, maybe six writers, about seven or so performers, including Chevy Chase, who's not really--oh, never mind.

On the second Saturday in October 1975, a live, 90-minute comedy show, titled, appropriately, NBC's "Saturday Night," premiered on that network in what used to be the time slot for "Tonight Show" reruns. It featured a group of young, rubbery-faced unknowns, billed as the Not Ready for Prime Time Players, and a guest host of the week, George Carlin, cavorting in a series of sketches, commercial parodies and takeoffs on the news. The quality of the material ranged from funny to insane, with occassional references that only a bona fide graduate of the late freak subculture could appreciate. But its most salient characteristic proved to be a total disregard for any of television's traditional taboos: Viewers soon found themselves witnessing things they never expected to see on the tube. Among the targets satirized were cripples, homosexuals, bizarre sexual practices, politicians, the Pope, all minority groups, the aged and the recently deceased--in other words, just about anything.

News of the show spread rapidly by word of mouth, especially among those 20-to-40-year-olds who rarely, if ever, watch prime time. Advertisers began to take note. So did the press and, though several critics lambasted the show as "tasteless," "sophomoric" or "subversive," most hailed it as a "breakthrough," and compared it with enthusiasm to the pioneering days of days of television, especially to Sid Caesar's "Your Show of Shows." It soon became necessary for anyone giving a party on Saturday night to have a television set tuned to NBC at the crucial hour. In less than a year, the show's estimated viewing audience was 22,000,000 and the show went on to win four 1975-1976 Emmy Awards.

At least some of "Saturday Night's" success can be credited to its guest hosts, who have included Candice Bergen, Elliot Gould, Lily Tomlin, Richard Pryor and a reunited Simon and Garfunkel. Former press secretary Ron Nessen hosted a show that featured, among other things, a sketch in which Gerald Ford stapled his ear to his head. When a snickering press spread a report that Ford was not amused, the show's already unprecedented notoriety skyrocketed.

But "Saturday Night's" greatest strenght lies in its high-powered cast and writing staff, most of whom are under 30, have had little or no television experience and harbor a healthy lack of inhibitions. Because the people who produce and write TV shows don't often get the public recognition that the more visible performers get, we decided to interview the entire crew of loonies, so we sent Associate Editor John Blumenthal and New York-based free-lancer Lindsay Maracotta to talk with them at NBC headquarters in Rockefeller Center. Their report:


"If we had suspected it wouldn't be easy interviewing the entire cast and writing staff of a television show, the full measure of the task didn't strike us until we stepped off the elevator at the 17th floor of Rockefeller Center. In the slightly shabby offices of the 'Saturday Night' show, we were met by a group of casually dressed people who seemed to be in a constant state of motion--they flowed ceaselessly in, out of and around offices like fish at feeding time in the aquarium. We quietly requisitioned the nearest empty desk and sat back to try and take it all in. After a while, individuals began to distinguish themselves from the maze: Michael O'Donoghue shuffled down a hall, singing 'Giaccobazzi spoken here' under his breath; John Belushi appeared as if out of the ozone, flickered briefly, then disappeared; Gilda Radner hopped from place to place like a migrant rabbit, her cuckoo-clock laugh cutting through the general hum.
"We soon discovered the method behind this mad activity. For three consecutive weeks a month, 90 minutes of comedy must be written, rehearsed and performed on the air in exactly six days. The schedule runs more or less like this: All sketches must be in by Wednesday, at which point the cast is assembled for a read-through; Thursday and Friday are spent in the intensive rehearsal and taping spots that require special effects, with constant rewriting occurring right up to, and sometimes even after, the Saturday-night dress rehearsal several hours before air time.

Any wishful thinking notions we had of getting the entire gang to sit down together were shattered when we found that producer Lorne Michaels regularly fails to get them into the same room for their Monday-night creative meetings. Chasing them down in smaller groups proved almost as difficult and conversation took place in studio halls, with carpenters striking sets, technicians stringing cables and assorted writers and players streaking by in a wake of cue cards and coffee cups. Nonetheless, after two weeks of pursuit, we managed to get them all on tape. (For reasons of space, we are including only 14 of the 19 members of the performing and writing cast. Arbitrarily, we left out writers Tom Schiller and Marilyn Suzanne Miller, as well as mutliple-Emmy Award-winning Herb Sargent, the show's script consultant. As the inteview was taking place, a new cast members, Bill Murray, and another writer, Jim Downey, were added to the show)

"Things came to an abrupt halt when Danny Aykroyd sent us a subtle signal that he was tired of talking. Gesticulating wildly, he threatened to blow the tops of our heads off with the .44 magnum he claimed was in his top desk drawer. 'He's only kidding,' his pal Belushi assured us. Still, it seemed like a good idea to retire and find a quiet place to ponder the vision of life according to 'Saturday Night.'"


Dan Aykroyd, writer and performer, does possibly the most deadly accurate impression of Jimmy Carter of anyone to date. Aykroyd, a Canadian, was a member of Second City companies in Toronto and Pasadena and starred in the Canadian television series Coming Up Rosie. A glittering eye and a slightly crazed smile are his trademarks as pitchmen in many of Saturday Night's commercial parodies.

Writer Anne Beatts, an ex-contributing editor of the National Lampoon's editorial board from its inception to April 1974. She has written and performed material for the National Lampoon Radio Hour, including Gold Turkey, an album she subsequently recorded. She is also coeditor of the recently published book Titters: The First Anthology of Humor by Women.

John Belushi, writer and performer, also an alumnus of Second City in Chicago, went on to appear in the National Lampoon show Lemmings and to write, direct and act in both the National Lampoon Radio Hour and the off-Broadway National Lampoon Show. A versatile performer,he has impersonated everyone from Marlon Brando to Henry Kissinger to Joe Cocker and is the show's resident samurai.

Chevy Chase, writer and performer, is to date the first superstar to have emerged from the ranks of NBC's Saturday Night. Starting as a writer, he quickly became known for the athletic pratfalls in his Gerald Ford impersonation and for his role as the mugging anchor man of "Weekend Update." Before joining the show, Chase had written for Groove Tube and for the Smothers Brothers. In October 1976, he officially left NBC's Saturday Night to do a series of specials for NBC but continues to appear on the show semiregularly.

Performer, Jane Curtin, the anchor woman of "Weekend Update," was chosen for the cast of NBC's Saturday Night from an audition of 500 people. She had previously been a membe of the Boston improv group The Proposition, toured with The Last of the Red Hot Lovers and co-authored and performed in an off-broadway revue, Pretzels.

Al Franken and Tom Davis, who have worked as a writing and performing team since high school days in Minnesota, admit they hold nothing sacred, with the possible exception of Hubert Humphrey. Before joining the writing staff of NBC's Saturday Night, they had appeared at the Improvisation in New York and Harrah's in Reno and co-authored and performed in the film Tunnelvision.

Lorne Michaels, producer, began his career with Canada's CBC radio and television networks and went on to write monologs for Woody Allen and Joan Rivers. He then wrote for Laugh-In and was a co-writer of the 1973 Emmy-winning TV special Lily starring Lily Tomlin and coproducer of Tomlin's 1975 special. When NBC executives were looking for a late-night weekend comedy show that would appeal to young urban adults, they turned to Michaels. He conceived of a live, presentational show that would incorporate a variety of comedy styles rather than serve one star and that would be as free as possible from the usual restrictions of TV. Promised 17 shows and six months' development time, he put together the talent for the staff and cast of NBC's Saturday Night.

Performer Garrett Morris began his career studying music at Tanglewood, Juilliard and the Manhattan School of Music and was a member of the Harry Belafonte folk singers. He has appeared on Broadway in Showboat, Porgy and Bess, and The Great White Hope and his film credits include Where's Poppa?, The Anderson Tapes and Cooley High.

Performer Laraine Newman's ambition to become a heroine of horror films may have spurred portrayal of Luciana Avedon rising from a coffin to drink the blood of teenagers. Newman had studied mime with Marcel Marceau and theater at the California Institute of Arts, then became a member of the Groundlings, an improvisational grouped based in her native Los Angeles. She was chosen for the cast of NBC's Saturday Night after appearing in the 1975 Tomlin special coproduced by Michaels.

Writer Michael O'Donoghue's fascination with the perverse and admittedly bizarre took root when he became one of the original editors of the National Lampoon. He was writer, producer, host of the National Lampoon Radio Hour, has written several books and co-authored the film Savages. Although primarily a writer, he also appears on the show, notably as narrator of the "Least-loved Fairly Tales," in which nobody lives happily ever after.

Gilda Radner, performer, has portrayed many of NBC's Saturday Night's more memorable characters, including the bemused Emily Litella and Baba Wawa, a take-off of Barabara Walters. Radner was originally a member of Second City, then appeared in a Canadian version of Godspell and in several CBC shows. She was subsequently a regular on the National Lampoon Radio Hour and a member of the off-Broadway production of the National Lampoon Show.

Writer Rosie Shuster worked extensively as a writer for the CBC TV network before coming to the United States. She received an Emmy nomination for her work as a writer for the 1975 Tomlin special.

Writer Alan Zwiebel served his apprenticeship in the Borscht Belt, where he wrote material for over 25 comedians. As his own act, he then worked in New York's Improvisation and Catch a Rising Star and in several Playboy Clubs around the country.

Now on to the Interview... Playboy: Most reviews have been favorable, but some critics have called Saturday Night tasteless. Once critic even went so far as to compare it to Nazi cabaret. How do all of you respond to that?
Michaels: Who compared it to Nazi cabaret?

Playboy: Syndicated columnist Harriet Van Horne.
Chase: Gee, Harriet and I have a date tomorrow--I'll have to ask her about that. Who is Harriet Van Horne? Her name alone should suggest the problems that woman must have.

Michaels: Ask Michael O'Donoghue about the Nazi stuff. He kind of handles the Nazi questions--he has the uniform, anyway.

Playboy: OK, Michael, what about the Nazis?
O'Donoghue: Oh, there's nothing much. I'm one quarter German and when Deutschland uber alles is played, I get a little tremor in my heart. It's a rush, but I can't help it.

Playboy: Anyone else want to respond to criticism?
Zwiebel: In response to such criticism, we are forced to read this statement especially prepared for important interviews: [Begins reading from a blank piece of paper]: "We are sorry to hear of such things because we believe in the show ourselves and any time we read of such things, we are compelled to regret them with great chagrin."

Playboy: Let's try something a little more specific. Many viewers remember your "Claudine Longet Men's Open Invitational Ski Tournament" sketch as an example of the show's going over the line. How do you feel about it today?
Chase: Yeah, it was felt we'd gone over the line with that one. But here's how it came about. Claudine had shot this guy in the back about 20 times and then tried to get out the bathroom window--no, no, that's a total falsification. I have no idea what really happened, but something told me that a guy doesn't show a woman how to use a gun by giving her the handle and having her point it at his stomach and pull the trigger. That logic somehow doesn't work for me. The "Update" item that I wrote said that Claudine Longet fatally shot and killed Jean-Claude Killey while showin him how she had accidentally shot and killed Spider Sabich, I wrote that because I thought there was something fishy about the whole thing. Ultimately, Michael came up with the "Claudine Longet Men's Open Invitational Ski Tournament." Again, the desire wasn't to hurt Claudine Longet any more than it has been to hurt Ford or any of the other people we satirize.
When I first heard taht the ribbing Ford was getting hurt his feelings, it bothered me. On the other hand, he was a man in the public eye, who had to be held accountable for falling on little girls on wheelchairs, just the way Nixon should be held accountable for bombing Cambodia. God knows who he would have bombed first by mistake.

Playboy: Let's interrupt ourselves here and ask you, Chevy, what you're doing in this interview. We thought you'd decided to leave Saturday Night and do other shows for NBC.
Chase: Yes, the contract says I have to do one one-hour special a year.

Playboy: We assume it's going to be comedy. Did the network give you carte blanche? Chase: No, but I already have American Express and BankAmericard.

Playboy: So what is your association with the show at this point?
Chase: What show is that?

Playboy: Saturday Night
Chase: Oh, that show. No, I've given up on that show.

Playboy: Completely?
Chase: Yeah, I think it's pretty much in the dumper. By the time your interview comes out, it'll probably be off the air. No, I'll be connected in every way. I'll still be associated with it. But I have other things to write and I just want to move ahead. I never want to do anything too long. It's a very rough thing, the show; you have no idea. It's like asking Picasso to churn out a new one very week. These folks are the best writers and performers around, but remember that this is just showbiz--so who gives a shit how great we are? We're not as important as, say Indira Gandhi, so looking at this from afar, I have to ask, Why the hell are we being interviewed in the first place? Still, these people are the best, and they're forced to come up with 90 minutes of live comedy every fuckin' week! You can print "every fuckin' week," by the way.

Playboy: Done. Getting back to whom you satirize on the show and why is everyone a fair target for your humor?
Chase: Everyone's a fair target except Jack Benny, for some reason. I don't know why, but to say on "Weekend Update," "Jack Benny died again today," will not get a lot of big laughs.

Curtin: The press makes you a fair target. If you're in the news, you're a fair target.

Playboy: What if you're in the press unwittingly?
Curtin: Very few people are in the news unwittingly.

Playboy: Does Claudine Longet fall into that category too?
Curtin: She's a fair target in that situation, yes. Why should she be any different from Richard Speck?

Playboy: What if she'd been found innocent?
Curtin: More power to her. But you can't go through the paper and decide whose feelings you want to hurt and whose you don't. You can't play favorites.

Shuster: If an individual is being hurt gratuitously, that's where I draw the line. If a person is well enough known to be a target, I think it's all right to attack him, because he's put himself in that role. It comes with the territory. But no one here suggested doing Betty Ford mastectomy jokes--it's too cheap a shot. It's too easy. It's like Totie Fields leg jokes.

Playboy: Do any of you have heroes--people you wouldn't go after?
Belushi: Yeah, but I won't tell you.

Aykroyd: I do. Moon Landrieu, mayor of New Orleans.

Playboy: Why is he your hero?
Aykroyd: Because his name is Moon, of course. They named the kid Moon; that's heroic.

Belushi: Ernie Banks is a hero of mine.

Aykroyd: George Montgomery. He made the transition from acting to advertising furniture polish.

Playboy: Let's broaden the question a little. Are there any sacred cows? Is there anyone or anything you wouldn't touch under any circumstances?
Aykroyd: Everything and everybody is open, including ourselves. Hell, I've been called psychotic on the show several times and I don't mind. I have certified papers to prove it.

Playboy: To prove what? That you're psychotic?
Yeah, I'm a latent psychopath. I could be Charles Whitman. Everybody is open, including our own foibles and our own psychological perspectives. We made fun of Belushi. We did that sketch in which he sold his clothes.

Playboy: Refresh our memory.
Belushi: It was the "John Belushi Line of Clothing" and I sold the clothes I had on. It was a poke at the way I dress--which is to say, in wretched taste.

Playboy: Do you have any sacred cows, Michael?
O'Donoghue: If if did, I'd wipe them out as an act of faith. I've found that if you attack your heroes, later you find out they're really swill, anyway. [Telephone rings. O'Donoghue picks up the receiver] Hello? Hello? Who's this? Anita Loose? Hi. I loved your book. Is my mother out there? [He hands up the phone]

Playboy: How about Mother? Is she sacred?
O'Donoghue: Mother? As a matter of fact, when I wrote for the National Lampoon, people used to write to me and say, "Boy, how do you like this? What if your mother was tied up with barbed wire and Japs were fucking her?" That really blows me away.

Playboy: Anybody else on sacred cows?
Radner: Oh, I know what bothered me. We did a Nazi scene on the Eric Idle show and I got a little worried about it, because it was right near Yom Kippur.

Playboy: What Nazi scene was that?
Radner: These Nazis were planning a strategy in a Nazi beer hall and we all went "Heil, Hitler!" and sang Tomorrow Belongs to Me, and I wanted to wear a disguise so my mother wouldn't recognize me.

Playboy: Let's go back to the subject of criticism for a moment. What's your hate mail like?
Zwiebel: Hateful.

NewmanZwiebel wrote a commercial about a woman buying some tooth paste, Kresk, for her dead son, the point being that his body would decay but not his teeth if he brushed with Kresk, etc., etc., And a woman wrote in and said that her son had just died and that was the first time she'd laughed since he died. But that's not really hate mail is it?

Shuster: We made up a list of people that dolphins are definitely smarter than and I added Steve Lawrence and Eydie Gorme to the list and when we got a letter from them, I felt ashamed, because they are big favorites of my family and there they were, feeling humiliated.

Morris: All I get is mail saying how wonderful I am, of course, and how beautiful and marvelous I am and how I should be on the show more often. Actually, Lorne got one letter saying, "Dear Mr. Michaels, I think you're a genius. John Belushi is a so-and-so , but that Garrett Morris is such a dummy. How can he be on TV doing the things he does?" That one came as a result of the "Hard of Hearing" sketch.

Playboy: Describe that for us.
Morris: It was a bit we used to do on "Weekend Update." Chevy says, "And now for those of you who are hard of hearing here is the headmaster of the New York school for the Hard of Hearing." Then he says, "The top story of the day..." and I shout, "THE TOP STORY OF THE DAY..," and so on. IT was sick, right? A lot of people misunderstood it and said it was unfair to the deaf.

Playboy: What was your answer to that?
Morris: My answer was, "Huh?"

Franken: We got some hate mail for a piece we did on those homosexual mass slayings in Houston about three years ago.

Davis: It was on the show Candice Bergen hosted last year. The show was a little too sweet, so we needed something with an edge to it.

Playboy: How about you, Dan? Have you gotten any hate mail?
Aykroyd: After I did the "Bassomatic" parody, in which I threw an entire dead fish entire a blender, some woman wrote to me.

Playboy: Why?
Aykroyd: She objected to liquefying dead lower species, I guess. Hell, that's the way we used to make fish chowder. We just put the whole fish in there with some clams and oysters and crackers and mixed it all up. Makes a great chowder. You get to see the actual physical shape of the fish change instantly. And this lady got upset, so I wrote her back with this long dissertation on the properties of matter and mass and molecular change and we got this dialogue going.

Newman: When I impersonated Squeaky Fromme on the show once, some Manson people wrote in on this bright-orange stationery with little flowers and daisies, saying, "Dear Mr. Michaels, You Know Charlie's a really beautiful person and you shouldn't have talked that way, and we really love your show, but you shouldn't have spoken about Squeaky that way, because that was really terrible. Love and Peace." With a happy face drawn on it.

Playboy: To which sketch were they referring?
It was me as Squeaky and Jane as Sandra Goode in prison doing an ad for---

O'Donoghue: Human-hair pot holders. And that wasn't all. As the camera pulled back, both girls were bald and had crossed carved on their heads and Laraine was pinching her tits and screaming and they were were doing a self-mutilation thing. My God, it was distasteful! You're not going to see that kind of thing on the Dick Van Dyke show.

Playboy: That's for sure. Do you get any fan mail, Michael?
Yes, and I also get mail saying, "Dear Scum."

Playboy: How about mail from minority groups?
O'Donoghue: No, the ethnic groups don't fucking care. People think they care, but nobody cares. This illusion is kept up in the media. Oh, my God! Nudity on Broadway! Will it be permitted in Bad Breath, Wyoming? What next? Nobody gives a fuck.

Playboy: All right, everybody gets a turn. Anyone else on reactions to the show, hate mail?
Radner: I got a letter once that said my face looked like a dried-up prune.

Playboy: How did you react?
Radner: Like a child. I cried.

Playboy: Do you ever answer mail like that?
Radner: Yes. Zwiebel and I once spoke at a college and I said something that was minsinterpreted by someone who loves Belushi and he wrote John a letter saying that I have about as much talent as an Irish setter. I wrote back saying something mean about the dog and I sent him an autographed picture of me, but first I told Belushi to write something nice to the kid so the kid would like me. Belushi wrote, "I like Gilda very much. She's a cunt with teeth."

Michaels: We got some mail on a sketch Eric Idle wrote involving goldfish, a statement on the American tendency to overfeed pets. Since Dan's gotten mail about fish too, I have to conclude there are a lot of fish lovers out there. The sketch involved throwing a lot of stuff into a goldfish bowl and hundreds of people wrote in, complaining that we'd killed the goldfish, when we really hadn't killed them. In fact, a stagehand died trying to save the fish, but no one wrote in about him.

Chase: I remember when the Vatican had just come out with its statement condemning homosexuality and whacking off. All I could think of was men in frocks whacking off, so I wrote a satirical thing about the Vatican for the show. Afterward, I got a bomb threat by telephone and when I got home that night, there was a package waiting for me. Very suspicious. I called the New York bomb squad. The following week, we did a parody on them. It was a take-off on what had actually happened. They're not really careful. These guys come in and they look at the suspected bomb, and their first test is to kick it. First they look this way, then they say, "Everybody look out!" and then the guy kicks it and jumps back a foot. he could have blown the building up. Anyway, it turned out to be chicken soup.

Playboy: One of last year's most publicized--and criticized--shows was the one hosted by Ron Nessen, President Ford's press secretary. Since you knew Ford would be watching, was there a premeditated effort to stack that show with shockers?
Michaels: Behind that question is the assumption that I even have time to realize that the President might be watching. There really isn't time for that. The show represents what's going on in our lives that week--and we rarely have time to think beyond that. This is roughly how it goes: On Monday, we walk in and find nothing written. There will be a new host wanting to know what he's supposed to do, so you set to filling 90 minutes of air time. Scripts are started, sets are ordered, and all of a sudden it's Wednesday and you see there's nothing written for Gilda. By Saturday, we're frantic and the show goes on, in whatever shape it's in, and after that, we go out and drink. Sunday is for lying home and sulking. So you can see, there just isn't much time to be Machiavellian about who's going to be watching or what the effect is going to be. The process is one of problem solving. It's reactive rather than conspiratorial.
As for that particular program, one of the problems we had to solve that week was dealing with the technicians' strike at NBC. We had to come up with sketches that were stand-up presentations--such as ad parodies--because the cameras couldn't move. That's why we had sketches like the "Fluckers" and "Autumn Fizz" commercials--not because we stacked them for that particular show.

Playboy: What was the "Autumn Fizz" sketch about?
Zwiebel: Gilda and I wrote that piece together. Gilda comes out and says--

Radner: "I love being a woman. Feeling soft, fresh and fragrant makes me glad I'm myself. When I think of Tiffany and Cartier. And when I think of feminine hygiene, I think of the finest in feminine hygiene, I think of Autumn Fizz--"

Zwiebel: In a seltzer bottle--"

Radner: The carbonated [burp] fizz.

Zwiebel: "Now in three flavors--strawberry, lemon and egg cream."

Radner: And then I said, "Don't leave him holding the bag." And nobody wanted me to say that.

Playboy: Why not?
Radner: It was a cheap laugh. It was a laugh of people saying, "My God, they made a reference to a douche bag on television!"

Radner: I was really proud of us in that show, because we didn't put any restrictions on what we thought was funny because Ron Nessen was hosting.



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