Freak show

Dressed conservatively in a navy polo shirt, light-blue slacks
and brown leather loafers, 81-year-old veteran comedic writer Ben
Starr is seated comfortably cross-legged in his warm-hued modest
condo in West Los Angeles when he says the last thing I would have
expected him to say during our interview: “I happen to be a
freak.” But Starr is simply referring to his lifelong passion
of writing comedy, a passion he considers abnormal, as he says most
writers in the business do not truly enjoy writing. He would know.
Jerry Lewis paid for his wedding in Chicago. He wrote radio comedy
for Al Jolson (“The Jazz Singer”), and has lunch every
two weeks at the Beverly Hills Friars Club with a close-knit group
of comedy buddies, which includes Sid Caesar and Carl Reiner. The
Manhattan native and member of the UCLA Class of 1942 finally saw
his play, “The Button,” premiere in Los Angeles on Aug.
27 at the Actors Group Theatre in Universal City, 35 years after he
wrote it.

~~~

dB Magazine: What was your major at UCLA?

Ben Starr: I majored in accounting and was saved by the war. I
volunteered for the Air Corps and was accepted. While I was waiting
for them to call me, I temporarily got a job at a CPA’s
office that scared the hell out of me. The first time I went out to
do somebody’s books, the first thing he said to me was,
“What’s my inventory?” I was petrified. How would
I know what his inventory was? So much for accounting.

dB: Is that why you started to write comedy?

BS: I started writing after I completed my 35 missions. (Starr
was a World War II B-17 navigator. He recently received the
Distinguished Flying Cross 60 years after saving a fellow officer.)
I happen to be a freak, I know I’m a freak in the business
because I love writing.

dB: Normal people don’t?

BS: Most writers I know don’t like writing. I can’t
wait to get to it. The idea that I can sit down with an empty page
and create something -““ it’s a tremendous sense of
accomplishment.

dB: How would you describe the difference between theater, film
and television?

BS: I always loved theater. To me there’s nothing more
exciting than to be in rehearsal with a play and watch it grow
““ you watch the actors get into it ““ and then to hear a
live audience. Theater is larger than life. Film is voyeuristic.
And television is the bastardized version of both.

dB: What do you think of reality television?

BS: Reality TV is an embarrassment. It’s so insensitive. I
have no compassion for the people who go on it or the people who
produce it. I’m not talking about “The
Apprentice” ““ that’s on a slightly different
level. It deals with killers. They all know they’re killers.
And they’re doing it on that level. But nobody’s eating
worms for God sakes. And bragging about sex ““ and I got
nothing against sex, kiddo. I think the trend may last a while. But
it’s a matter of taste, and it’s bad for writers.
It’s a fad. It’ll disappear.

dB: Have you ever felt a large rift between you and writers who
have actually received an education specifically in screen
writing?

BS: Not at all. Look. The only rule about writing is that there
are no rules. You may go to a writing class where it’s all
perfunctory, you know: “By page nine you must have this
happen.” Forget it. Don’t do it. Walk away. But if you
get a teacher who’s really talking to you about delineation
of character “¦ that’s great. Stuff like “beware
of writing black and white.” By that I mean the villain and
the saint. They don’t exist. Write real people. There are
people who are kinder, nicer, more intelligent than others, but
they still may have certain faults. Hitler’s mother probably
loved him.

dB: You’ve written for a lot of television sitcoms
(“The Andy Griffith Show,” “Mister Ed,”
“The Brady Bunch,” “All in the Family,”
“Mork and Mindy,” “Diff’rent
Strokes,” “Small Wonder”). Did you have any
favorites?

BS: I wrote 42 “Mister Ed” shows. They were such
fun. The man who co-owned the show was George Burns. And Lou
(Derman) and I used to clear the story with George, and I loved it
because as soon as I would open the door to his office he would
sing. He always had a cigar and he’d say, “A fellow
went to town,” and I’d start laughing.

dB: So it was more about who you were working with than what you
were working on.

BS: A lot of it has to do with who you are working with. I
don’t like collaboration. You know, people say collaboration
is like a marriage. Well, not really. In a marriage, you get laid.
In collaboration, you get screwed. You write, “Two guys are
in a room, and the man comes upstairs, and he knocks on room
608.” And the guy who’s typing goes, “Let’s
make it 408.” And you say, “Why?” He says,
“I don’t know. It’s just a better number.”
You could go crazy from this kind of crap.

dB: What inspired “The Button” inspired by?

BS: I was aware that so many people I knew were divorced. And
I’d hear the attitudes: anger, hatred, disappointment. And
one day I said to myself, “Gee. There’s a play in
divorce for sure ““ a comedy.” But, also, when I write
theater it’s important to me that the subject be important.
I’ve had friends of mine ““ one guy in particular
““ a major success, big time in our business. He wrote a play
and had me read it. He said, “Why don’t they wanna do
this?” I said, “Because it’s not about anything.
It’s funny. On TV it would work.” But all plays are
about something. You examine Neil Simon’s plays and you will
find that, as terribly funny as they all are, every play is about
something underneath.