"Love, Gilda" Movie is a Must See!

My Personal Gilda Story

Gilda Radner's movie is just out, “Love, Gilda.” Anyone who is into comedy MUST see this hilarious and moving film about SNL's beloved, first cast member, Gilda Radner.

Source: By Solters and Roskin (ebay) [Public domain],
via Wikimedia Commons

She was not only an incredible talent but also, an extraordinary person.  My story, when I met her, takes place at the height of her success in 1979 on a cold, snowy NYC night.

I was the opening act at New York’s Bottom Line for the Roches, a band that was on Saturday Night Live a lot. The audience was full of showbiz VIPs who schmoozed and talked loudly while I was onstage. I made some jokes about it to the civilians in the first row, but the big shots studio execs continued to talk during my act. And if that wasn’t bad enough, when I got offstage I found out that the club owners had let these VIPs in and kept my seventy-five-year-old aunt Edith and her family standing in the snow outside. I went backstage in a fury. A woman asked me, “What’s the matter, honey?” I burst out crying. She pulled me into a small backstage bathroom. This complete stranger sat on the toilet in this tiny New York cockroach-infested bathroom, holding me on her lap while I sobbed on her shoulder. “That’s OK, honey. I know how hard it can be.” When I looked up I realized, “Oh my God, you’re Gilda Radner.” At that time, Gilda was a big star on Saturday Night Live. She was there to introduce the band but took the time to care for a complete stranger. Gilda Radner died of ovarian cancer in 1989.

How do you want to be remembered? Sometimes it’s the little moments, when we take the time to recognize others, that we truly are a superstar.

Hugh Hefner Gave me my Comedy Career and a Bunny Gave me Confidence

Hearing Hugh Hefner dying, made me think back to my start in show business.

Before comedy clubs, the place to perform and get paid were Playboy clubs. When I was 21 years old, I was a magician and quitting my job as a teacher, OK, getting fired. So,  I needed to get professional jobs.  I looked up who booked the Playboy Clubs. I figured, it was the perfect place for me, I had talent and cleavage.

The man booking the Playboy clubs was Irvin Arthur. I called his office, “Hi I’m a girl magician and I would be perfect to work Playboy Clubs.”

The woman on the other end laughed and said, “Have your agent call. Mr. Arthur only sees talent who are represented.”

Since I didn’t have an agent, I drove to the 9000 Sunset Building that had the Playboy Marquee on top of it, and went into Mr. Arthur’s office. His receptionist told me in no uncertain words that I didn’t have an appointment and would not be seen.

“I’ll just wait here to see if he has a moment.”

I waited for 5 hours. Mr. Arthur would open his door and see me as various people went in and out. Finally, he motioned me in. Standing in front of his desk, I burned a dollar bill and made it reappear in a banana. He laughed. I put him across his desk and sawed him in half, and his receptionist applauded. That was when he invited me to perform that very night at the Century City Playboy Club.

“We’ve have dinner, you perform, and I’ll give you $50.”

 

That night went great.  I went on to work at Playboy Clubs all across the country and Mr. Arthur became my manager.

It was at the Chicago Playboy club where I met “Hef” and my career changed forever.

My suitcases with my magic act didn’t show up. So, I tell the club manager the bad news, “Yeah, they didn’t arrive… so I can’t go on.”

“Oh no,” he said sounding like an Italian mafia cliché. “So you think you can’t go on because you’re little tricks didn’t come? Really? That’s what you think? Listen sweetheart, the man himself, Hef” is going to be here and he don’t like changes, so do what you have to do. Curtain’s at eight.”

I sit down despondent in the bunny locker room and hear someone talking to me.

Hi! Are you new?

I turn and I’m looking at a woman in a bunny suit.

“I’m… I’m… “

I just burst into tears. She pulls me to her and I cry into her massive bunny breasts.

Everything is wrong! I do a comedy magic act and my tricks didn’t show up. Hef is coming and I have nothing to wear, no act and you’re in a bunny outfit.

 

Judy, let me give you some advice, just say this to yourself, ‘I will survive, as long as I know I can love I know I’ll stay alive. You think I’ll tumble you think I’ll lay down and lie!’ Oh no I will survive.

Yes, I know… not original. But, that bunny changed my life.

I know Hef, Judy, and he wouldn’t be coming here to see your tricks. He’s coming to see you. Your tricks aren’t the funny part, you are. I can see that. Just be yourself. And you will survive. No, you will thrive.

I have nothing to wear.

I have an idea Bunny Chastity said.

The bunny outfit didn’t exactly fit. Bunny Chastity stared at my crotch.

What’s the matter?

Honey, you’ve got to shave?

Shave, I said looking under my arms?

You’ve got, you know, twisters.

Looking at my crotch I noticed the cut of the bunny suit exposed massive quantity of pubic hair.

“I can get you cleaned up in no time, “ says Bunny Chastity pulling out a razor from her locker.

The showroom is filling up. Hef is there.

I come out in the Bunny Outfit, scared as can be… I started to stutter as I said, “He- he- hello everyone… “

I feel them staring at my reddish upper thighs where Bunny Chastity just shaved… Someone shouts, “Hey Bunny!”

And then something snapped in me. Perhaps it was Bunny Chastidy’s motivational speech, or perhaps it was that the Equal Rights Amendment had just gone down to defeat in Illinois.

And said with confidence, “I’m a feminist and don’t call me Bunny! I’m a Rabbit damn you.”

And everyone laughs. And I will remember that moment for the rest of my life. I went on with the show.

Ladies and Gentleman, for the rest of my show I’m going to tell you what I was going to do for you if an airline, I won’t mention their name, but sounds like Belta. Big Laugh.

My escape from my grandmother’s girdle is on it’s way to Alaska. Big Laugh. I was going to do a sawing a man in half, with a black and decker saw, but Hef, you’ll be happy that my luggage is lost because I have a lot of feminist rage. Another Big Laugh.

And let me tell you about my Jewish mother and this cleavage. Another laugh.

Afterwards, Hef introduced me to his girlfriend, Barbie Benton and invited me to spend the night in the Chicago Playboy mansion. I stayed in the leather room which was actually vinyl. It’s all an illusion.

For the next three years I worked Playboy Clubs all across the country and did 22 performances on the Mike Douglas show.. The tricks got old and after a few months, I stopped bring them. I started going sans magic… That was when Playboy Clubs turned into Comedy Clubs and I was ready to ride the gravy train day of comedy, opening for Prince, Kenny Loggins, and of course, Barbie Benton.  And I now speak for a living and write books teaching others how to find their voice and their message.

I realized that magic isn’t tricking people that I’m turning a glass of sugar into a goldfish, but rather, real magic is turning problems into punch lines and speaking the truth. And that’s when you truly make magic.

Carrie Fisher: Turning Problems into Punchlines

One of the things everyone admired about Carrie Fisher was the way she turned mental illness into a career. In so doing, she helped so many “come out” about their own secrets. In her books, her speaking appearances, and her one-woman show, she revealed what it was like being bipolar. “Having waited my entire life to get an award for something, anything,” Debbie Reynold’s only daughter quipped, “I now get awards all the time for being mentally ill. It’s better than being bad at being insane, right? How tragic would it be to be runner-up for Bipolar Woman of the Year?”

Carrie knew what all us standup comics know: that a problem can be turned into a powerful punchline. As a standup comic for 17 years and teaching comedy for 20 years, I found that when I joked about a problem, it made whatever I was dealing with more manageable. Laughing at a problem is empowering. I’m not just the victim. I’m the narrator, acknowledging it, taking charge of it and making fun of it.

I felt this full force at 21. Filled with rage and sadness after a difficult breakup, I took to the stage at the Hollywood Improv and proclaimed, “I just broke up with someone. We had one thing in common. We were both madly in love with HIM.” In the moment of laughter, something lifted.

When teaching comedy, the “normal” people in the workshop weren’t very funny. I remember one girl who refused to admit that anything was wrong. “No, I’ve never been rejected. I have a wonderful husband. My kids hug me every day.” There was nothing funny about that. Nobody related to her. To be funny, we had to find the courage to cop to the weirdness of our mother’s housekeeping, the fears of coming out as a gay man to a redneck father, showing that what is inside didn’t control us, but rather was the butt of a joke that led to laughter and healing.

“I wanted to tell my father I was gay, but he was always cleaning his gun,” a comedy student said on stage, winning over the audience.

My father would beat me with the belt my parents gave me for Christmas. When I was asked, “What do you want for Christmas?” I would say, “Socks!” another comedy student said to thunderous guffaws.

“Life is a cruel, horrible joke and I am the punch line,” was said by Carrie Fisher

It’s not easy being that open. In fact, it’s scary. It may be easier to tell these kinds of jokes in the privacy of a class, but going public takes guts. That’s what distinguished Carrie Fisher from many others. In her one woman show, “Wishful Drinking,” she took the risk of directing her humor at her parents, saying, “I'm a product of Hollywood inbreeding. When two celebrities mate, something like me is the result.” Instead of distancing herself from the audience by identifying her background as privileged, she freely showed the difficulties and pain, finding the way to mine it for laughter.

Here is a clip from her show on “Hollywood inbreeding 101.”

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0BBAQVNpvFM

She didn’t shy away from showing the complicated relationship between mother and daughter. Interestingly, this true confessional didn’t create estrangement. We know that the two women reconciled and became close. Carrie’s honesty may have allowed her mother to understand what went wrong and try to remedy it. As Debbie Reynolds said, “Carrie and I have disagreements and stalemates, but we still walk away loving each other."

On showcase night, my comedy students were reluctant to invite the person who would be the butt of their jokes. One woman was particularly fearful as her entire act revolved around making fun of her mom. She joked about her controlling nature, her obsessive cleaning, painted on eyebrows, and her holding up supermarket lines with excess coupon cutting. She was terrified of seeing her mother after the show. Her mother rushed over to her, hugged her and said, “You forgot to say I’m a hoarder. Here are some jokes I wrote for you to do next time!”

Carrie Fisher and Debbie Reynolds can serve as role models, teaching us that laughter can bring us closer together. It’s a better tool for healing than denying. Our secrets are often what’s funniest about us.

Follow Judy Carter @judycarter.com

Judy teaches online http://comedyworkshops.com

Having Election Anxiety? Therapists Report Trump Trauma

If you’re finding that your emotional well-being is being challenged by this presidential election, you are not alone. The Washington Post writes, “Psychologists and massage therapists are reporting ‘Trump anxiety’ among clients.” According to the Post, what seems to be anxiety producing is, “How can Trump be so divisive AND popular at the same time?”

Photo courtesy of Pixabay.com

My own case of Trump Trauma started shortly after the Republican candidate called Mexicans “rapists.” Like many, I thought, “Well, that will end his campaign.” But that didn’t happen. His rallies grew and so did my anxiety level.   

His insults continued. He mocked the disabled and people of color, and he body-shamed women. We then saw tapes of him bragging about sexually assaulting women while proclaiming, “No one is more respectful of women than me.”

And yet, Republicans didn’t get out of endorsing him while I was having a hard time getting out of bed. Seeing women wave “Women Support Trump” signs, I took to having a cocktail – maybe two -- after the evening news.

There was no 12-step program or halfway house to get over the mania. Going “Trump Free” was impossible as he was on every iPhone news feed, the subject of every Facebook conversation, and even sleep provided no escape as he appeared in my dreams to tell me I was not a 10.  Still, I heard him saying, “You’re fat, you’re old, I’m going to grab you by your pussy, and you can’t stop me!”

In that dream, Trump’s face was replaced by my father’s. Although there was little resemblance between his family and mine, in therapy, the connections surfaced. Both Trump and my father had an undue sense of privilege. In the 1950’s, men were thought of as princes. When nights became violent, my mother made sure that by morning everything looked perfect. The man leaving our home, in a coat and tie, was off to work, providing for his family and a dutiful wife who took care of the house. Those who knew the truth about what was going on in our family – my mother, some neighbors, even the police – did nothing to try to stop it. Men were given a pass.

Trump revealed by his own words that he was a sexual predator. My father didn’t have a videotape with Billy Bush, but he kept a meticulous journal of all his conquests. When I found it after he died, I saw that my mother wasn’t his only victim. If he were alive today, I can imagine my father putting a Trump spin on it, “That never happened. Believe me, she was ugly and flat chested.”

And the women – Melania, my mother, and others – lack the courage to stand up to the monsters sleeping next to them or giving them a pass by chalking it up to "Boy talk."

But, understanding the roots of my Trump Trauma and writing this blog, my anxiety has lessened. Also helping has been the polls showing that others are crossing political lines making a statement that this behavior is not acceptable.

Unfortunately, there will always be men like Trump and my father. But if anything productive comes from this election, I hope there will be more honest conversations about them, and we will unite to help women protect themselves and their children from these men.

12 Tips to Remedy Seasonal Depression

Fall Starts with National Suicide Prevention Month

Seasonal depression is a real thing as I just got an email that September is National Suicide Prevention Month. Wow! Summer over already? In Southern California, the weather doesn’t alert you to the change of seasons. The leaves on palm trees don’t change color. Actually, the drought has all but done away with trees. It’s 78 degrees and there is no obvious difference so we desperately look for a sign that we are approaching winter, things such as: 

• Angelenos are starting to lose their tan.
• With all the kids back in school, the ocean water smells better as there is less pee in it.
• Weight Watcher meetings are less populated with swimsuit season over. 
• The slight coolness in the air whips up sad feelings of loved ones who have fallen from us. We mourn for what was, who we once were, who we’d hoped to be and never will.

You’re probably thinking, “Hey, Judy, you’re supposed to end with a joke.” I know, that last bullet was sad.  And that’s why September makes sense for a Suicide Prevention Month.

But, as someone who sometimes falls into seasonal depression, I look to turn messes to successes. It’s a way of making them hurt less. Some of you prone to seasonal depression understand what I’m talking about. So, I’m sharing my list of things to do when you fall backwards. I keep it on my iPhone in my “Notes” always available to turn to. That helps cope with the urge to have yet another Whiskey Sour, order Chinese food delivery AFTER dinner, or I find myself wondering if middle age is too late for a second career as a prostitute. 

Carter’s Combat Depression List:

Break into in case of emergency

Hug your dog.

1. MOVE: Go to another room. Go in the yard. Go to the store. Go anywhere other than where you are.
2. GET A MASSAGE. People who get paid to touch us generally do a better job than the ones in bed with us. 
3. SHOP ON AMAZON. You can always return the stuff when you feel better.
4. WALK YOURSELF OR YOUR DOG TO A NEW PLACE. Get away from the usual routine. The vibes of a different place, with different people is invigorating and healing. 
5. WRITE AN APPRECIATIVE FACEBOOK POST, SEND A TEXT OR EMAIL. Tell someone how and why you appreciate them. Helping another person is a terrific spirit lifter.
6. PLAY A VIDEO GAME. Shooting the bad guy is a great way to express your anger and lift the fog.
7. SING. Even if no one else will, your dog will listen.
8. MAKE A LIST. Count the times you felt happy and try to recreate that state of mind.
9. GIVE AWAY MONEY. But not to the wrong candidate. Kiva.com is a great site that loans money to impoverished small business owners who repay them. It’s the gift that truly keeps on giving.
10. GO ON MEET.UP.COM You’ll get to know strangers who are worse off than you. Maybe others who’ve read this list. That will help put things in perspective.
11. PAINT BY NUMBERS. When I write my books, I always do paint by numbers. You can’t go wrong. It’s easier than staying in the lines in a coloring book. There are no choices and it’s guaranteed to look like the picture on the box it came in. 
12. LABEL THINGS. Get an DYMO labeler and go to work. It makes a satisfying sound as it spits out labels such as “Ground Cumin” “2015 Taxes” and “Love Letters Circa 1985.” You will feel productive. But, if you over do it and start labeling you cats, “Cat” call your therapist ASAP.

What are your tips to fighting Fall Funk?