“I thought Paul was so creative and imaginative that I could pretty much trust him to do something totally unique and similar to his HBO show,” Price explains. “I basically promised him a lot of autonomy. I wasn’t going to try and take his vision and take a square peg and put it in a round hole. My argument to him was also that if he didn’t do the show because he didn’t like the current programming on Saturday morning, then how would it ever get better unless creative and talented people create shows for it?”
[© John Duke Kisch / CBS]
In order to seal the deal, Walker agreed to give Reubens an on-air commitment, ensuring that the show would be included in the network’s fall lineup that September. The move was a bit brazen and it caused Walker some heat with his bosses.
“Those things were just not done,” Walker says. “Nobody ever got that kind of commitment. It meant the show was going on television come hell or high water.”
The largest remaining hurdle was financial. “We knew we were looking at a very expensive show from the beginning,” Walker recalls. In order for Walker and Price to produce a mixed-media show, incorporating traditional two-dimensional animation, stop-motion animation, puppetry, and live action, they would need a sizeable budget. At the time, Saturday morning cartoon budgets were averaging $250,000 an episode. Pee-wee’s Playhouse would require a lot more.
Ultimately, Price was able to secure a budget of a reported $325,000 an episode, although Reubens remembers the number being closer to $525,000.
“That was something I had to push through my own management,” Price recalls. “That was the price tag attached to the show. Paul had some very good negotiators, but the show did have a lot of elements. It’s what I had to do to let Paul see his vision through.”
To provide Reubens with the money needed for the show’s production, Price had to curtail the funds going to several other programs on CBS’s Saturday morning lineup. The idea was that Pee-wee Herman would attract new viewers to the network and the rest of the shows would benefit in ratings, even if their budgets were constrained in the process.
With a deal firmly in place, Pee-wee’s Playhouse was green-lit for production in February of 1986. Oakes and Rosenthal, cofounders of Broadcast Arts, quickly flew back to New York to begin assembling a crew, while Reubens gathered a team of writers and actors in Los Angeles.
Production
The Pee-wee Herman Show and Reubens’ tenure at the Groundlings had given him a head start when it came to hiring writers. He immediately enlisted the help of Michael Varhol, one of Big Adventure’s cowriters. John Paragon, who had been instrumental in the writing of the original live show, was also invited to join the writing team. Max Robert, a friend of Reubens, was brought on board, despite having no previous writing credits to his name. George McGrath, a struggling comedian, was pegged to be the fifth collaborator on the show’s first season.
“Paul literally plucked me from the chorus to write his show,” McGrath recalls. “He came to see a performance at the Groundlings and came backstage afterwards to ask who had written the scenes he liked. I guess I had written them all. A few days later he called me at home and asked me if I wanted to write a kids’ show he was going to do. I had never even met him before that night at the theater. Of course, that phone call completely changed my life.”
George McGrath [© The Groundlings]
The group set up shop in a spacious high-rise office building at the corner of Sunset Boulevard and Cahuenga in Hollywood and they worked from 10 a.m. to 4 p.m. every weekday. Initially, the task was to come up with characters, running gags, and catch-phrases that would be integrated into the scripts.
“We came up with ideas for most of the shows and developed a basic template for the episodes,” Varhol explains. “There’d be an intro, secret word, situation, cartoon, dinosaur family, et cetera.”
Reubens’ mornings were often consumed by conference calls with his management, CBS, and Broadcast Arts, and so the remaining four writers would work on bits individually and then regroup in the afternoon to collaborate. Eventually the operation moved to Reubens’ house, an environment thought to be more conducive to creativity. The new location, however, caused a constant challenge for the writers to balance business and pleasure.
“Paul was easily distracted and enjoyed having everyone distracted when he was,” McGrath recalls. “The great thing about Paul is that every word or idea didn’t have to come from him. He was always happy to find that we were eight pages closer to finishing a script when he was done playing.”
Despite distractions, the writers completed 13 episodes for the show’s first season. Each episode was begun on a Monday, completed by that Friday, and faxed over to Broadcast Arts in New York, who would begin building the props necessary for the shoot.
Although CBS gave Reubens carte blanche when it came to his artistic vision, the creative team had a few developmental snags with the network’s standards and practices department.
The connect-the-dots sequences in the Magic Screen were initially conceived to be similar in style to the children’s program Winky Dink and You, which aired on CBS from 1953 until 1957. The show’s main premise was that children at home could interact with the actors by drawing on their television screens using a transparent magic film and crayons. The vinyl plastic film, which was called a “magic drawing screen,” was available at stores for 50 cents and could be reused from week to week.
Winky Dink and You [Courtesy CBS / PhotoFest © CBS]
Despite Reubens’ enthusiasm for inviting the viewing audience to interact with Pee-wee by connecting the dots on their television sets, the network opposed the idea.
“The broadcast standards department at CBS wouldn’t allow there to be an element of the show where kids had to buy something to participate,” Price remembers. “Paul managed to get some advertiser to agree to give out the magic screens for free, but our standards and practices department still wouldn’t allow it. That’s how it ended up being the connect-the-dots sequences done with animation.”
It was decided, instead, to have a talking magic screen puppet that would simulate the Winky Dink experience for viewers. Alison Mork was chiefly responsible for giving the wooden Magic Screen puppet mobility and voice. Her mouth moved by remote control, and she glided across the playhouse floor thanks to a thin wire attached to the base of her legs that was simply pulled back and forth. The multicolored “magic” that appeared in her screen was put in during post-production and so it was invisible to the cast and crew during shooting. On set, Magic Screen was filled with a large green rectangle.
The videos that were projected on the Screen were voiced by George McGrath. Although the segments appeared to be public domain videos, many were shot specifically for Playhouse and edited to look like 1950s educational videos.
“I would get the footage and would improvise the voiceover,” McGrath remembers. “That was a lot of fun. I love those little films.”
[© John Duke Kisch / CBS]
Magic Screen is most remembered because Pee-wee played connect-the-dots against her cartoon backdrops. In almost every episode, Pee-wee would jump inside, release a handful of dots from his pocket, connect them with magical lines that would transform into an animated object, and then Pee-wee would interact with the animation. Editor Glenn Lazzaro worked on compositing the first season’s connect-the-dots animations.
[© John Duke Kisch / CBS]
“It’s every kid’s dream to jump into an Etch A Sketch or TV set,” Lazzaro says.
Although the connect-the-dots segments were brief on television, several days of painstaking work went into creating each one for the viewing audience. First, Reubens would be shot in costume against a green screen. The editors and animators would use a digital recorder to construct the animated landscape around the actor. Constructing just one 45-second segment would take several days.
“I think it wa
s a whole weekend,” Lazzaro remembers. “I think we would come in on Saturday morning at nine and finish sometime around eleven on Sunday. Sometimes we would stay overnight and sleep in the editing room.”
The time spent on the sequences paid off, as the connect-the-dots sequence, along with Pee-wee’s accompanying song, is one of the most memorable aspects of the show’s run.
The only other significant run-in Reubens had with the network censors came during production on the first episode. The script called for Pee-wee to make an animal out of a potato by sticking pencils in it, but the network feared it was insensitive to waste food.
“As associate producer on the first season, I was sort of the liaison between Paul and the network,” says Scott Chester, who was Richard Abramson’s assistant. “I’d come to him with these notes like, ‘The network doesn’t want you to put pencils in potatoes because they don’t want kids to become upset if they don’t have access to them.’ Paul just looked at me and went, ‘Wait, so they can afford televisions, but not potatoes?’”
Judy Price, VP of children’s programming at the time, thought the network’s reaction was a bit overblown, but she understood the reasoning. “They were thinking of the starving children. Ultimately, Paul won that battle.”
Strangely, the one battle that Reubens and the writers didn’t have to wage against standards and practices was over the show’s occasionally adult humor. The character of Miss Yvonne, for example, with her propensity for hitting on nearly every male in Puppetland, was immune from any criticism from the network. Despite her perceived pursuit of sex, Lynne Stewart maintains that her character’s intentions were often more innocent than they appeared.
[© John Duke Kisch / CBS]
“I think Miss Yvonne’s goal was to kiss,” Stewart explains. “It was very important to her to kiss as many men as possible, but I truly feel she was a virgin.”
Assembling the Artists
On the other coast, Broadcast Arts was building their own team to spearhead the animation and production aspects of the upcoming shoot. Prudence Fenton, who had been instrumental in the company’s production of many MTV network IDs, was hired as producer of animation and effects. Throughout the spring, she began looking for talent at the company and in the New York freelance artist community to bring Pee-wee’s Playhouse to life.
[© John Duke Kisch / CBS]
She collected hundreds of sketches and shipped them to Los Angeles for Reubens’ feedback, but very little was approved.
“Paul kept saying, ‘I like it, but it’s not what I’m looking for,’” says Phil Trumbo, an animation director for the first season. “I knew that Gary Panter designed the HBO special, and that sensibility was really what Paul was looking for. There was a certain sense at Broadcast Arts that we were creative and should be able to do it, but at a certain point, if you’re looking for a van Gogh, you’d better get van Gogh.”
Broadcast Arts put in a call to Panter, who agreed to join the production. He was not only instrumental in sparking new creativity, but he also brought Wayne White and Ric Heitzman on as art directors. The three became their own unit, working out of the Broadcast Arts headquarters, but marching to the beat of their own drummer.
Within weeks, Panter expanded upon his live-show set design and created a visually appealing clubhouse for Pee-wee and his pals to play in. The cubist, seafoam green door was replaced with a red door that looked both sharp and comfortable to the touch. Jambi’s gray box was bejeweled and painted a glittery shade of violet. The walls were all given a complete renovation, with funky patterns and vibrant colors as far as the eye could see.
Although Panter had created the look of the puppets for the original stage production, White and Heitzman were chiefly responsible for designing the puppets for television. The duo’s unique sensibility and approach paid dividends when it came to creating an original look for children’s television.
“We’d been doing these weirdo puppet shows for years in art school,” White recalls. “Oddly enough, this Pee-wee Herman concept came along and fit us perfectly. We were thinking psychedelic. We weren’t thinking ‘kid show.’ We were thinking of blowing people’s minds.”
Pterry-Dactyl, whose name was shortened to Pterri, was one of two puppets from The Pee-wee Herman Show to make it to the Playhouse. In addition to the abbreviated forename, his character was changed from Kap’n Karl’s rough-and-tumble dinosaur companion to Pee-wee’s loveably insecure pet, and it was once again voiced by John Paragon. Three different Pterri puppets were used during the show’s run. The first was a marionette puppet on two strings that would be operated high above the playhouse set. The second was a rod puppet, similar to the kind used in the 1981 stage show, and the last was a hand puppet. All three versions of Pterri were between 16 and 18 inches tall.
[© John Duke Kisch / CBS]
Greg Harrison lent a hand to operate Mr. Knucklehead, the other character from the live show to make it to Saturday morning. Although he had been a crude sock puppet in 1981, the character was reconceived as a giant fist with googly eyes and a mouth drawn on in lipstick that told bad knock-knock jokes.
[© John Duke Kisch / CBS]
One of the new puppets designed specifically for the TV show was Conky 2000. With his junkyard-salvage body (consisting of a typewriter, turntable, and an old boom box), the character was designed to be a contemporary homage to classic science fiction shows like The Twilight Zone and Lost in Space. His primary function was to give Pee-wee the secret word at the beginning of each episode.
Conky’s look was designed by puppeteer Greg Harrison, who also portrayed the character during the show’s first season. According to George McGrath, Harrison was a natural first-choice for being inside the Conky suit.
“Greg was set from the beginning because he built the puppet and knew his ins and outs,” McGrath recalls. “He was also willing to get into that very uncomfortable contraption and stay inside for hours on end in the incredible heat.”
Animation director Dave Powers, who created the sound effects for the show’s animated sequences, remembers the unusual way in which Conky found his voice.
“They had brought in Mark Mothersbaugh from Devo to do the voice live with a lot of sound equipment,” he recalls. “But somehow this didn’t work. I took the opportunity to make a tape of robot voices for Paul. I was scared to death. This was the first time I visited the set, Paul was getting his makeup done, and everyone was watching me walk in with my boom box and play this tape of robot voices.”
Reubens didn’t approve any of the voices. Undeterred, Powers asked for a second chance. After filming wrapped that day, the two joined Greg Harrison, went to Reubens’ rented Manhattan apartment, and listened to a recording of a Stevie Wonder song that incorporated electronic voices. Powers returned to his SoHo apartment, where he had sound equipment, and worked on a new demo tape, which was approved in the morning and became the template for Conky’s voice.
With their quick wit and occasionally dour attitude, Pee-wee’s talking fish, which were operated using two big metal handles that protruded from the back of the tank, were the playhouse equivalent of the Muppets’ Statler and Waldorf. Their primary function in the show remained consistent throughout the run of the series: the purple fish, voiced by Ric Heitzman, would make an observation about something going on in the playhouse, and the yellow fish, voiced by George McGrath, would follow up with a sardonic punch line.
Wayne White controls Mr. Kite [© John Duke Kisch / CBS]
Another new character was Mr. Kite, the playhouse weatherman. Lying on the floor in front of a blue screen, and with a camera positioned several feet above the ground so that his body was concealed, Wayne White provided the voice and movement for the character’s scenes. The Puppetland backdrops were added in postproduction to make it appear as if the character was soaring high above the playhouse.
Ric Heitzman operates Mr. Wind
ow [© George McGrath]
Ric Heitzman provided the voice and movement for Mr. Window, Pee-wee’s canary colored friend who served as the playhouse doorman. To make this puppet move, Heitzman would lie on his back outside the playhouse set, using one arm to control a large lever that gave the mouth movement. His other arm would be on a giant dowel that would allow him to control the eye movement.
Of all of the new puppets, none were cooler than the beatnik Puppetland Band made up of Dirty Dog, Cool Cat, and Chicky Baby. Set against a backdrop of an alleyway, the trio performed jazz music, made abstract art, and spoke in rhymes that would make Gwendolyn Brooks and Jack Kerouac proud.
Wayne White and Alison Mork [© George McGrath]
Dirty Dog, the bowler hat–wearing blue hound voiced by Wayne White, provided the bass, while Cool Cat, a feline in oversized sunglasses voiced by Ric Heitzman, tapped out steady beats on the bongos. Chicky Baby, with stringy blond hair covering one of her permanently closed eyes, was on vocals, which were provided by Alison Mork.
[© John Duke Kisch / CBS]
Randy, the mischievous marionette, was conceived as a subversive contemporary response to Howdy Doody, according to puppeteer Wayne White, who also provided the character’s voice. By comparing Randy and Howdy side-by-side, one can see how White was inspired by the classic character and in which ways he updated him for a new generation. Randy had maintained Howdy’s freckles and red hair, but Howdy’s slick hair style was traded in for a high-top buzz cut. Gone was Howdy’s cowboy clothing, replaced by a white t-shirt and jeans, reminiscent of 1950s greasers like James Dean in Rebel Without a Cause and John Travolta in Grease.
Inside Pee-wee's Playhouse Page 5
