One day I was talking to the writer Dave Eggers about fund-raising ideas for his tutoring and literacy nonprofit, 826, and I mentioned that I had this huge cache of interviews I had done in high school, along with some I’d done later in life—and maybe that would make for an interesting book? I had always loved Cameron Crowe’s book of interviews with Billy Wilder and those old Rolling Stone books filled with Q&As with my favorite rock stars. I thought maybe this could be like that but with all of my heroes and friends talking about why they became interested in comedy, and how they are doing as human beings on earth. It might be funny, too! Maybe this book could inspire some kid who is sitting in his room looking at weird Funny or Die videos, the way I used to sit in front of the TV and tape SNL with an audio recorder before the Betamax was invented. Maybe this book would make that kid feel a little less weird and alone.
Dave connected me with my editor, Andy Ward, who encouraged me to do some new interviews and bring the book up to date. I wasn’t sure how many I had the energy to do, since I was in the middle of production on a movie and I was a little worried this project would turn into a giant pain in the ass. When I sold the book, I promised to give my proceeds to Eggers’s 826 nonprofit. (Unfortunately it sold for more money than I thought it would and it was too late to change the deal to “5 percent of the money goes to 826 and 95 percent goes to the Apatow Vacation Trust.”)
The first new one I did was Spike Jonze, two hours in my office on a hot Wednesday in Los Angeles—and, afterward, I found myself as inspired as I was when I first started doing this, thirty-one years ago. Spike talked about how artists who come from skateboarding are so inventive because it’s a sport that is all about coming up with a new trick. That is why when he made music videos he was always trying to do them in a way they had never been done before. Incredible! Now I want to do that!
I followed that up by inviting one of my first bosses, Roseanne Barr, to talk about her journey with me. We sat for hours digging through the past, amazed and baffled by this bizarre and fantastic journey we are still on. And before I knew it, I was hooked all over again. Next came three hours at Louis C.K.’s house, talking while he made me dinner like I was one of his kids. I couldn’t stop. I kept saying I was done, and then I would think, Wait! I didn’t get to do Stephen Colbert yet. And how have I not talked to Steve Martin? Let me get Lena Dunham! Due to space and mental limitations, I had to stop, but I still have a long list of people I want to talk to. Sacha Baron Cohen, you are next! Will Ferrell—don’t think you are not going to be in volume two!
I would like to thank all of the people who so generously agreed to speak with me. When I was a kid, I noticed that all of the comics I was speaking to shared a common humanity. Some were solid as a rock, some seemed on the edge of sanity, but all were filled with love and kindness. As an adult, I have tried to pay it forward by giving my time to young comics and mentoring the funny people I believe in. It has been the most rewarding part of my career. I hope you enjoy this book as much as I enjoyed meeting all of these remarkable people.
When can I start the next one?
THE BEGINNING: JERRY SEINFELD (1983)
I became an official Jerry Seinfeld fan the first time he appeared on television on The Merv Griffin Show in 1980. This was before Seinfeld, of course. This was back when he was just some guy from Long Island, like me, who talked like me, and cared about the same kinds of things I cared about—and he was the best observational comedian I’d ever seen.
In 1983, I convinced someone in his manager’s office to set up an interview, and not long after, I showed up at his completely unfurnished apartment in West Hollywood. Thirty years later, I can still see that slightly crestfallen look in his eyes when he opened the door and realized that I was not, in fact, a real journalist from a real radio station with a real audience. That I was just a fifteen-year-old kid with a tape recorder.
This was one of the most personally influential interviews I did, mainly because he said so many useful things that helped me later in life—it was like a blueprint for how one should go about pursuing a career in comedy, and how to write jokes. For the first time, it dawned on me that comedy is work, and precision and care.
Jerry Seinfeld: Is it water-driven, this camera?
Judd Apatow: I’d like to talk about your type of comedy that you do. How would you describe it? Some people just tell the joke, like an observation, and that’s it. But you add a whole new dimension to it.
Jerry: Well, it’s one thing to see something. And I think the next step is to do something with it. You know, I’m doing this routine now about this guy that was on That’s Incredible last year, caught a bullet between his teeth. It’s like, you see a thing like that and you go, What the hell is that? The guy caught a bullet between his teeth. I don’t know what’s funny about that—but I think to myself, There is something funny about that. And that’s what I like to do. I think, What job did he have before he got into doing that? What made him go, you know, “I’d rather be catching bullets between my teeth”? I have a whole routine about it. To me, that’s funny.
Judd: So how do you develop that?
Jerry: Trial and error. You know, just try out one joke. I had this other thing about how I don’t remember this guy’s name. I saw the guy do it, right? Caught the bullet. I don’t even know his name. Now, if he knew that I didn’t know his name after seeing that, wouldn’t he feel like, What the hell do I have to do? You know what I mean? Isn’t that impressive enough for people to remember me? I mean, what do I have to do, catch a cannonball in the eye? So it’s like I just keep thinking on it until I—
Judd: You’re there.
Jerry: You know, hit something.
Judd: So you work it out at the Improv?
Jerry: Anywhere. Wherever I’m working, I’m trying new material.
Judd: So what do you think of the other kind of comedy, just observation, or—
Jerry: Depends on who’s doing it. Anything can be done either in a classy, interesting way or in a junky, easy way. It’s not the form itself, it’s the way someone approaches it. I mean, David Letterman has a hemorrhoid routine, Preparation H routine. It’s classy and brilliant. No cheap jokes in it. It’s something about how hemorrhoid experts agree and, like, who are these people? And you thought you hated your job, you know. It’s clever. Know what I mean? Normally I hear someone bring Preparation H up, I just turn off. I think, This is not gonna be a clever piece of comedy. So it doesn’t matter, you could be doing prop comedy. Rich Hall, who is brilliant, clever, interesting, doesn’t rely on the props. Some comedians will hold up something funny and it gets a laugh. Rich uses the prop, you know. And so—there’s no one type of comedy. It’s who’s doing it, and how they’re handling it.
Judd: What do you think of this whole crop of comedians that just came out in the last five years?
Jerry: You mean like me?
Judd: Yeah.
Jerry: I think we’re pretty good. Ah, well, it’s interesting. I guess we don’t seem too daring as a group, if you compared us to say, the sixties or the fifties.
Judd: But that ground had been broken already.