Counting laughs

I have a good friend who is a terrific playwright. Mostly dramas. She writes very moving plays that usually touch on important social issues and often have gut-wrenching moments.

And I always kid her that she has it easy.

She doesn’t have to get laughs.

Meanwhile, she’s always needling me about counting laughs. Which I do.

It’s akin to self-torture, but I can’t help it. I don’t know whether it’s the curse of writing comedies or just my own neurosis, but I try to fill my plays with laughs. Underneath are always serious stories, characters are grappling with major issues, and the themes are weighty – but beyond that I want to hear near constant laughter.

A comedy should be FUNNY, damn it!

So it is nerve wracking because not every joke will work, and from night to night different lines get different reactions. Yet I want every joke to land, as unrealistic and utterly insane as that might be.

Meanwhile, for my friend to enjoy a performance of one of her plays, as long as people don’t text, snore, or walk out, she’s golden. The length of a comedy play expands if there’s a good laugh spread. Is there a sniffle spread that elongates dramatic plays?

I’m sure a lot of comedy playwrights say if their play got ten or fifteen good laughs they’re happy. Not me. I shoot for a few hundred.

And there are times I get them – times when everything is working just great, the air conditioning is on, the cast is on its game, and the audience is rocking. I can’t think of a greater high (that doesn’t involve stimulants or someone else’s consent).

So I shall continue to count and make myself unnecessarily nuts.  If only I could think of a good tragedy...

I'm in New York to see my one act play, WHEN ROMCOMS GO BAD as part of the Gallery Theatre Festival in Brooklyn this weekend.  Then next weekend I'm off to Grand Rapids, Michigan to see a production of my full-length play, OUR TIME.   If you're in either of those areas, stop by.  

from By Ken Levine