by Apatow, Judd
Judd: Didn’t they cut a lot of stuff you did?
Sandra: No. People think that, you know. There were just different takes. I mean, I did like the same take only different improvisation. It was a matter of which improv Marty preferred.
Judd: So what do you think about your character?
Sandra: I think she’s somebody that, at the time, I could relate to, and was very close to who I was emotionally. I was very needy and I wanted things to happen in my career that weren’t happening. I was alienated and lonely and all those things that she felt. So she was easily understood. I mean, now that it’s changed my life, I don’t feel so close to that character, and I don’t think I should. I don’t think it would be a healthy way to relate to people.
Judd: When you saw the film, what did you think?
Sandra: I was pleased. I was especially pleased with my part.
Judd: Yeah, you got great reviews. They said you carried the film.
Sandra: To a certain degree, I guess I did. I certainly interjected a lot of excitement and energy into it. Which it needed, I think.
Judd: So what was your childhood—
Sandra: Typical and not typical. I was raised half in Michigan and half in Arizona. I was born in Michigan, in a middle-class, upper-middle-class, Jewish family. My father’s a doctor, and my mother’s a nurse. Three older brothers. The thing that made a difference is that I was the youngest, and the only girl. I think I got a different perspective on life than most people do, because, you know—I had to hold my own in a family of men.
Judd: You had to be tough.
Sandra: Not tough, just learn how to get attention.
Judd: Through being funny?
Sandra: Yeah, I was always funny. And pretty intense.
Judd: Popular?
Sandra: No, not really. I mean I had a lot of friends but I never thought of myself as popular because, I mean, I was always kind of thin and, you know, different. I felt more self-conscious.
Judd: So who did you idolize as a kid?
Sandra: Carol Channing. I saw her in Hello, Dolly! when I was eight years old.
Judd: Any other comedians?
Sandra: No, not really. I mean there were comic actors and actresses, you know. A woman had a show called Pete and Gladys that was on for a little while—and do you know Cara Williams? She’s great. It was a great show. But it was only on for a little while.
Judd: When did you decide you were gonna be a comic? High school?
Sandra: I never made the choice to become a comic. I always wanted to become a singer and an actress. And I just made some friends in L.A. who thought I should be in comedy, because it’s more accessible for a woman. Harder, but you get more attention. And I had a flair for comedy, but really, my first year in L.A. is when I started doing it.
Judd: And what was your first comedy stage like?
Sandra: It was pretty good. I was confident because I didn’t know what to expect. I just watched other people, so I sort of imitated—
Judd: Where did you do that?
Sandra: At a place called the Ye Little Club.
Judd: How long did it take you to get confident as a performer, comfortable onstage?
Sandra: I’m still doing that. It’s an endless process. I mean, you get more and more confident. Especially when I got the movie. That set me off.
Judd: How would you describe your act onstage? Because you seem very different, from—I mean, I saw you and you seem like a different person onstage.
Sandra: Well, you have to be. You have to have some sort of a persona onstage to get your point across. And you’re not gonna just walk up there casual, like you’re carrying on a conversation and, you know, be entertaining at the same time. That’s a part of me, that character I use onstage. It’s a part of who I am. But you just can’t do that all the time without burning yourself out.
Judd: So how have you handled everything? Fame?
Sandra: Quite well. It hasn’t radically changed—I mean, I didn’t make a lot of money. If I made a lot of money, if I was rich right now, it might have changed my life a little bit more. But I’m pretty much in the same financial position. I’m okay, but—you know.
Judd: Do you think you’re gonna be a superstar one day?
Sandra: Well, I think I’ll be—I think I’ll be pretty out there. I don’t know if there’s anybody that’s a superstar anymore. That’s sort of a thing of the past.
Judd: So what would success mean for you, then?
Sandra: Working a lot. Doing good work. Having people respect me. Being recognized by the public and having power to do what I want to do.
Judd: And if you could do anything what would it be?
Sandra: A lot of films, more money. Interesting films.
Judd: Serious films?
Sandra: Serious and comedy both.
Judd: Say Eddie Murphy gets fifteen million to do whatever he wants. You would like something like that, I guess?
Sandra: Well, I don’t think I need fifteen million dollars—
Judd: Creative control over your work, then?
Sandra: Yeah, I want creative control. I’m not looking to make a billion dollars. I want to be comfortable, but I’m not starving for that kind of—that’s egotistical to me, and bullshit. And they don’t do that with women, they only do that with men.
Judd: Why do you think that is?
Sandra: Because men control the business, men are in power, and men want to keep men in power.
Judd: How long did it take you to get relaxed onstage, so that you could just interact with the audience?
Sandra: I did that almost from the start. I was never really comfortable doing it, and I wasn’t sure what I was gonna say, but I did it anyway. That’s how I wanted to relate as a performer. I never wanted that wall up, you know. I didn’t want to just tell jokes. But I wanted to relate to people so I was willing to take that risk of getting a bad reaction.
Judd: Did you ever get a bad reaction?
Sandra: Sure. A lot. I still do. Kind of a general thing in the audience. Audiences can turn real vicious sometimes. You know, collectively. Audiences are not to be trusted until you’re about halfway through the show. They can turn on you. They’re very—people are weird, they’re like wild animals.
Judd: And that happens to you even now?
Sandra: Once in a while, there’ll be a smattering of people who’ll come—it’s happened a couple of times at Carolines. Some people came in. And there was just—they wanted to start problems with me. They really didn’t know who I was and they came anyway, so they just talked, and I said, “What the fuck are you doing here?” You know what I mean? “People are here to have a good time, I’m here to entertain them. These people know who I am, they respect my work—and if you don’t know what I’m doing, and you don’t like it, then get the fuck out.”
Judd: And you just say that to them?
Sandra: That and a lot of other things. I’ll ride their asses all night, because they don’t shut up. They just keep going and I just keep going right along with them. Something interesting always comes out of it.
Judd: What would you consider your worst moment onstage?
Sandra: My worst moments are when my energy is low. When I’m really tired, and my energy is bad, then I’m vulnerable.
Judd: Do you think there’s anything that a comedian shouldn’t do?
Sandra: I don’t know. I have a lot of opinions on that. I guess—I guess, you know, it depends on the person. You can’t generalize.
Judd: You don’t think there’s anything that’s off-limits? I mean, I’ve seen some pretty crude stuff.
Sandra: See, I have a lot of opinions on comedy. If you get me started on that, then I’ll say my opinions, and I’m gonna regret it.
Judd: You’re gonna say something that you’re gonna regret?
Sandra: Yeah, because I don’t think that there are very many people that should be doing comedy. Because I don’t think most of them have a point of view
or an attitude or a conviction.
Judd: Do you think comedians should make a statement, like a political or social kind of—
Sandra: I think if you’re really good, you do that without trying to. You invoke emotions from an audience without being obvious about it. But the art of being a great performer is almost a dead thing. There are very few people who dedicate their lives to being a real artist and to the artistry of performing. Because there’s a whole—it’s not just standing up there. It’s a movement and it’s a tone of voice and it’s a seduction and it’s a school of thought. The old entertainers, they knew everything. They knew how to dance, and they knew how to sing. They studied it. And it’s not something you just get away with being—um, you know—that’s one thing I’ll say about Robin Williams, even though I get tired of his comedies. He’s an artist and he knows his craft. So does Richard Pryor. Richard Pryor knows movement.
Judd: I was reading somewhere that there’s a Steve Allen book and it said that he didn’t think that the old comedians could stand up to anybody from today. I guess he’s talking about Henny Youngman and, I don’t know, maybe Jackie Gleason, all of those old comedians doing stuff they did like in the Catskills in the forties. He said that they wouldn’t stand up to anybody today.
Sandra: I don’t know about that. I think times are different. And like I said, in those days, comedy wasn’t something you just got into because it looked accessible, and easy, and you could make some fast money. I mean, those people were raised with that feeling. That need to entertain. I think you really have to be driven by something to be a good entertainer.
Judd: Is there anyone right now that you just like—is there anybody you look at and say, “I wish I could be that good”?
Sandra: I think people think that about me right now.
Judd: Yeah.
Sandra: I’m more interested in what I’m doing—I’ve been through that already. I’m beyond that. Christ, if I was still at that point, I never would have gotten the film.
Judd: So you think you have it down?
Sandra: Oh no, I don’t have it down. But I’m certainly doing what I believe is true to what I think, and honest. I mean, I believe that people are talking about me. And I can’t think of anybody who impresses me right now as much as I impress myself.
SARAH SILVERMAN
(2014)
I’ve known Sarah Silverman since she moved to California to do standup when she was twenty-one years old. Back then, she was the young, hilarious girl who was from the same town in New Hampshire as my friend and roommate, Adam Sandler. That always seemed so weird to me, the idea that two brilliantly funny people could come from the same small town.
I’ve been lucky enough to spend a lot of time with her in the intervening years, in a work capacity (we worked together at The Larry Sanders Show, where I was a writer and she an actor playing a writer), and in the deeply competitive world of Garry Shandling’s weekly pickup basketball games (where I have tried and failed to keep her out of the paint). Not only is she way funnier than I am—I feel pretty comfortable calling her one of the most essential comedic minds of her generation—but she’s also way better than me at basketball.
Judd Apatow: I was thinking recently about the first time I met you. You were so young.
Sarah Silverman: That was back when I was, like, really doing stand-up.
Judd: Did you go straight from high school into the clubs?
Sarah: Yeah. When I was seventeen, I went to summer school in Boston. I knew I wanted to be a stand-up but I’d only done it at high school assemblies and stuff. But I went up at open-mic night at Stitches when it was on Mass. Ave., and that was the first time I ever did stand-up. It was my third year of high school. I remember the comedian who was onstage when I first went in to scope it out, too. Wendy Liebman.
Judd: Wow.
Sarah: And she did two jokes. I completely remember that night. I have this sense memory of walking through the doors and the first thing I heard was her saying, “Someone thought I was Lady Di, but it turned out that they were just saying, ‘Lady, die.’ ” And then the other one was—wow, I ruined that joke.
Judd: I was interested in comedy from a really young age, too. As a ten-year-old kid, I was watching a scary amount of Merv Griffin and Dinah Shore.
Sarah: Oh, my mother always loved Dinah Shore because she said she did her own hair. She thought that made her so down-to-earth.
Judd: What drew you to try comedy, though? Why did you like it so much?
Sarah: My dad taught me swears when I was a toddler and I saw, at a really early age, that if I shocked people, I would get approval, and it made my arms itch with glee. I got addicted to it. It became this source of power in a totally powerless life.
Judd: Did your dad get a kick out of it?
Sarah: He thought it was funny to teach his three-year-old daughter swears.
Judd: What do your parents do for a living?
Sarah: My dad is alive. I always say, “He was a retailer,” and then people go, “Oh, did he die?” But no, he’s just retired. His dream was to be a writer—and he wrote all these books that he self-published when he retired—but he was always a retailer. He owned a store called Crazy Sophie’s Factory Outlet. And he did his own commercials. I have a bunch of them. They’re amazing. He has such a thick New England accent. You can’t understand a thing he’s saying. He’s like, “When I see the prices at the mall, I just want to vomit! Hey, I’m Crazy Donald!” He was Crazy Donald, like Crazy Eddie, only in New Hampshire.
Judd: That must have been a big deal, in a small town in New Hampshire, growing up with your dad doing commercials.
Sarah: Yeah, he was always on the radio waves talking about his sales, and jean brands that you never heard of, like Unicorn. And my mom was like Shelley Long in Cheers. Diction is very important to her. She says, like, when and where. She was the opposite of my dad.
Judd: Did they stay married?
Sarah: No, they got divorced when I was like six and a half, but I was thrilled because they hated each other. I mean, I never saw a loving glance or a smile between them until long after they were divorced. Now they’re close. They’re like army buddies, you know. Like siblings. My mom is sickly and my stepmother checks in on her almost every day.
Judd: So your dad remarried and his wife is close with your mom?
Sarah: Yeah, they’re all close. My mom remarried, too. They both found the loves of their lives, so I was able to see—unfortunately, not in my formative years—but I was eventually able to see what a loving marriage can look like.
Judd: Do you like trace your sensibility to anything specific other than your dad being amused by watching you shock people?
Sarah: I never consciously set out to talk about taboos or anything like that. That was just what the household I grew up in was like. There weren’t any boundaries or a sense of, like, “Maybe let’s not say that in front of the kids.” It was all out there, you know, and I didn’t know better. I mean, honestly, a lot of the human etiquette I learned in life I learned from, like, thank-you notes and dating Jimmy Kimmel. I have great parents and they both taught me great things, but it was just different. My formative years were boundaryless.
Judd: But was there a core of morality to it?
Sarah: Oh yeah, definitely. We had no religion at all but we were Jews in New Hampshire, and my sister—who is now a rabbi—said it best: We were like the only Jews in Bedford, New Hampshire, as well as the only Democrats, so we just kind of associated those two things together. My dad raised us to believe that paying taxes is an honor, that it goes to important things for everybody. We were never to complain about that shit, or be all about keeping your money or whatever. Now I look around and realize that was special. Money is seen as such a positive thing now, we try to get as much of it as we can and that’s okay because it equals success. It’s sad.
Judd: My parents didn’t talk about religion, either. And then, out of the blue, my brother became an Orthodo
x Jew and moved to Israel. I always think it’s funny how, in the same family, one person looks for answers through comedy and another through religion.
Sarah: My sister and I are so close, and so different. I don’t have religion at all. Love and science are my religion. And Kermit the Frog and Mister Rogers.
Judd: That’s so funny, because whenever I need to equalize myself and bawl my eyes out, I will go online and watch Jim Henson’s funeral on YouTube.
Sarah: I’ve got to see that. I will not be able to keep it together because, honestly, I’ll just fucking sing “It’s Not Easy Being Green” or “Rainbow Connection” and cry.
Judd: That’s what I do late at night. I just go down the Mister Rogers–Jim Henson wormhole of tears. But those two guys are a good religion. How does your sister talk about Judaism?
Sarah: It’s funny because sometimes I’ll get cunty with her and I’ll be like, “Oh, so you believe there’s a man in the sky?” I just can’t get my head around it, you know. And she’ll go, “Well, I like to live my life as though there is one.” And I’m just like, “Oh, you’re beautiful.”
Judd: Why can’t you get your head around it?
Sarah: I can be cynical. But I don’t think of myself, at my core, as cynical. So much of it is location. Like, who is Muslim? Who is a Jew? Who is a Catholic? Who is a Christian? Who’s Buddhist? Ninety-nine-point-nine percent of it is where you happen to be born. So how can one be right and another be wrong? It seems pretty clear to me that it’s a coping mechanism for people who cannot handle the not knowing of things. I am okay knowing I will never be able to comprehend the world.
Judd: I wish I could convince myself to believe the way your sister believes because I’m so exhausted from not believing.
Sarah: I actually don’t think that she believes in God, necessarily. I think she just loves the ritual of religion and finding meaning in every little thing. She loves living her life that way.
Judd: Do you think she believes that God is involved in people’s lives?
Sarah: Yeah. But she isn’t one of those “Oh, let’s pray for this tumor to go away” people. You know what I mean? She just loves the ritual of finding meaning in everything. I don’t know. I don’t think she believes in, like, a male God or anything. She’s a major feminist, a liberal hippy-dippy granola rabbi.
