January 26, 2009

ten questions for mark o’donnell

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If you’ve spent a lot of time around the New York lite­rary party cir­cuit in the last cou­ple of deca­des, chan­ces are you would’ve run into a very old friend of mine, the author and playw­rite, Mark O’Donnell.
I met Mark at sum­mer camp back when I was a kid. He was a camp coun­ci­lor. Back then he was atten­ding Har­vard, where he and his twin brother, Steve, were hea­vily invol­ved in the Har­vard Lam­poon, the great, old college humor maga­zine that spaw­ned offshoots like Natio­nal Lam­poon, Spy Maga­zine and The Onion.
Mark’s spe­cialty at camp was wri­ting skits, which he’d get the kids to per­form around th camp­fire. And damn, they were good. Funny and smart as hell. I still remem­ber how much fun they were to put on. I still remem­ber how much peo­ple loved them, both old and young.
Fast for­ward ten years. I’m in college at UT Aus­tin, though now I’m now back up East in Bos­ton for a week, visi­ting family. I’m in the offi­ces of the Har­vard Lam­poon, just han­ging around the cam­pus. The Lam­poon was HQ’d in this really curious little buil­ding, that was dona­ted to the college by William Ran­dolph Hearst. Tal­king to the young pre­si­dent of the Lam­poon and some other stu­dent staf­fers, I ask if they knew of Mark and Steve. Very much so, it turns out. Though they gra­dua­ted a decade before, their names were still very much reve­red by folks there. I was told that Mark was off wri­ting novels and plays, and Steve was now wor­king as head wri­ter for David Let­ter­man. Both were living in New York.
So a few days later I pho­ned up the NBC Let­ter­man office, asked for Steve, got put through, intro­du­ced myself, told him who I was and that I was loo­king for Mark etc. We tal­ked for a bit, Steve gave me Mark’s num­ber, I called him up, we tal­ked for a whie, the next time I was in New York we hoo­ked up and hung out; we’ve been friends ever since.

Ten Ques­tions For Mark O’Donnell
1. After years of strug­gling as a clas­sic New York humo­rist, you finally lan­ded your first really big hit: Co-writer of “Hairs­pray, The Musi­cal”, based on the John Waters film. The play won you a Tony Award, it now tours the world and has been made into a movie with John Tra­volta. I remem­ber wri­ting to con­gra­tu­la­ting you, and you wrote back, “And Hairs­pray is like only one per cent of what I’m proud of.” Perhaps, but it’s still pretty impres­sive stuff nonethe­less. I also know you are still living in the same apart­ment you had when you first moved to New York in the late 1970s. Has your life really chan­ged that much since Hairs­pray con­que­red the world?
It hasn’t chan­ged at all, except I now have some secu­rity for my free-lancer old age. I’m cer­tainly not famous, except to my friends. When I wal­ked the red car­pet at the Tony Awards, pho­to­graphers kept asking me to get out of the way. Except one Japa­nese papa­razzo, who said, “Over here, Mr. Den­nehy!” He thought I was Brian Den­nehy.
2. For the bene­fit of gaping­void rea­ders, let’s talk about the remai­ning 99% per­cent of your work. What else have you done that you’re proud of?
I joke that I’m obs­cure in many fields, but I am proud that I’ve published poetry, car­toons, plays, novels, essays and songs, even if I’m not well known as any one of those things. The diver­sity has been ful­fi­lling. That Knopf and The New Yor­ker and Playw­rights Hori­zons, the best in their res­pec­tive are­nas, have spon­so­red me — It makes me feel good, even if it’s our little sec­ret.
3. I remem­ber when your book, Ver­tigo Park came out. Basi­cally, it was a collec­tion of short humor pie­ces. One piece I remem­ber in par­ti­cu­lar, “Marred Bliss”, actually got me to laugh out loud, something that rarely hap­pens when I’m rea­ding. It’s perhaps one of the top ten fun­niest things I have ever read in my life. Once you told me “Marred Bliss” was your “Party Trick”. Care to ela­bo­rate?
Basi­cally, it’s cha­rac­ters tal­king in revea­ling Freu­dian slips: “I heard you were engor­ged, and I just slop­ped by to pave my regrets.” “Where is the strong, sta­bled man I’m taking to be alte­red?” It’s very funny, but only for ten minu­tes. It would get wear­ying after that.That’s why I call it a par­lor trick. Also, it’s pro­bably my most pro­du­ced play, brief as it is.
4. You were also one of the first con­tri­bu­tors to SPY, the famous sati­ri­cal maga­zine. What was that like to work for, back in the early days?
It was won­der­ful, because my old Lam­poon friend, Kurt Ander­sen, was the edi­tor, so there was no “fear of teacher.” It was like a sec­ret treehouse. He gene­rously published a lot of my car­toons when other pla­ces weren’t biting, and when SPY became the capi­tal of Hip, it was fun to go to its black-tie par­ties.
5. About a decade ago, I was living in New York when your novel, “Let Nothing You Dis­may” came out. I remem­ber hea­ring you being inter­vie­wed on New York Public Radio about it. One of those “Hey, I know that guy” moments. I really enjo­yed the book. Though I’m straight, I remem­ber really iden­tif­ying with the main cha­rac­ter, a gay, thirty­so­mething Manhat­tan guy whose life, shall we say, is going nowhere fast. The book chro­nic­les his adven­tu­res during New York Christ­mas Holi­days Party Sea­son. He’s a guy who wants the same warm-and-fuzzy stuff we all do, but all he seems to have to show for his years living in “The Grea­test City In The World” is unde­rem­ploy­ment, lone­li­ness and alie­na­tion. You’re gay your­self, and as I’ve known you for a while, I did see some auto­bio­graphy embed­ded in the story, howe­ver I didn’t see this book as “gay fic­tion”. There was something to it that cap­tu­red the quin­tes­sen­tial New York expe­rience that trans­cends sex or sexua­lity– the high emo­tio­nal price you pay for living there. You’ve lived in New York for over three deca­des, and I’m gues­sing, like all New Yor­kers, you will have had plenty of pain­ful, per­so­nal expe­rien­ces simi­lar to the main cha­rac­ter. Was wri­ting this book your way of wor­king through those expe­rien­ces?

GETTING OVER HOMER
was my per­so­nal working-through-heartbreak novel. LET NOTHING YOU DISMAY is sheer ima­gi­na­tive spe­cu­la­tion: the hero is five two, and I’m six two in height. I got the idea one Christ­mas sea­son, when I went to two radi­cally dif­fe­rent par­ties in one day — an off-Broadway theatre’s, which had potato chips and wine in a box, and FORBES Magazine’s party, which had a live orches­tra, tuxe­doed wai­ters with hot hors d’oeuvres, and a glit­te­ring buf­fet. I thought you could paint a pic­ture of all man­kind in just a few stro­kes if you did it right. Also, the main cha­rac­ter, because he’s short, aspi­res to higher things.
6. I remem­ber mee­ting your twin brother, Steve, when he came up to the sum­mer camp in New Hampshire to visit you for a few days. I remem­ber seeing him wea­ring a tweed jac­ket, tie and slacks, and thin­king, “Why is Mark all dres­sed up?” You guys were extre­mely iden­ti­cal in the twin depart­ment. And then yes, soon after you both gra­dua­ted from Har­vard and got jobs wri­ting funny stuff for a living. Steve had his first big break wri­ting for David Let­ter­man [before that he wrote funny lines for a gree­ting card com­pany]. Though you both have had nothing but love and mutual res­pect for each other over the years, your career took lon­ger than Steve’s to reach the big time. Was that dif­fi­cult for you, or did it not really mat­ter?
We’ve never been com­pe­ti­tors, we’re collea­gues. His suc­cess is mine and vice versa. Does one doc­tor resent it when another doc­tor saves a life? Actually, it’s been up and down for us both, so no one’s ever “ahead.” We each believe in the other’s fun­ni­ness, so the outside world’s res­ponse is beside the point.
7. Your humor, car­toons, and poetry have appea­red in The New Yor­ker, Spy, Atlan­tic Monthly, the New York Times Maga­zine, you’ve published books, and your plays have been pro­du­ced both on and off Broad­way. I know you had a brief stint wri­ting TV for Satur­day Night Live, but if I were to sum up your oeuvre in three words, it would be “The Prin­ted Page”. Your bother, howe­ver, opted for tele­vi­sion, not just with Let­ter­man, but also folk like Chris Rock and Sein­feld. I’m gues­sing you’re talen­ted enough to have also gone down that road, had it appea­led to you. But I’m gues­sing it didn’t. Thoughts?
I did write for SATURDAY NIGHT LIVE, and wrote assor­ted scripts that never got made. I’m a bit more boo­kish, I guess. Steve has thri­ved in TV, whe­reas I pre­fe­rred books and plays. I joke that he’s the world’s most artis­tic comic and I’m the world’s most comic artist.
8. Wen you first star­ted get­ting your name around New York, the world wide web didn’t exist. And now it does, very much so. Has the web affec­ted your career? Has it made it har­der? Easier? How has the world chan­ged, from the pers­pec­tive of the industry you’re in?
I’m techno-tarded, so the Web or wha­te­ver hardly affects me. The HAIRSPRAY screen­play had to be filed as an online attached docu­ment, that was, to me, a cha­llenge. I expect I’ll have to handle it even­tually.
9. This story really tic­kled me: After the suc­cess of Hairs­pray, you’re were wor­king on a new John Waters musi­cal, “Cry­Baby”, based on his film. A few months ago I sent you a note, telling you about how my “How To Be Crea­tive” mani­festo was going to be published as a book. I had no idea if you had yet come across it, at that point. And you wrote back, “One of our actors was brow­sing your web­site as we rehear­sed CRYBABY, and was impres­sed I knew you. Qui peut savoir?” It seems to me, that when something you make gets suc­cess­ful [My most con­ser­va­tive esti­mate of how many peo­ple have read HTBC so far: Two million], it really takes on a life of its own. The author pretty much cea­ses to mat­ter. You’ve got the author, you’ve got the piece of work, and sud­denly you’ve got his THIRD THING that the work beco­mes, after it’s been seen and diges­ted by enough peo­ple. Since Hairspray’s suc­cess, have you noti­ced this phe­no­me­non?
Well, there’s a lot of HAIRSPRAY merchan­dise — Bloomingdale’s even did a fashion line — and high school kids everywhhere sing the score, but it was a colla­bo­ra­tion bet­ween six peo­ple, and John Waters is the ulti­mate pro­ge­ni­tor. I don’t take it per­so­nally, as you can with your strip. It’s how peo­ple intro­duce me now, though.

10. As your long-time fan­boy, it’s really gra­tif­ying for me to see your work FINALLY get­ting the recog­ni­tion it deser­ves. But as we both lear­ned the hard way, “It don’t come easy”. Kno­wing what you know now, what advice would you have given your­self, years ago, when you first moved to New York as a young, aspi­ring wri­ter just out of college?

Basi­cally, don’t look down. I didn’t rea­lize that the odds are against the strug­gling artist, but I assume talent, patience and work will vin­di­cate those meant for wha­te­ver the dream may be.
And, as Yeats sug­gests, “Be sec­ret and exult.” Take joy in what you do, even if as yet it goes unseen.
[The “Ten Ques­tions” series archive is here.]

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One Response to “ten questions for mark o’donnell”

  1. Dale Kirby says:

    Great inter­view. I got an extra laugh from it when , right after you tal­ked about his Freu­dian slip play and his pos­si­ble sibling rivalry, you typoed, “Your bother, howe­ver, opted for tele­vi­sion… “
    Thanks for all the inten­tio­nal comedy as well.