Considering the long success Jack Benny had on television, it seems odd that he would once say that he didn’t think he would be as successful on TV as he was on radio. (Benny’s tele-shows began in 1950 and he was in the midst of putting together a special when he died in 1974). But that’s what he told New York Daily News columnist Ben Gross.
In a piece published May 25, 1947, Jack also dissected radio comedy, including his own, and guessed what jokes had got the biggest audience response (on radio) up until that time.
BENNY REVEALS SECRET; WHAT A COMEDIAN NEEDS; NAMES FAVORITE COMIC
Mr. Benny Talks Comedy . . . That nasal-voiced, baggy-eyed pride of Boston—Fred Allen—is, as you may have long suspected, Jack Benny's favorite comedian. "Allen is not only a great performer, but also a great writer."
We were discussing the dolorous art of winning laughs over the radio. The scene was in Jack's dressing room, backstage of the Roxy Theatre, where the Waukegan fiddler has been making box office history. His silver gray hair reflecting shadows from his flamboyant dressing gown, Benny, after five shows that day, was in a mellow, contemplative mood. "Do you know what is the best-written comedy show on the air?" he continued. "It's Amos 'n' Andy.' Bob Hope is superlative in the field of gag. And for comedy delivery and timing, one of the very best is Bing Crosby."
Your Reporter—"Jack, you are by now an American tradition. You get $25,000 a week for your NBC show. So, like a successful man, how about pontificating a bit on your art? In other words, what is the secret of successful radio comedy?"
Benny—"I'm not so hot as a pontificator, Ben. But, in my opinion, a great comedian must have, in addition to personality, delivery and timing, a sense of humility. Also, a certain amount of pathos and, of course, he must create a character.
"Every great comic of history had some or all of these elements. I'm not egotistical enough to call myself 'great,' but, thank heaven, I am successful. And I attribute this, in good part, to the fact that I have created a consistent, likable, easily recognizable microphone character."
Y.R.—"And also your broadcasts feature a story line, situations rather than mere gags."
Benny—"I've been in show business for 36 years, 15 of them in radio. (He's 53). And even before I knew why I did it, I always was partial to situation comedy. As a vaudeville monologue man, my jokes were strung on a story thread. Then, as an emcee, I always made myself, during the performance, the victim of a series of embarrassing circumstances. So you might say I hit on the format of my radio show more than 30 years ago."
Y.R.—"What is the chief defect of radio comedy today?"
Benny—"It's the sameness of most programs. But with so many comedians on the air, this can hardly be avoided."
Y.R.—"How can radio comedy be improved?"
Benny—"You've got me there. Honestly, I don't know.
Y.R.—"Some comedians think they're more important than their writers. How about you?"
Benny—"I'm not that kind of a fool. The writers are just as vital as the comedian. They must work as a team. I have four great script men Sam Perrin, Milt Josefsberg, George Balzer and John Tackaberry. (Note—Rumor says they split around $4,000 a week between themselves.) In order to get the best out of them, however, I have found it necessary to become an editor, a supervisor and a co-author. We all contribute ideas. For example, those long-running situations—'The I Can't Stand Jack Benny Contest' and The Male Quartet—were created by my writers. And I myself thought of having the Ronald Colmans as visitors."
Y.R.—"Do you see any new trend in radio comedy?"
Benny—"No, I don't. But I say this: our laugh programs can now afford to become more adult, more sophisticated. There is no such a thing as a 'hick' audience anymore. The small towners are just as smart as the New Yorkers."
Y.R.—"Do you think your radio show would be equally successful in television?"
Benny—"I don't think so. I'd be afraid to try it. We'd have to alter our format radically. In my opinion, the comedy of television will be the comedy of the legitimate stage and of vaudeville.
Y.R.—"I don't agree with you Jack. I believe your show could be easily adapted to the camera. Want to bet? . . . Okay, then changing the subject: What were your biggest laughs in your 15 years of broadcasting?"
Benny—"The first time the listeners heard the sound of the opening of my safety vault. Also when Ronald Colman asked his wife: 'Have you ever seen Phil Harris' musicians?' and she answered: 'Please, honey, I'm eating!' . . . On both occasions, the studio audience roared for 38 seconds . . . and if you'll count 'em you'll realize that's a long, long time for laughs."
This is what he says in 1947. Bob Hope essentially declared the same thing, only from a financial standpoint: "The couldn't PAY me enough to be on TV!", he said in early 1950, before Frigidaire waved $190,000 in his face for a deal involving five specials over a period of one year; THAT kind of lettuce appealed to Bob for him to take the plunge, beginning with an Easter Sunday special that year. Probably because of Bob's decision, Jack KNEW he was going to have to start appearing on TV as well.
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