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.]

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.