There comes a time in every successful comedian’s life when they want to be more than a vessel for laughter. Like all the greats before me, I, the multi-cam laugh track, am ready for the next stage of my career: the one where I get to pass on projects that bring joy to audiences and instead, take on roles that leave viewers feeling sad, anxious, and disturbed.
That’s right, from here on out, I only want to be in movies involving cancer, opioids, dogs who die, WWII, rich white people murdering each other, or AIDS. Ideally, it’s directed by a man and starring a “Chris” or a “Tom,” but I’d also settle for a music biopic if I can be the crowd that boos the drunk singer off stage.
My past credits may be chock-full of different iterations of men in chairs complaining to their hot wives about their even hotter moms, but I studied Strasberg with Laura Dern. I, too, was in the original Jurassic Park before Steven Spielberg edited me out. Apparently, canned laughter didn’t “fit in” with the scene where Donald Gennaro gets devoured by a T-Rex while sitting on a toilet.
To the world, I may be best known as a “laugh track,” but I have so many other tracks to offer. Imagine how much more impact dramatic scenes could have on viewers if my eclectic range of reactions were utilized. A shocking “gasp!” added to a crime thriller the moment overflowing cement engulfs the assassin into a haunting statue. A sweet “aww” performed when two forbidden Victorian lovers touch hands for the first time before quickly transitioning into a risqué “ooh” during their steamy sex scene in a horse stable. A celebratory “woohoo!” when the superhero punches the evil villain into an exploding bus as a reminder violence is awesome.
If the dad from Malcolm In The Middle can revolutionize TV with Breaking Bad, or the boss from The Office can transform himself into a megalomaniac murderer in Foxcatcher, why can’t I chime in with a well-timed “nooo” in Oppenheimer?
Research shows that audiences are stupid. Back in the ‘90s, I was the judge on what was funny and what was funny was fat suits. Without me, no one would’ve laughed at Fat Monica in Friends. If I can cue people to laugh, you bet I can get audiences to feel the painstaking nausea of Zone of Interest with an uncomfortable “ugh” or get turned on when watching Challengers after I shout out a suggestive “yowza.” If anyone is going to understand the dynamic between Lady Gaga and Joaquin Phoenix in Joker: Folie à Deux, it’s going to be because Todd Phillips added my signature “uh-oh” in post.
People assume laughing is easy, but it’s not. It’s a skill one must master and some even argue is more difficult than crying—but that’s not to say, I can’t cry. I can do a killer impression of a baby crying. Writers, let’s get a move on those scripts about colic. Throw in a grieving widow, a spunky neighbor, and a love interest with a questionable age difference and we will all be heading to the Oscars. (And yes, I’m in this for the awards. Why else would people do dramas if not for the respect and lavish goodie bags? I heard they give away 24k gold vape pens.)
Once I nab my Academy Award, I could enter the multi-hyphenate phase of my career where I build out my media empire by producing, directing, and creating my own whiskey label. After that becomes a hit, then I could make a docuseries about my calling to the fermentation process, which, of course, will later turn into a prestigious limited series co-starring a shirtless Jeremy Allen White.
And yes, I do realize there’s a chance I’ll forever be typecast and never make the jump from comedy to drama, but don’t you worry because I got a rock-solid backup plan that involves the one industry that never fails its artists: the music industry. Music sampling here I come.