Abby Singer. Eccentric designation for the penultimate shot of the shooting day, named for a 50s-era assistant TV director (Abner E. Singer, later a production manager on such programs asHill Street Blues and Remington Steele) who, when pestered by the crew about how many shots remained to set up, invariably responded, “We’ll do this one and one more.” The final shot of the day, following the Abby Singer, is the Martini Shot.
Belvedere. Deceptively innocuous term for the act of accidentally sitting upon one’s own testicles; derived from a possibly apocryphal story in which Christopher Hewett, the plummy English actor who played the title role in the 1980s sitcom Mr. Belvedere, so forcefully flattened his testes while settling into a chair during a staged script reading that he involuntarily let forth an ear-splitting yowl. We cut the Gingrich sketch after Bobby Moynihan Belvedered himself during the dress rehearsal.
Bono. A problematic juncture in a script that gets a new joke inserted into it every night because no joke previously in that spot has earned a laugh. Named after a jinxed location in West Hollywood known for housing several short-lived restaurants, including Sonny Bono’s first eponymous joint.
Bottle episode. Pared-down, simply plotted episode of a program, filmed late in the season when the budget’s been run through, sweeps are over, and it’s incumbent upon the writer-producers to make use of existing sets and regular cast members, with no scenes calling for location shoots or a guest appearance by Judd Hirsch.
Burrows, Jimmy. Universally used industry appellation for James Burrows, the bearded, avuncular co-creator of Cheers and high-priced go-to director for the pilot episode of any sitcom wishing to achieve instant credibility and liftoff (e.g., 2 Broke Girls, Mike & Molly, Will & Grace, and, er, The Tortellis). For what we paid Jimmy Burrows, it had damned well better go to series, and it had damned well better get Community’s slot.
Clam. Hoary, unacceptably clichéd gag; derived from the shopworn gag line “I don’t know what my problem is; I musta had some bad clams for lunch.” In certain writers’ rooms, a writer pitching what is perceived as a “clam” suffers the ritual humiliation of having an actual clamshell placed in front of him.
Downey, Jim. Agelessly cherubic Saturday Night Live writer of decades’ standing, known for writing most of the program’s political material. Downey’s own political leanings are the subject of much industry speculation because, allegedly, he doesn’t hew to liberal orthodoxies (though he has declared himself a registered Democrat).
False jeopardy. A moment in a drama in which it’s suggested—despite the audience’s commonsense intuition to the contrary—that a series regular might die. We can’t have the Medellin sado-rapist douse Detective Benson with lighter fluid and soliloquize while menacingly flicking his lighter—that’s false jeopardy!
Folding up the tallis. Producing a season or two beyond your series’ natural lifespan because the network still wants the ratings your show brings in. Derived from the penchant among male congregants in a synagogue for folding up their prayer shawls near the conclusion of a Jewish service, in giddy anticipation of getting out. By the ’03 or ’04 season of Everybody Loves Raymond, it was clear that Phil Rosenthal and Ray Romano were just having fun and folding up the tallis.
“For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow.” Song never sung by actual human beings in real life but frequently used in birthday-party scenes on TV because, through a complicated series of transactions and interpretations of copyright law, the rights to the song “Happy Birthday to You” are held by the publishing behemoth Warner/Chappell, which demands royalty payments for its use.
Formatted reality. Refreshingly candid industry categorization for a reality program that relies on a pre-cooked gimmick or organizing principle (e.g., fat people trying to slim down onThe Biggest Loser and Fat Chef, unrelated adults sharing a house on Big Brother and Jersey Shore) rather than on the story-driven, more spontaneity-friendly narratives of such “docu-series” as Deadliest Catch and Pawn Stars.
Frankenbite. In reality TV, a line of dialogue or monologue stitched together from different sections of an interview or scene, usually to make the speaker’s words more cogent and/or provocative.
Gorodetsky, Eddie. Hulking veteran comedy writer of bebopperish mien, known for being equally esteemed in the comedy and music worlds, being the only person to have written forSCTV, Saturday Night Live, and Late Night with David Letterman, and having exquisite taste in music and musician friends. Served as Bob Dylan’s creative partner on the former’s enchanting satellite-radio program Theme Time Radio Hour. Currently working in the Chuck Lorre stable, on Two and a Half Men and The Big Bang Theory.
Hang a lantern on it. Writer’s term for noting a logic flaw in the script that must be addressed, often by having a character call attention to said logic flaw. Wait, wasn’t the unseen sister supposed to be pregnant and now we introduce her and she’s a thin hottie? Let’s hang a lantern on it and have her say, “It was ectopic.”
Heat Vision and Jack. Would-be Fox Network comedy series that commands enormous cult status despite existing only as a pilot episode. Co-created in 1999 by future Community mastermind Dan Harmon, the program’s single episode featured Jack Black as an ex-astronaut and Owen Wilson as the voice of Heat Vision, Black’s character’s talking motorcycle. Fox’s failure to pick up the show, coupled with its insufficient nurturing of the similarly gonzo sitcom Arrested Development, is upheld by TV Snobs as an indictment of network conservatism and aversion to funniness.
Kate Bush rule. Requirement that, when a young character in a drama series dies, the song “Running Up That Hill” must play over the valedictory montage.
Kazurinsky, Tim. Gnomish comic actor and writer best remembered for his 1980s stint onSaturday Night Live; now invoked in writers’ rooms whenever a joke contains too many groan-worthy puns. Based on Kazurinsky’s somewhat groan-worthy (but also beloved) S.N.L.character Dr. Jack Badofsky, whose recurring “Weekend Update” bit found him cataloguing spurious diseases and disorders by way of pun-imprinted display cards. Really? You’re calling the drag performer Man-a Del Gay? Send that one to Tim Kazurinsky.
Laying pipe. Engaging in obvious but necessary exposition; in sitcoms, a condition of having to hustle the story along within the constraints of 22 minutes. Laying pipe usually takes the form of flagrantly expository dialogue that often begins with the words “I can’t believe that … ,” e.g., “I can’t believe that we’re bridesmaids in Missy’s steampunk-themed wedding, meaning that today we have to go shopping for copper corsets and aviator goggles.”
Lookwell. Failed 1991 TV series that made it no further than the pilot phase yet has achievedheat vision and jack–like Holy Grail status among comedy seekers. Created by Conan O’Brien and Robert Smigel, Lookwell was a meta-exercise in which former Batman star Adam West played a washed-up TV star who bumblingly took to real-life crime solving. A year afterLookwell’s demise, O’Brien and Smigel consoled themselves by becoming, respectively, the star and head writer of NBC’s Late Night with Conan O’Brien.
Nakamura. Cautionary byword for an episode that reads well in the writers’ room but dies before a studio audience. Purportedly based on the story of an Odd Couple taping in which the writers inserted a joke about a “Dr. Nakamura” into the early part of a script, finding it so funny that they added several call-back jokes referring to the original. But the very first “Nakamura” joke died, leading to excruciating diminishing returns as the taping progressed.
One-percenter. A joke that very few viewers will get but is possibly worth including, often for its sheer cleverness. Well, the Chris Makepeace reference is a real one-percenter, but what the hell—I loved My Bodyguard, too.
Roberts, Doris. Veteran character actress known for her TV ubiquity, from playing the Donna Pescow character’s mother on Angie to playing the Ray Romano character’s mother on Everybody Loves Raymond. To Snobs, a more knowing and insiderist name-check than Betty White.
Single-camera. Production approach, common to film but less so to TV, that has come to demarcate groundbreaking sitcoms from creaky, old-fashioned ones over the last decade. From the 70s epoch of Norman Lear and Garry Marshall to the 90s dominance of Seinfeld, multi-camera sitcoms, often filmed before a studio audience, predominated. But with the early-aughts advent of such programs as Scrubsand Malcolm in the Middle, the more filmic single-camera M.O. acquired cachet. I’m going for that single-camera feel like they have on Modern Family; in other words, this show won’t end up on CBS.
Sleeping son. Manipulative moment in a script (or a filmed, finished episode) that tugs at the heartstrings and provides pat, lazy, often wordless resolution (e.g., a scene in which a father looks in on his young son sleeping and realizes that everything will be all right). You knewThirtysomething was running out of gas when suddenly every episode closed on Olin or Busfield pulling some sleeping-son bullshit.
Sock barrel. Unwelcome circumstance in which two similar but unrelated jokes appear in the same script, implying a connection that is not meant to be implied. We already have the Shoahjoke in Act I; if we leave the Schindler’s List joke in Act III, it might be a sock barrel.
Somers, Brett. Jobbing TV actress who found her métier in the 1970s as a salty panelist on the game show Match Game. The wife of The Odd Couple’s Jack Klugman (from whom she separated in 1974 but never divorced), Somers, with her throaty rasp, oversize eyeglasses, and patterned muumuus, defined an irretrievably adult daytime-TV world in which she, Charles Nelson Reilly, Gene Rayburn, and Richard Dawson seemed to perpetually inhabit a boozy, Herb Alpert–sound-tracked swingers’ party.
Tag logic. The liberating notion that what happens in the tag—the abbreviated Act IV of a sitcom, which often airs with a third of its screen space given over to rolling credits—needn’t adhere as strictly to reality as the rest of the show. Sure, we can suddenly have Steve Earle singing a ballad about a hillbilly NBC page—that’s the beauty of tag logic!
Thinker. A joke that takes too long for the audience to get and is therefore best discarded; distinct from a one-percenter, which is instantly gettable, albeit to a very small portion of the audience.
Timmy. Derisive insiderist nickname for the live studio audience at a sitcom taping. Nah, we’re getting too clever here—Timmy just wants to see someone fall over.
Treacle-cutter. A joke that immediately follows—and therefore relieves the tension of—a serious or dramatic moment. We need a treacle-cutter after Molly’s reveal of her pending lumpectomy; maybe Joyce can say, “Well, that’s one way to shed some pounds!”
Uptown humor. A joke or plotline that will appeal to a PBS- and NPR-loving crowd, possibly losing some viewers but gaining others well worth gaining. Per jimmy burrows, the Cheerscharacter Frasier Crane was invented to lend uptown-ness to the titular bar’s repertory.
Vanity card. Title card that appears at the end of a TV show’s credits (often with a discordant blast of non-theme-from-the-show music), identifying the show’s creator’s production company. The company name and corresponding vanity-card image frequently invoke the creator’s pets, children, haimish grandfather who emigrated from the Ukraine in 1919, or some other totem of the auteur’s alleged humility.
Wacky stack. A joke that goes one step too far, hence becoming silly in an unfunny way. Var.,stacking the wack. I like having Homer join the “Occupy Springfield” protest wearing nothing but body paint and then befriending Michelle Shocked and Tim Robbins. But having them all then road-trip to Burning Man is stacking the wack.
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