Loving Carol

A tribute to my favorite comedian

Ed. Note: This week’s column originally appeared on an old blog of mine in November 2005. It has been edited and updated.

As a child I spent many a Saturday night watching “The Carol Burnett Show.” When it went into syndication, I watched the episodes over and over again, and even now if I want to get the giggles, I’ll watch old sketches of Carol’s on YouTube.

Everything I know about comedy I learned from “The Carol Burnett Show.” Carol and her costars, Harvey Korman, Tim Conway, and Vicki Lawrence, always seemed to be having so much fun together. A few months ago, Carol did an interview with Stephen Colbert where she discussed how her Emmy-winning variety show was a rep company, where each member had the opportunity to be supported by other cast members. The two talked about the difference between being a comic and a comedic actor. Carol relayed what famed vaudevillian Ed Wynn told her when she was starting out: “A comic says funny things; a comedic actor says things funny.” And Carol was a master at saying things funny. She didn’t take herself too seriously, and she didn’t want you to take her too seriously, either. She could sing, dance, and always had on some fabulous Bob Mackie gown. Even the dresses I thought were hideous were total eye candy, with all their sequins, feathers, and shimmer.

So many of her sketches are indelible in my mind, easily remembered like lyrics to songs I loved as a kid. I think a big reason why Sunset Boulevard is one of my favorite movies is because Carol and Harvey did such a great job satirizing that film. Her wild-eyed Nora Desmond screaming “Max, Max!” had me chuckling while watching the original film with Gloria Swenson. I still haven’t seen Gone with the Wind because “Went with the Wind” parody was way too good to be ruined by the Clark Gable/Vivien Leigh blockbuster. It took me several years to finally watch Mildred Pierce, as her “Mildred Fierce” sketch made the Joan Crawford film pale in comparison.

Carol was part of my family. She would come on TV and the air suddenly seemed fresher, colors much brighter. My family bonded over the skits she would do. Any fan of “The Carol Burnett Show” knows about Mr. Tudball’s constant struggle to get Mrs. Wiggins to use the office intercoms. When Pops attempted to eliminate the yelling in the house by buying a set of intercoms, all it did was get me and Momcat pretending to be Mrs. Wiggins, saying “Hello!” into the intercom every time he started talking. He was none too pleased.

About two weeks before Momcat died, she was in a rehab facility. Even though she was in a lot of pain, we still found humor in Carol Burnett’s old sketches. As she lay on her bed, I gently pulled down Momcat’s lower jaw and said in a British accent, “This man is completely hollow,” referring to one of our favorite sketches when Carol played Queen Elizabeth and Tim Conway was a soldier who had swallowed a live grenade. As Momcat chuckled, I did my best to not break character and said “Hellooo-ooo-ooo!” into her mouth, pretending there was an echo just like the show did. Perhaps all those years of watching Carol’s excellent comic timing inspired Momcat while responding to a questionnaire by the facility’s activities director. The woman asked Momcat about her last job, and she replied with a straight face, “Nightclub dancer. I was really good on the pole.” Pops, the director, and I all howled with laughter while Momcat sat in her bed and chuckled.

I’d love to meet Carol and tell her just how appreciative I am of her work, that she taught me everything I know about being funny. She added lightness and humor to my life from such an early age and still does now. I would tell her I love her, and thank her for all she’s done for women working in comedy and in television.