I'm Not High by Breuer Jim
Author:Breuer, Jim [Breuer, Jim]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Penguin Group
Published: 2010-09-06T21:00:00+00:00
Chapter 10
Joining Saturday Night Live ... and Becoming Joe Pesci
As the Buddies debacle came to a close and the Clerks pilot stalled, wouldn’t you know, execs from NBC came sniffing around again, basically telling me, “When you’re done with your ABC/Disney deal, let’s talk. No hard feelings about breaking the earlier deal.” I was unbelievably appreciative. Their plan, apparently, was to try to develop something for me for their late-night lineup. By mid-June, they had a new suggestion: Saturday Night Live was revamping for a new season. Did I want to audition?
My first thought was, “Dear God, no.” I knew Jay Mohr, whose status as a cast member was in limbo going into the summer of ’95, and he was not happy. A disgruntled Janeane Garofalo had bailed partway through the last season, and I’d heard plenty of horror stories from other people associated with the show. Without fail, they all hated their experience on SNL. Everyone coming out of that factory was miserable, and I didn’t want to be angry and ugly, because you know what? I was already there. I needed to get back to doing something uplifting.
After the Fourth of July weekend, NBC came back and said, “It’s gonna be different this year. Please, just audition.” In the end, I decided I’d give it a go. Why not? How could it go worse than my stint in L.A.? If I made the cast, Saturday Night Live would at least allow me to stay in New York. And after thinking a bit about the show’s legacy, I had to admit I was honored they were reaching out to me. At the time the show was at its nadir, but it was still SNL.
One afternoon in July I went to Studio 8H at Rockefeller Center in midtown Manhattan for my first audition. I walked in the room and it seemed like not a single person was there. A female page wielding a clipboard told me to get on that famous Studio 8H stage and go right into my act. It was like walking into a warehouse. My footsteps echoed loudly in the deadly quiet room. Once I was onstage, I spotted Lorne Michaels, pacing and scratching his chin, with a few other executives buried in the shadows behind him.
I’d been warned in advance that no one watching was going to laugh and that the cameras pointed at me were set up so execs at NBC in Los Angeles could tune in. I launched into the Shut-up Guy, a character I’d developed to make my friends laugh. He had a heavy New York accent and would ask questions, not wait for an answer, then tell the person he was asking to shut up as they tried to respond. He was your basic irate New York City jerk. As I’d been told to expect, I heard nothing from the small crowd, although at the end a short giggle escaped from a woman in the back of the room. That gave me enough juice to keep going.
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