My transition to comedy has been a similar endeavor to my turn on Fit Club and my other reality-TV appearances. Nobody thought I could pull it off. I know people come to my stand-up shows wondering if I’m just going to do a whole set about being Screech or about shit from SBTB. I know they’re curious about whether I even work blue (in the industry, that’s the term for an act that includes profanity and racy content. And yes, I work very blue).
Bob Saget earned a reputation with a large television audience as a total cornball for his roles as Danny Tanner on Full House and as host of America’s Funniest Home Videos—two programs so sicky-sweet and family-oriented they practically gave you cavities by watching them. Saget experienced a big blowback after those shows ended, and he continued his stand-up career as a comedian who works extremely blue. In fact, Bob Saget is such a down-and-dirty sonuvabitch. He doesn’t just work blue, he practically works brown. I think Saget’s return to his first love—being an insanely dirty and wickedly absurd comic—was a big mental implosion for millions of people who believe everything they watch on television, who believe actors actually are the characters they portray. Saget paid his dues for years as a comic on the road. His big break was his appearance on Rodney Dangerfield’s 9th Annual Young Comedian’s Special in 1984. That was three years before Full House premiered.
Or take for instance the Saturday Night Live parody of Screech, which by the way, I thought was very funny. Will Farrell plays James Lipton, and Toby Maguire plays Screech in a send-up of the Bravo Channel’s Inside the Actor’s Studio. Funny as this skit is, it simply reinforces the mentality that I’m up against. Maguire plays an over-the-top rendition of the character Screech, but the “interview” is billed as being with the actor Dustin Diamond. For many, there is no separation between the actor and the icon. I get the gag (trust me, I understand taking creative liberties in performing humor), but clearly Maguire isn’t playing me, he’s playing Screech—the character I created to entertain children and drunken college students. That’s just the professor inside me trying to come out and logically analyze a comedy sketch that essentially doesn’t make sense. Eh, it’s just the way the business works. It’s still flattering—and it was funny.
Of course movie actors are free to play whatever role they please and rarely ever get the stink of caricature or typecasting. Movie actors are artistes while television actors (especially in the years I worked the most) are all about locking into recognizable patterns that can be consistently repeated to build a growing audience so the network can charge ever-increasing ad rates. Moving from film to TV is in vogue these days—there are buckets of cash to be made for known actors (i.e., commodities) who have staked their claims and built loyal followings with audiences. But sadly, when Elizabeth Berkley made the jump in the to film in the ’90s with Showgirls, the fact was that the primary audience for that rotten tomato was a perverse curiosity to see the snatch of that chick on SBTB. And, as I alluded to before, when she popped up more recently as Horatio Caine’s love interest on CSI: Miami, millions of viewers reflexively said, “Hey, there’s Jessie Spano.” There’s nothing evil about it, it’s just become second nature in a culture that insatiably consumes, then evacuates, its media entertainments like so much caramel corn.
The pattern of recognition is even more profound for actors like myself and my fellow cast mates on SBTB because our target demographic was watching us in their formative years. The imagery of us on their television sets is burned into their collective generational psyche. Not only that, but we were aging in pace with those kids who were watching us. That concept may seem odd, now since we are forever frozen in time through syndicated reruns, but during the period when we had the most influence on those young minds, we were, for all intents and purposes, a living organism that was as much a part of their lives as their older brother or their best friend at school. Think about it from our perspective: most kids have static photo albums they look at to review their transition from adolescence through puberty and into young adulthood. I have a live action document that chronicles my development just about every Friday from the time I was eleven to the time I was twenty-one. It’s a bizarre document, indeed. When I watch myself now I feel entirely foreign from that person, body and soul—it’s me but it’s not me. It’s me pretending to be someone else. And it’s the same lament for all my cast mates on SBTB. No matter what else we do, till the day they plant us in the ground, for millions we will always be Zack, Kelly, Slater, Jess, Lisa, Screech, and Mr. Belding.
Fame does seem to come with more curses than blessings. But I wouldn’t have changed a thing. For me, part of the curse is being so inextricably linked to the character I brought to life on television, a character that still invites frequent ridicule and mockery. I’ll go to a theater with my girl, and as the lights dim, some jackass will begin to moan, “Screeech.” If my washer breaks, and I need to get wash done, I can’t be spotted at the local laundromat some afternoon or ten web sites will be up by dinner time, breathlessly announcing “Screech Hits Rock Bottom!” If I get pulled over for speeding, the ticket will be posted on thesmokinggun.com. One of the side effects of that sort of exposure is that, as a result, every nut job with an Internet connection has your home address. As it is, it’s hard enough to keep that information private. When people learned my address in Wisconsin, they started driving past at all hours, honking the horn and screaming, especially on the weekends. In the summer time, or on New Year’s Eve, forget it. That shit makes me weep for humanity. Point is, my social faux pas are magnified. But alas, assholes are everywhere in daily life. Only when you’re famous, you’re an asshole magnet.
People have come up to me feeling they have free rein to be rude because they “know” me and are entitled to get anything and everything off their chest. I can’t act irritated, I need to be all smiles, otherwise people will dismiss me as just another arrogant celebrity. Say I’m at dinner, sitting in a quiet restaurant with my girl, off in a corner, minding my business. Maybe it’s Valentine’s Day. Maybe we just had a fight. Maybe we’re discussing how her grandmother just died or how the world just sucks at that point, and we’re both on the edge of tears. Sometimes people will recognize me and be very respectful and friendly. They’ll say they’re a big fan and ask for a photo or an autograph. Then there are others that have no sense of decorum or class. They’ll walk right up to my table, throw their arm around me without a word with their camera phone poised in their outstretched hand and snap a shot—while I’m eating!
“What the fuck, dude?!”
“Oh, well excuse me, Mr. Hollywood.”
People will come right up to me and ask, with all sincerity, “So, what’s it like being the biggest fucking idiot on TV?” Behavior like that is tough to tolerate, but if I say anything derogatory in response, I’m the asshole.
Parents have approached me, telling me they want to get their children started in acting. They ask me if there’s anything I can do to help and, with many of them, I’ll recognize that ravenous “stage-mom” glare in their eyes. I see that hunger some parents have to live vicariously through their children’s fame. Sometimes I’ll ask these kids, “What do you really want to do? What are your interests?” They tell me everything from wanting to be a writer to becoming a jet-engine mechanic. I encourage them to follow those dreams, not the dreams of their parents. Because sacrificing your childhood for the adventure of acting has its price. For some, that price is too high.
I felt protective of the kids who comprised the shifting casts of SBTB: The New Class. I always wished I could turn back the clock and try a few things again, knowing what I then knew as a young man already with years in the industry under my belt (that sentiment is, if anything, stronger with what I know now). I was in a unique position, having earlier lived through those kids’ exact experiences first hand, so I tried to counsel them on what to expect and how to avoid certain pitfalls. Unfortunately, much like myself at the same age, they already “knew it all” and didn’t want to hear what
I had to say. So, in much the same way as I watched Tiffani discard the sweet, bright-faced “knew it all” and didn’t want to hear what I had to say. So, in much the same way as I watched Tiffani discard the sweet, bright-faced enthusiasm of her first days on the set of the original SBTB as she was seduced by “fame, I watched the kids of The New Class embrace the poisonous attitude of, I’m a star!” A strange outlook indeed, considering they were riding in on the coattails of something I had helped to build from scratch. And I don’t know if it was just my new perspective of being older and more mature, having been around the block a time or two, but the process seemed to be accelerated with those kids. I can’t blame them for living the good life while it was there for the taking (I did the same, myself), and there were some great kids in those New Class casts. I just wanted to give them a big brotherly heads up that it wasn’t going to last forever. For the vast majority of young actors, the perks of fame—the money, the attention from fans, the doting from the network—all come to an end sooner than they ever expect. I shared my concerns with Den. He smiled and said, “Dustin, just let ’em make their mistakes. I let you make yours.”
The blessings of fame can be tremendous, far exceeding much of the drudgery or ridicule that result from living in the public eye. Working on a television or film set, seeing everything come together, getting along with the cast and crew, vibing off the whole creative environment of making entertainment, knowing your job, and performing like a pro—that’s an amazing experience. Few experiences in life come close to the total reward of doing one thing extremely well.
I’ve never heard another actor discuss this, but there’s a moment when you realize you’re a professional actor. Maybe it’s a realization that you’re doing what you were born to do, but whatever it is, it’s an odd, slightly unsettling sensation when it occurs.
I remember the when it first happened for me. It was a hallway scene on SBTB where the whole gang was grouped together. I spoke my line of dialogue first then waited while the others began to exchange their lines. As I stood there, my mind began to wander. I had no dialogue, but I was still on camera, so my body language was reacting to whatever Zack and Kelly were yammering on about. Meanwhile, my eyes searched the studio audience, I made eye contact with the camera guys, stared through the glass of the bustling beehive of the booth, gazed at the boom-mike operator … I realized, in that moment, that everyone was focused, one hundred percent, on us. Suddenly, without the slightest awareness of my dialogue queue, I began to speak. I delivered my lines exactly as they appeared in my script, but I wasn’t regurgitating them from memory—no, I was speaking them as my own conscious words. I was responding to what Zack was saying, unconsciously, in what felt effortlessly like my own, fully formed thoughts. As I was doing this, I remained fully aware that I was in the process of acting on a television show. I was on autopilot. It was like I had torn myself in two, and one half was speaking while the other stood a half-pace away, observing myself as the spectacle played itself out. Inside, I was freaking out, terrified there was no possibility I could know my lines as simultaneously I was speaking them with full confidence and inflection. It’s almost impossible to describe the sensation I felt that day—like some bizarre, seamless marriage of utter unconsciousness and hyperawareness. I was both in the moment and of the moment. And after that day, it was like I had turned a corner in my professional career. From then on, I became increasingly aware of my ability to be both fully involved in the delivery of my character’s dialogue in a scene while simultaneously remaining coolly detached from the rudimentary logistics of the acting process. It was as though I had arrived. It was a mystical invitation to relax and enjoy the ride.
These days it’s especially gratifying when I can see the positive affect my work has had—and continues to have—on fans around the world. There were many fun moments over my decade-long run on SBTB, but nothing—nothing—trumped the excitement of Friday nights. Nothing could equal that anticipation of gearing up to perform before a live audience, knowing the taped broadcast would be aired to millions of viewers around the planet. Before every Friday taping, we would huddle up backstage for a pre-show powwow: director, cast, guest stars—everybody. On stage we could hear Phil Stellar wrapping up his warm-up act. The director would give us his final notes, telling us what a great week of rehearsals we’d had, cautioning us to take things slow on stage, hit our marks, have fun, and knock it out of the park (like Mark-Paul at that infamous cast-and-crew softball game). We’d all throw our hands over his at the center of our circle, count to three, and holler the word of the night—whatever quirky word had bubbled to the surface through the week’s run-throughs and had become that episode’s catchphrase, almost like a good luck charm. One week I remember the word was a punch line delivered with typical verve by Screech himself. So, with hands stacked together, and comically cracking voices, we’d chant, “One, two, three … GADZOOKS!”
Then we’d break and head out for our opening bows (after Mario did a few sets of donkey presses). They’d announce, “Ladies and gentleman … Dustin Diamond!” I’d run out, bow, wave, and the audience would go fucking bananas. They were so excited to see us. And we were thrilled to see them. The tarps still shielded the first set, and the cameras were rolled away to the sides. It was just us standing before the audience. I would look out to see all the crew, our parents and friends, the director, the writers, the network suits, Peter Engel, Linda Mancuso—everybody. All the hard work of that week had culminated in that glorious moment. The rehearsals and rewrites, the business, the wardrobe, the makeup, the cast squabbles, and all the bullshit—it was all set aside for that next hour and a half while we created something new in the supercharged energy of that room. Those were the best of times.
Yeah, I got to play Screech—the comic relief at the center of a situation comedy. What was endearing about Screech’s character was that the audience would always get the joke while Screech didn’t. Hopefully, in this book, I’ve revealed the behind-the-scenes drama that Screech knew and the audience didn’t. But in the end, the best part is that I got to make people laugh, for many years. And I hope it’s the laughter that people remember most.
The tarps fall away. The first set is revealed. A nervous murmur ripples through the audience. The director calls out, “Positions everyone. Quiet, please. Quiet.”
Silence envelops the studio.
“Background.”
The extras appear as the scene comes alive, crossing back and forth, taking their seats at The Max.
“In five, four, three, two, …”
APPENDIX A:
THE SAVED BY THE BELL DRINKING GAME
Created by Bill King and Brad Valentine
ONE DRINK
* Zack talks directly into camera
* Slater calls Jessie “Momma”
* Belding is fooled
* Any teacher is fooled
* Screech in locker
TWO DRINKS
* Any of the kids sing
* The girls cheer
* Zack sent to Belding’s office
* We see one of the kids on the job
* Zack uses giant cellular phone
* Slater wrestles
* Audience goes “WooOOOoo”
* Slater calls Zack “Preppie”
* Commercial break
* Scene in locker room
* Belding reminisces
* Nerd or Jock gets a throwaway line
* Students buy something Zack is selling
* Lisa mentions shopping
* Lisa bitches at Screech
* Somebody actually ingests food at The Max
* Jessie calls Slater “Poppa”
* Jessie calls Slater “Sexist”
THREE DRINKS
* Zack freezes time
* “Zack Attack” plays
* Zack’s plan fails
* Character has a fantasy
* Parent sighting
* Kelly wears a skirt cut below knees
* Open locker without entering a combination
FIVE DRINKS
* Any slapping
* “To be continued …”
* Tori Paradox episode
* Cineplex music plays
* Kevin the Robot sighting
* Belding says “Hey, hey, hey … What’s going on here?!”
FINISH THE GLASS
* Screech dresses as a woman
APPENDIX B:
TO ALL THE CHICKS I BANGED BEFORE: AN OPEN LETTER
Dear Ladies,
No doubt many of you were just filthy. You’d hook up with me, with my buddies, or any dude you thought might advance your career. You just didn’t care. But there were also those of you who suffered full mental breakdowns as a result of the depraved sexual shit we did together in my younger, dumber days.
Look, those were crazy times, and I did a lot of stupid stuff back then. There are a lot of things I did as a young man that I’m not proud of, and if I could go back, I would change them. Please allow me to explain, in all modesty, that a lot of the shit I did was in an effort to make memories and simply live in the moment. I spent my formative years working full-time in an industry that consumed any chance I had at a normal childhood. With my pubescent hormones raging, many—perhaps most—of my decisions were guided by my monster and dirty thoughts. Dirty, dirty thoughts.
Now, as a grown man, I’ve had time to reflect on some of my more immature sexual escapades, and I regret many of them. Not for the women I was with, but more for my actions leading up to (and during) our bang sessions and for how I conducted myself afterward.
With heartfelt sincerity, deepened by years of more worldly experiences in a search for substantial meaning and wisdom in my life, I offer my apologies to anyone I filthed up, back in the day. I was a (willing) victim of the whirlwind of Hollywood, and I tried my hot damnedest to make the most of it.
Dustin Diamond Page 22
