In May of 2005, I was at the funeral of a dear friend of mine — Howie Morris, who'd co-starred with the great Sid Caesar on Your Show of Shows and other programs. Sid was not there…and no one who knew how poor his health had been faulted him for not being there. At one point, I found myself standing with Andy Griffith and Aaron Ruben, and Aaron said wistfully, "You know we're going to be doing this for Sid any day now." Andy nodded and said, "Poor Sid."
Aaron Ruben, who'd been a writer for Sid and who'd produced The Andy Griffith Show, died in 2010 and Andy died in 2012. Sid outlived both of them. He died this morning at the age of 91.
Here's an obit that, as so many will, makes the mistake of thinking Larry Gelbart and Woody Allen wrote for Your Show of Shows. Since there will be so many others documenting his amazing career and achievements, I'll just write about my experiences with Sid. In the early eighties, when I was Head Writer on the infamous variety show Pink Lady, we were desperate for guests. Even before anyone had seen the show or its stars, no one who mattered wanted to be on it. But Sid Caesar was available so we had him on half the episodes. (That's where the above photo is from.)
He was a strange man…distant and distrusting. It didn't take long to realize a big reason why that was.
Everywhere we went — to lunch, to meetings, just walking together through the studio lot — he was approached by people who said the same thing: "You are the greatest comedian who ever lived." Compliment after compliment. Praise upon praise. And Sid would wince a bit and squeeze his eyebrows (he always squeezed his eyebrows when he was uncomfortable) and prepare himself because he knew the Painful Question was coming. It usually went something like this…
"Why don't you have your own TV show? You're so much funnier than [name of big current comedy star]!" Sid didn't have an answer for that.
He was polite to people who touched that raw nerve. He'd mumble something about idiot network executives, which is kind of an all-purpose excuse — often a valid one — for the odd things that transpire in television.
But the truth was he didn't know. He had once been the King of TV Comedy, dubbed "The Chaplin of Television" by none less than Steve Allen, who knew a little something about funny people. Too often though, he found himself unemployed or appearing in shows and movies that were, well, not worthy of him. Not many shows or movies were. Howie Morris used to say, with real sympathy, "Sid goes wandering through life wondering where his series went and when it's coming back."
Another thing Howie said. He took me once to a lunch group — a bunch of out-of-work actors gathering every Thursday afternoon at Cafe Roma in Beverly Hills. The "cast" was mainly folks who'd worked on Hogan's Heroes, which Howie had directed. As we got there, Robert Clary said, "Sid will be joining us today."
Howie said, "Really? Who are we going to talk to?" Because — and this was one of the big reasons Sid wasn't on TV more — there was no Sid Caesar when he wasn't in character. Give him a role to don, especially a role with a dialect, and no one was funnier. But Sid playing Sid? Nothing.
The best example I can give you of this came a few years ago at another funeral of a colleague that Sid outlived. It was at the memorial for Larry Gelbart and here's how I described it here at the time…
Perhaps the most touching moment came from Sid Caesar. I'll say this as delicately as I can: The great Caesar is not in great shape. He is frail and largely confined to a wheelchair. Unable to get up on stage, he delivered his speech from the front row of the audience, helped to his feet by an aide.
Now, in the best of health, Sid Caesar was never good at speaking as Sid Caesar. In fact, earlier in a clip that was shown, we'd seen Gelbart talking about how uncomfortable Sid was when not enveloped in some sort of character. Now, he tried…but the words just wouldn't come. He started a sentence, lost his way in the middle of it and just froze up. The audience squirmed uncomfortably…
…and then a smart person in the front row – someone said it was Mel Brooks but I don't think it was – called out, "Sid, try it in Italian!"
Instantly, Sid began speaking in the double-talk Italian for which he's so famous. It was utter gibberish but it was wonderful, eloquent gibberish that was somehow infused with love for his friend, Larry. The audience went crazy.
That day at Cafe Roma, Sid was seated to my right. He had only a vague recollection of working with me on Pink Lady, inviting me to his home a few times, seeing him on other occasions. Straining to make conversation, I asked him a couple of things about It's a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World. I'd discussed it with him in his more lucid days but at that lunch, he didn't remember anything that he'd remembered before. Plus, we were constantly interrupted by people who stopped at the table to tell him he was the greatest comedian ever and to ask why he wasn't on television every week.
(By the way: I had the exact same experience — minus the failing memory — whenever I was around Jonathan Winters. Everyone told him he was the funniest man who was ever on television and asked why he wasn't on all the time. Once, I heard Jonathan answer someone, "I will be the next time they revive Hollywood Squares.")
The problem with Sid, of course, was that he wasn't much of a TV star when he was Sid Caesar, sans outrageous character. Another problem was that no matter what anyone hired him for, he tried to turn it into a Your Show of Shows sketch. He was frozen in that era and that kind of comedy. On Pink Lady, we had a sketch where Sid had a line about Bo Derek, who was at the time the person you referenced in a joke to denote a beautiful movie star. Every time Sid said the line, it turned into Marilyn Monroe.
Patiently — and nervously, because Sid was a powerful man with hair-trigger anger — the director would explain to him that the name "Marilyn Monroe" no longer suggested someone men lusted after for her great beauty. Marilyn had been dead for close to twenty years. Sid would nod, say he understood…
…and the next take, it would still be "Marilyn Monroe." At some point, you just plain give up.
There are actors of his generation who work. Dick Van Dyke still works. Shelley Berman still works. Sid's sidekick Carl Reiner still works…a lot. In fact, all three of those men and others I could name turn down more parts than they accept. They've all learned that in the 21st Century, they can't insist on doing things the way they did in 1959 so they grow, they learn, they adapt. Sid just couldn't. He didn't work the last fifteen years or so due to failing health but he didn't work much for years before that due to failing evolution.
It was such a shame. I didn't start writing this to be such a downer. I should be writing about what a funny, clever man he was and celebrate the fine, innovative comedy he gave us. The trouble is that I couldn't look at him without thinking what a waste it was of one of the most brilliant comedians who ever lived. When that man was at his best, there was nobody better. Nobody.