This is Rob Long with Martini Shot for The Ankler.
A few years ago, during the production of the crucial first episode of a new series, we asked a veteran comedy writer to help us out for a day.
The term is “punch up”: you invite an experienced vet to come to a run-through of your new show, then over a nice dinner you hope that he suggests a dozen or so killer jokes and “punches up” the script. There’s no pay for this kind of gig — it’s strictly a friendly affair — but it’s customary to present each volunteer with a handsome gift.
Television writers form a loose but comprehensive web of friendships, and older writers, who are rich and bored and eager to help out, are sometimes the difference between a lackluster pilot that never becomes a series, and a hilarious pilot that makes it to air.
This guy was one of the best, and we were excited to have him agree to help out.
“One question,” he said, “before I get there.”
“Ask away,” I said.
“Who else will be working that day?”
I named a few of the junior-level writers. Then I named an older writer, a guy who’s been around.
“Him?” the older writer said. “That guy is coming?”
“Do you know him?” I asked.
“Know him? Yeah, I know him. I hate him. I know him and I hate him.”
“Oh. Will that be a problem?” I asked.
“Not for me,” the vet replied, “because I won’t be there.”
“But what did he do?” I asked, frantic. “Why do you hate him?”
There was a long pause on the telephone line.
“Truth? I’m not sure. I can’t remember.”
The only thing he remembered, naturally, was that he hated the guy.
When I called the other guy, the hated guy, he couldn’t remember ever working with the old vet and was completely bewildered by the feud. Bewildered but philosophical: “If the guy hates me, then he hates me,” he said. “I never met him before in my life, but it takes a lot of integrity and discipline to hate a guy you’ve never met or worked with.” And then he added, “And you gotta respect that.”