I always overwrite – really awful, long bits of script – and then I trim it down to the bare bones and then add a little bit to colour it in. At the end of all of my stories, I test for wordless comprehension. So I remove the text and see if it works by itself. And if it does, I feel that that’s a successful story.
To get a human through a life, lives of broken bones, knock-me-over-with-a-feather susceptibility to myriad viruses, and whatever else might befall someone will cost money.
Comedy is in my bones.
It would be so simple to allow children, when tired of sitting, to rise, and when tired of writing, to desist, and then their bones would not be twisted.
Some lucky people can be funny without half trying because they actually look funny, because acting funny is in their bones – fun as funny, not funny as crude slapstick.
In the Averoff prison hospital I saw men who had had the bones in their feet broken by the severity of the torture.
I have funny bones. If there’s ever any kind of tension, I’ll always be the one to try and be funny to loosen things up.
