George Carlin
Interviewed by Jules Lipoff
'03
George Carlin's television breakthrough came in the 1960’s with his Hippy Dippy
Weatherman character. Since then he has released 18 hit comedy albums, won two
Grammy and two Cable Ace awards, and starred in 10 solo HBO comedy specials. In
addition, he has starred in several movies, including Dogma, Bill & Ted's
Excellent Adventure, and The Prince of Tides, as well as in his own
sitcom. He lives in Los Angeles and Las Vegas, but spends much of the year
performing to sold-out audiences across the country. His latest book, Napalm
and Silly Putty, has just been released. Carlin recently visited the Yale
campus for a Master’s Tea co-sponsored by the Record and Pierson College.
Were you truly a "class clown" when you were a child?
Yeah, I was kind of a mimic as a kid. I had some skills for mimicking, making
funny faces and noises and physical stuff and voices and as I got a little older
in my childhood I found out I had the ability to make jokes, more of an
intellectual than a physical thing, so that skill was there and that developed.
Sure, like a lot of youngsters, I wanted to draw attention to myself, attract
attention to get the approval of the others, disrupt classes and just be a
general bother to the establishment. Anything I could do to disrupt order was
useful I felt.
So as an adult, why did you choose to enter into comedy as a career?
Well I didn’t. I decided that as a child. I mean that was the way it was
looking to me. It was something that came naturally, came easily, and gained
approval and attention. Children, it seems to me, are drawn in directions that
attract attention. In this case it was positive. Although disrupting class
wasn’t seen that way by the others, in general, being a performer and amusing
other people, getting people to laugh is seen as positive. So as a child I had a
plan to follow that. Plans take different paths sometimes. So you know, the path
wasn’t quite the way I predicted it, but it was very close.
What was your childhood plan?
Well I didn’t know much except for what I had seen around me, because I was
funny and I liked comedians. My so-called idol- I wouldn’t call him my idol but
people use these terms; some language is useful even though it’s not accurate-
was Danny Kaye. He was my model. Danny Kaye was funny physically and did faces,
and physical stuff, and voices and accents. And I thought, "Well I can do that.
I’d like that." And Danny Kaye was in the movies. I saw him as an actor- I
thought of him as an actor rather than a comedian. And I thought, "Well I’d like
to be an actor. And first I’ll be a disc jockey, and then I’ll be a comedian,
and then I’ll become an actor." So that was my little plan and I nurtured that
plan along, but I stuck with that plan long beyond its usefulness. I didn’t know
at the time that I was still pursuing acting as a possible next step, which
lasted quite a while. I didn’t know when I was pursuing it as a next step that I
really had something at hand, that is my stand-up and writing ability, that
could serve me well in the long run and that I could develop and bring to a
higher level. So, I kept looking around for these movie parts because that was
going to get me somewhere else where I wanted to be. That pattern of looking for
a dream was a habit that had outlived its usefulness. So, even with the sitcom,
I thought well, you know they’ve often made tons of these sitcoms over the years
and I’ve always said, "No, I don’t want to do that, I can’t really be myself."
But the offers got better, and this was a good offer with a lot of creative
control, and I thought well maybe before I die it’d be nice to know whether or
not I really do fit there and if I can wedge my way into that. So, I tried
knowing underneath I really didn’t think I could. And I was right. And I was
really happy the day they called and cancelled it. I was so happy. And since
then I’ve done two HBO [specials] and two books.
Specifically about your role as Mister Conductor -- I think it would
surprise a lot of people. It definitely contrasts the profane nature of much of
your comedy. Why did you choose to do that?
The practical surface reason was that it was another acting part that would
show another side of me. I had played a couple of different things that were
different from that and I wanted to show a little bit more flavor, a little
color, a little extra shaving. But, underneath that, I also have an interest in
throwing people off the trail. I like surprising them in a way. So this was very
subversive, I thought, to raise these children on this benign figure and then
have them discover the albums later on at age eleven, twelve, fourteen, or
whatever and let the parents explain that.
So was it all part of some secret plan?
All of that thing I just told you was kind of subconscious. But I can see
that it appealed to me. Whatever parts of it were on the surface, it appealed to
me to through them off the trail and to let parents have to explain to children
that people have different aspects -- that there are other facets to most people
who we see one way.
I’ve read that you are considered a successor to Lenny Bruce and that
apparently he even chose you as his successor. To what extent do you feel he has
influenced your work?
Well, first of all, over time, people who write about you, write about
things, look for pegs and hooks that are convenient. But Lenny was instrumental
in getting Jack Burns [my original comedy partner] and I started, getting us an
agent at the time when we were brand new, really new. I did an impression of him
at that time in our act, and our manager had known him in the Navy. So he
brought Lenny in. Lenny got us our agency contact, which was very important.
Lenny was someone who a lot of performers looked up to because of his honesty
and his brilliance in pursuing the kind of comedy he did at a time when it was
really a danger to do so. He opened a lot of doors. The story of Lenny seeing me
at an early stage came indirectly from the manager of a club I worked in where
Lenny sneaked in to see me in Chicago. The club was called The Gate of Horn. And
he said something to the manager, something to the effect of, "If I’m like Jack
Benny, this guy is like my George Burns." So he made some kind of comparison
that was favorable. He meant that I had promise and probably some skills that he
liked. It was really less formalized than the way you stated it. That’s part of
the myth -- I don’t call it legend.
Are there any more traditional comics whom you admired?
Oh many many many. A lot of young people like comedy because it has a sense
of freedom in it when you hear it. I had a lot of influences and just favorites.
I was just a kid and I had no exposure to quote unquote stand-up nightclub
comics, and vaudeville was gone and burlesque was gone. Radio was big for me as
a child. I was lucky to live in the golden age of radio and the golden age of
television. And radio had a lot of comedy shows and comedians whom I was drawn
to. Charlie McCarthy and Edgar Bergen I loved, and Amos and Andy, and Fibber
McGee and Molly, the Bob Hope Show. There were more that I’m not recalling at
the moment. Bob Hope in the movies was someone I liked a lot. I didn’t care
anything for his television stuff later. I think I outgrew him more; it got old
or something. Red Skelton in the movies. The Marx Brothers because of the
anarchy. The first wave of Marx Brothers revivals occurred in the forties when I
was a kid. There had been 1930’s movies that were brought back in the Upper West
Side of Manhattan. I saw them in the Midtown Theatre in the Carleton. So the
Marx Brothers and the Ritz Brothers and then Martin and Lewis came along and
then Ernie Kovacs. Then there was a big revolution in comedy in the fifties:
more sophistication, more personal expression came into comedy. It wasn’t sort
of a cookie cutter borscht belt or vaudeville style. People were individuals.
Lenny Bruce, Mort Sahl, Shelley Berman, Nichols and May, Bob Newhart, Dick
Gregory, each of them quite different from the others and each of them with a
personal story or message. The improv people began around that time in the
fifties. So all of that fed into the early Steve Allen, Bob and Ray, Redd Foxx,
Jonathan Winters. All of those people as I was forming through my late teens and
early twenties stimulated my comedy thinking and gave me a lot of incentive to
continue what I was doing.
Do you think changes in your material for comedy are a result of changing
times or your changing maturity?
Well what it really amounted to is figuring out that I had a world view that
was pretty much a permanent part of me, and that is this detachment: the feeling
of not belonging or being a part of anything. I never was a joiner. I was kicked
out of or quit most of the things that required order, rules, regulation,
conforming, uniformity never appealed to me. And I never really kind of codified
that as a way of life and thinking. But it occurred to me at the same time that
this writer voice was emerging, that I really had a point of view that dominated
a lot of my writing and a lot of my thinking and behavior. So I thought well if
just strengthen that and formalize that and adopt that as a part of a conscious
central theme of mine, that gives me a certain freedom.
I’m an entertainer first, I recognize that- I’m a stand-up comic- that’s not
a very lofty sounding thing- but there’s art at work here too because it’s
writing and it’s interpreting the world so that is art. And an artist I think
has an obligation to be going somewhere, there’s a journey involved. You don’t
really know where it is, but you’re always exploring yourself and going to the
next level, the next place and trying to get something off your chest.
So then I realized that I didn’t care much about anything. I knew I never
cared about God or religion. And then I realized I didn’t really care about this
country. I didn’t really have a stake in it. I don’t give a shit if this country
explodes tomorrow. It doesn’t bother me and I don’t really care about it.
There’s nothing I care about except family and friends and when I’m involved
directly with a person. But in the abstract, it doesn’t mean anything to me. So
when I realized I had that, I thought, "This is wonderful. I have no stakes in
any of these subjects I talk about. I can divorce myself from them and be over
here as the artist liberated on an island pointing my finger and saying what I
want about things and I don’t have to feel I have some stake in the outcome." So
that was the biggest thing, the most important thing, the best answer I could be
giving you about my process.
How do you come up with your material?
I just have a lot of files. It started when I was eighteen years old
recording, that is to say in handwriting at that time, every thought that I
thought was appropriate and useful and looked like inventory to me, looked like
something promising, or something I wanted to retain. And over time, because my
left brain, if you want to oversimplify that brain hemisphere stuff, my left
brain organizes everything. My right brain dreams it up. My left brain says,
"Let’s get this stuff indexed and categorized and let’s keep track of it." And
every time you have a thought, there’s a neural path established in your brain.
Then the second time you think it, the path gets deeper. The time you write it
down, it deepens further. You read back the note, it deepens further. Networks
begin because the brain is essentially a goal seeking and a problem seeking
mechanism and it does its own networking. It branches out and it finds
appropriately similar thoughts and material that feed the central thought. So
you do it physically that way in the file and the brain does a lot of this
without bothering you. It doesn’t need to get in touch with you. So every time
you look at in the file, it gets better, it gets richer. And you might even
decide, "Okay, I’ll write a little paragraph." You know you just put up a first
draft paragraph about something and you can go on. You do the rest of all your
work that day and you don’t see it for six months. Each time I go in a file and
I find something that really appeals to me, I work on it a little. And those
things have built up over forty years. Now that there are computers in the game
it makes it all not only quantitatively better, but qualitatively.
You tend to avoid topical material, current events in your routines. Why
is that?
I never touch topical material. There’s a timeliness overall. Like abortion
is something that is timely in the sense of these last twenty years and the
immediate future. But I don’t do day-to-day stuff. I don’t do things that have a
shelf life. I don’t like that because first of all, you sound like everybody
else. It’s a very easy thing to do- to make fun of the news. I like talking
about things that are present in the news as larger issues that will always be
there- genocide, war, love, sex, science, nature.
Do you ever get nervous before stage performances, even with your
experience?
No, the only time I get nervous or get some feelings of apprehension and
anticipation are in the situations where they’re not the normal setting. Or some
element is beyond your control. Those are the ones where, you know, it’s an
aspect of a fight or flight syndrome that you anticipate circumstances that you
might want to think what you’ll do if such and such happens and so forth. That’s
kind of a form of apprehension, not real fear. For the most part, I know what
I’m doing, I’m confident in what I do, and I know the audience is there because
they’re already predisposed to like me. It’s when you do something like a
specialized event like a dinner or a luncheon where you have people who normally
wouldn’t be in your audience, and the sexes are mixed, there are husbands and
wives, sometimes clients. I don’t do much of this at all, but there are
occasions. And those are places where you know they’re not there because they
bought tickets weeks in advance to see your show. They’re there because the Ford
dealers are having a luncheon or whatever the moronic business gathering is
about. And for whatever godforsaken reason I’m there, but it’s something I’ve
justified [to myself]. Those are the things that make me nervous.
You’ve performed for college audiences many times. Has your opinion of
college students changed over the years?
Oh yeah. I don’t like to play colleges. They’re not yet fully formed. And
it’s an inhibiting factor. Now this varies obviously. State schools -- the
intellect isn’t as high as in private schools. In rural and conservative and
removed areas there is a lesser sophistication than in Eastern and Western urban
areas. So there’s a variety in this answer implied. But for the most part, to
generalize, colleges in the late sixties and seventies were hotbeds of
risk-taking and thought, well thought of course, but risk-taking and challenging
of authority and questioning values and in some case there were some mild
changes that came about because of that. Some seem important to others, not to
me. But there were changes. That is no longer true. The society has changed and
except for hard sciences and people who want to pursue scholastic careers, it’s
largely about getting a good job. It’s largely about succeeding in the economy.
When mothers are playing Beethoven to their fetuses and enrolling them in grade
schools at their first birthday, something is wrong. So there’s a different
tenor and tone in what I feel and hear and sense from college, from the body of
college personalities, experiences, thoughts, people, the stuff you get. And in
the audiences, there’s a thing I don’t like. I don’t like homogeneity. I like an
audience where everybody is with us. There’s variety, a heterogeneous audience.
I like the fact that in a theatre there’s everything in there. But when you go
to a college, they all have one thing in common. This one great thing in common.
So there’s kind of a flock mentality, kind of a hive mentality. And if you go to
the left on something, I don’t mean politically- if you make a turn and they’re
not there for you, they’re all not there for you, you know? In a regular
audience, you take them somewhere, half of them might wonder... eh? What’s that?
The other half -- oh yeah! So often it’s black or white.
So they’re all of one mind?
And they’re in their own turf. It’s their place and you’re the stranger,
whereas in the theatre everybody’s sort of stranger, and each person in a chair
is a separate entity and you’re playing to all individuals in a manner. So all
those things go into it. I have found it very hard to do the thing I love to do
on a stage, more recently, the last ten years, in a college than I used to. I
don’t know how much of that I bring to it myself, you know. But as I say, you
get a good private school in a big city and it’s fine- there’s no problem.
Do you think you have affected other comics, the newest generation
perhaps?
Well, some of them say that. And third parties tell me that, so to some
extent. I think it’s indirect. You mentioned Lenny Bruce, and Lenny was vilified
and persecuted by the Catholic Church and the Irish police departments of the
north for his candor and he lived in a time when that’s the only reaction one
could expect. He opened the doors for Richard Pryor, people like me, and many
others, but Richard and I probably became the most visible of those who were
able to follow in some of those footsteps in, you know, in a manner of speaking.
If there’s been some indirect influence on other comics, it is that Richard
Pryor and I were able to be both very outside the proscribed circle of, you
know, proper speech and still succeed commercially. To be a part of the culture
and yet be people who chose to criticize the culture in very harsh terms. So,
the fact that that happened, I think, it kind of encouraged some comedians to go
ahead and feel there’s a little more freedom in the field than they had
expected. Lenny didn’t have the freedom. He was the pioneer. Richard and I gave
kind of a creative freedom in spite of our chosen language. So that, I think,
encouraged some others to maybe step into the field who otherwise may not have.
How would you define political correctness? To what extent should we be
sensitive to other people’s ethnicities and beliefs?
I think you should be sensitive one on one. I think overall in the abstract
it inhibits human behavior. I don’t like orthodoxy of the left any more than I
like orthodoxy of the right. I think political correctness is a guilt response
by privileged white campus elitist liberal paternalistic people. I don’t think
whites should be telling us, trying to protect minorities, speaking for them,
and acting paternalistically. I think they can handle that very well by
themselves. Most of these campus liberals who promulgated this political
correctness were failed radicals who didn’t succeed in their revolution and who
were probably in the library when every one else was out in the street out
really getting clubbed. So I have very little respect for them. I think
political correctness is an inhibiting value, and I think it is worth ignoring.
I had some very interesting things in the first book [0Brain Droppings]
that I said about it including all the terminology that is suggested by these
left-wingers. And I, by the way, am probably farther left than any of them in my
overall philosophy.
Recently there has been some comedy that has been of a more profane nature
like South Park. Do you have an opinion on that?
Well, the culture gets what it asks for. I like it because it bothers some
people. I like bothering people. I think it’s important to keep, to keep the,
I’ll call it- I don’t have a good word for it without sounding like everyone
else: the system, the establishment, whatever you want to call it- off stride.
What’s wonderful is these conservatives who rail against this sort of thing are
slaves to the marketplace. These are the people who say, "The unfettered market,
the unfettered market, leave it alone!" You know, it will right things. And it’s
the market that produces all of this because the American psyche is a rather
embarrassing one. The American public body of thought, information, and values
is terribly low, primitive, unsophisticated and willing to tolerate an awful
lot. Everything is done in the interest of gaining material advantage. Whether
everyone’s got to have a Jet-Ski or everyone’s got to have this thing. There’s a
new dildo that plays the Hallelujah Chorus, they got to have one of those.
Everyone’s got to have a, you know. It’s just embarrassing that this wonderful
species has reduced itself to this pursuit of material goods. And the example of
course, the model is the business community, the corporate community, the owners
of everything. That’s the reason I kind of gave up on the species.
There are two things they did that were terribly destructive. The belief in a
supreme being. The belief that there’s an invisible man in the sky who watches
you and keeps score is so primitive. We used to make fun of people in the jungle
because they admired the Sun or they worshiped a tree, which is there. It’s
alive and you see. Here are people telling you there’s a man in the sky deciding
things. There’s more proof for UFOs. Yet you’re considered a kook, outside the
mainstream because... but God, whoa that’s different, so I see this as a
deliberate act on the part of humankind to inhibit itself, to inhibit its own
potential. Here’s a wonderful instrument, the mind that we have. And we have two
things that we’re interested in: a man that keeps score that we never see and
secondly, the pursuit of salad-shooters, snot candy, and a tequila lollypop with
a worm inside of it made of artificial sweetener. You know it’s just really
embarrassing to be a member of this species. So that’s what liberated means.
So you would call yourself an empiricist? You have to see evidence to
believe something?
Oh, of course. I understand belief and I understand its place. And I
understand the need to control people by having these invisible authority
figures. If you can get a person at seven years of age to believe that there’s
an invisible man watching you, you can pretty much add almost anything you want
after that point. So, I think it serves a great purpose. It’s a political act. I
have a thing I’m doing in my show now about the Ten Commandments. I refer to it
as a political document. I try to show how you don’t need ten. Ten is a
marketing number. It’s a convenient number. If you said you there were eleven
commandments, people would have told you to go get fucked. But ten commandments,
like the top ten, the ten best dressed, the ten most wanted- it’s an important
official sounding number so that people respect it. But I take them apart- I
kind of analyze them and I show you how you can combine them. There’s
duplication. Stealing and lying are both dishonesty. So all you need to say is
‘Thou shalt not be dishonest.’ Adultery and coveting the neighbor’s wife-
relatively the same thing- fidelity, infidelity- and they are also dishonesty.
Infidelity and dishonesty are really in the same family. So you know. So I think
this all a game being perpetrated. And it’s very, very effective.
Some would argue that the repetition in the Ten Commandments is to stress
the importance of them.
If it’s just important you’re looking for then you underline and say THIS IS
VERY IMPORTANT. This one is really important. This is dishonesty, this is very
important. But I understand why they do that.
Albert Einstein once said, "Education is what remains after one has
forgotten everything he learned in school." What should people remember after
they’ve heard you? Or what do you hope that they’ll take away?
I don’t wish anyone to take something away. Laughter is therapeutic, you
know, there are aspects of it you know that are actually shown I guess
scientifically to be very useful psychologically and physiologically. So I know
that that effect is there. I just want people to laugh and see my stuff. I’m a
show off. That’s basically what this is about. The fact that I like to look into
ideas as part as what I do is more for me than for them obviously. When you quit
school in ninth grade, you live with a certain, I won’t call it inferiority
complex because that’s dramatic, it’s not that. But you live with a certain need
to show your smarts. To prove kind of to yourself mostly and the world that hey
I’m a pretty good thinker here, I’ve got some thoughts I’d like to share with
you. So, part of it has to do with that.
So, your comedy is more an outlet for expression, rather than a means to
affect people?
Yes. I care nothing about the effect, except that it’s part of what I do-
there’s a circular event that takes place between me and an audience. But the
idea is expression. That’s why there is some room for the word art in this
process because it’s about self-expression. It’s all about just getting thoughts
and ideas and feelings off your chest, expressing you know the stuff that makes
you kind of restless. |