They Have To Be Real

Jack Benny’s radio show started in New York and migrated to Los Angeles only because major film companies signed up comedians to star in motion pictures.

Even after his film career dried up, Jack never had the temptation go back to New York permanently. It wasn’t just a case of he had settled down in Beverly Hills. He explained why to Orrin J. Dunlap of the New York Times. This column was published April 28, 1940.

Jack also dissects his radio show in this story, and explains why Eddie Anderson was never billed under his real name (for that matter, neither was Mary Livingstone, who finally accepted her character’s “Mary” as her legal name).

THE radio comedian has a license to go crazy, but basically his performance must be real; the audience must believe everything. That is Jack Benny’s evaluation of broadcasting. After the show is over it doesn’t matter whether listeners believe or not, but believe they must while the show is on.
Benny is a firm believer that the “early bird catches the worm.” He doesn’t like to work at night. That is the time for refreshment and sleep. Morning offers the most productive hours for work, he contends, whether writing a broadcast script or making a movie. He finds that in the morning the mind is fresh. At breakfast, therefore, is a good time to interview him, while he is in the East visiting on Manhattan Island.
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How do you account for the success of your radio formula? he was asked.
First, he exp1ained, the formula provides that every performer becomes an established character with the audience. Every line must be written to fit each mouth. In this way every character in the broadcast becomes such a part of family life from coast to coast that the listener can sense what each one is about to say.
“I try to make my character encompass about everything that is wrong with everybody,” continued Benny. “On the air I have everybody’s faults. All listeners know some one or have a relative who is a tightwad, show-off or something of that sort. Then in their minds I become a real character. I don’t have to depend upon jokes. What I say from ordinary experiences In life sounds funny to the listeners because they experience the same things.
“We try to keep Mary as the little fresh dame who knows me well and is never afraid to say what she thinks. Phil Harris is a typical fresh guy found in every town, and for some reason or other people seem to love that type of fellow. Then, of course, we must have at least one nice character. That’s Don Wilson. And for the exact opposite of Phil Harris is the tenor Dennis Day, a very naive character. Rochester (Eddie Anderson) is the valet. I lead with my chin to get replies from him, but he knows I like him, and no matter what he says or does he knows I won’t fire him. Rochester is a good reader of scripts; he once played bits in vaudeville. He never tries to overdo, but he gets the laughs. Never is he supposed to be an actor or a part of the program. Always the audience thinks of him as my valet. That is why we never mention his name in the cast. The trick is to keep him in character.
“Andy Devine is a lovable, friendly character who comes in from the country, but he can appear only occasionally. And once in a while we cut Rochester out too, because, no matter how good an actor, it would be an error to use him in the broadcast if the script didn’t need him.
“What we really try to do is take the Amos ‘n’ Andy formula, ‘Easy Aces,’ or any good serial, make it broader and depend more on jokes. You can’t go wrong with that format; it’s a success. It is taken from life.”
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As soon as one broadcast is over the next program must be put together. Benny and his two writers, Bill Morrow and Ed Beloin, meet on Monday to discuss the approaching Sunday show. They may have a definite idea; they may not.
Then on Tuesday or Wednesday morning the three meet and write from 10 o’clock to noon. Thursday they go over it again. Friday they spend a couple of extra hours on it, and that evening or Saturday noon the entire cast assembles for the first reading of the script. The program is then rewritten from start to finish.
Sunday noon the script again is read by the cast. Parts of it are rewritten for a final polishing and at 2:30 a real rehearsal is held. At 4 o’clock (Hollywood time) the gong strikes and the show is on the air.
Immediately after the broadcast much of the script is rewritten; the gags that did not pay off are cut out of the repeat performance at 8:30 o’clock, Pacific Coast time. his revision also helps the actors; it gives them different lines to keep them keyed up and the show does not sound rehearsed or cut-and-dried.
While broadcasting from New York, Benny finds the pace is more hectic. He explains that people listen to the 7 o’clock show in New York and then come to the studio at 11:30 to see the performance. It is tough, he explains, to get the laughs from a studio audience that has heard the program earlier in the evening.
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“Why do you pay so much attention to the studio audience when your real audience is invisible?” the interviewer asked.
“Well, if we don’t get laughs from the studio audience, listeners think the show is no good,” said Benny. “The stronger the laughter, the better the show in the minds of listeners. I wouldn’t want to put on a comic show without a visible audience. It would sound dead, especially when a program depends upon jokes.
“It’s amazing to me how the youngsters understand the show. But I guess today kids are smarter, plus the fact that while our show is fairly sophisticated we keep the characters real, and have them do human things that all ages understand. We endeavor to make the program typically American, not Broadwayish or topical.
“That is why I wouldn’t want to go on the air from New York for a whole season,” continued Benny, as he lit up a fresh cigar. “We couldn’t be as rural or homey as we are in California. Out there we all feel that we are in a small town and can go places and do things as the people all do. It’s all right to come to New York for two or three weeks. But in the East we find ourselves acting like tourists. I’d never get a feeling for my Maxwell car or going to the country in New York.
“I like California as long as I know I can get back to New York when I feel like it!”