The lights turn on, and the cameras
begin to move into place. I smell sawdust and fresh paint from the sets that
were built this week. Donny Carter, the head writer, stands in front of our
miniscule audience and explains the cues to commercial and when it’s okay to
laugh. I check my watch; its 11:25, which means that in just five minutes the
show will start and, by connection, so will I.
Lorne Michaels comes out and gives
us his regular pep talk about how this
show is unique and we need to put the same amount of effort into it as we do
all of our shows. He gives it every
week, and I know it almost by heart, but I listen to it as if I never have
before, because this week I’m standing on the set. This week, I’m a member of
the cast.
Soon the speech is over and seconds
are hurdling by. The assistant camera guy, Joe Wilcox, begins to count down.
“10…9…8…” My heart is pumping in my
chest. I look at the audience, then Lorne, then the floor.
“7…6…5…4…” What if nobody laughs?
What if I start talking and nobody gets it and nobody laughs?
“…3…” They will laugh.
“…2…” They have to.
“…1…” Before I can even think one more
negative thought, I am on air, talking and acting and being my character. It’s
an impersonation of a well-known governor. People are cracking up and I’m
hoping it’s because I’m doing a good job. Other cast members are pretending to
be a part of the audience, and they’re asking me questions that set the
governor up to look bad. It’s a well-known skit we’ve been doing since the show
started back in 1975.
We’re nearing the end of the skit
and I see Joe Wilcox give me a crooked grin as I excitedly shout, ”And live
from New York, IT’S SATURDAY NIGHT!” The theme song starts up with a vibrant
blast of brass that sends a shiver down my spine. The audience applauds wildly
and Lorne gives me a wink that says you
did it kid. I smile and walk off set; I’m not in any other skits tonight,
but I will be next week and the week after that. I did it. I really did it.
It all started when I was a junior
at the University of Chicago. I was low on cash but tired of my usual boring
part-time jobs. I didn’t want to throw away every weekend waitressing at some
diner or cashiering at some convenience store anymore. I wanted something satisfying,
that would get me somewhere after college too. It had been my dream since
middle school to be a screenwriter for Saturday
Night Live, because I’d watched the show since infancy and I would’ve done
anything to be a part of it.
I had an above-average YouTube following on a channel where I
posted all sorts of musical parodies, impersonations, and pop culture twists. I
wasn’t sponsored by YouTube or
anything, but I had about 9000 subscribers which may as well have been the
population of the world to me.
I decided I’d go for the real
ticket-to-comedy, right there in Chicago. Second
City: the birthplace of comedians like Dan Akroyd, Bill Murray, Tina Fey,
Steve Carrell, Amy Poehler, and countless others. Based in Chicago and Toronto,
this club was the way into SNL, I was
sure. I sent an audition tape along with a link to my YouTube channel and a carefully written resume. I called, mailed, and
came to several shows, and one day I was finally accepted.
It started out slow as I learned
the art of comedy improvisation and how to walk away when nobody’s laughing.
Just like anything else in life, I went through trial and error finding out
what worked for me and also what didn’t work for me. Once I got a feel for
improvising, I utilized it and milked it like a cow. People were laughing, and
because of that I was getting noticed. It wasn’t much at first, but here and
there my name began to pop up in online reviews and insider theater magazines.
I wasn’t making much in cash but I
was given a free Second City dorm
which was a load off my expensive one at UC. On great nights I got tips from
the audience and sometimes even bonuses from my boss. Another girl at Second City, Morgan Lee, was also a
rising star in the comedy world. I admired her talent and even told her so, but
unfortunately the feeling was not mutual.
Morgan made it her mission to
degrade me in front of all press and agents in my proximity. SNL talent agents
would constantly come to Second City in
secret, and Morgan would make my characters awkward and boring on stage by
pushing them out for her own. Once, she even told a reporter lies about how I’d
copied one of her monologues just so I could get a laugh for once in my
lifetime. The article was not published, but I was still mortified.
I tried to ignore her and keep
progressing at Second City. It wasn’t
long before I graduated college and began at Second City full-time for more money and for more experience. I was
even offered positions in local commercials, and was given an agent by my
manager. It seemed like jobs were flying my way, despite what Morgan told them
and she wasn’t getting a third of the job offers I was.
My magic moment happened in the
winter of 2022 on an evening covered in snow and Christmas tinsel. I was doing
a character I’d come up with years before, a kind of hypochondriac soccer mom
that I could fit into almost any improvised situation. Her name was Roz, and
people never stopped laughing when she appeared on stage. There was an SNL
talent agent in the audience and Morgan and I both knew it. Morgan was trying
to push my character out of the scene by being a no-nonsense-doctor, but I
persisted and wouldn’t let her.
After the show I nervously removed
my make-up backstage hoping that the agent would talk to me. I was about
halfway through cleaning out my mascara when a woman with blonde pigtails and
glasses appeared behind me with a clipboard. “Are you Ella Rowen?” She asked
amiably.
“Why yes, I am!” I replied
immediately.
“Hello, I’m Tamara Walker from the
selection committee of Saturday Night
Live. We’re always looking for new writers and I was wondering if you’d
like to submit a script for audition?” I couldn’t believe it. A writing
position on SNL? Of course I would audition!
“Yes, definitely! When and where?”
I responded, my head spinning. She began to write an address on her clipboard
and promptly ripped it off and handed it to me.
“Just send your script to this
address and we’ll give you a call if we think you’d be right for our show.” She
gave me a grin and turned around heading for the door. “Good luck; I thought
you were great tonight,” she said.
It felt like centuries went by
before I got the call. Shows came and went, and so did I. Second City became a
continuous and seemingly monotonous cycle of similar characters and similar
disputes with Morgan. She was not in any way happy about my audition offer, and
I doubted she ever would be. After all, they didn’t come to her with any good
news. I should’ve been happy, but I mainly just felt sorry for her.
I was backstage when I got the
call, and everybody knew what it was about when I began to shriek and hop
around like a rabid elephant. My manager gave me a hug and asked me when I was
starting. In just two weeks they’d said, which wasn’t much notice, but it was
definitely enough for me. There was crying and laughing and hugging when I
left, and said goodbye to the people I had literally been living with since I’d started at Second City. Except for Morgan, who gave me a snotty, “Hope they
don’t hate your ideas.” before exiting the building. Whatever. I didn’t care.
I worked as a screenwriter for
about six months at SNL until Lorne decided I would be even better as a cast
member. I was overjoyed, and completely amazed by my accomplishments. I was
living my lifetime dream, and at just 24 years old! The only problem was that,
if I became a cast member, they would need a writer to fill my spot, and they
didn’t know who to choose. So, in a move that defied all reason, I told them
about a girl that would fit the position perfectly. A girl who was hilarious,
and talented, and completely full of herself. I told them to fill my position
with a girl named Morgan Lee, and that is exactly what they did.
Morgan was astonished when she
found out it was my recommendation that gave her the job. She called me and
told me immediately how thankful she was, and that she was sorry for treating
me the way she had been treating me. She apologized and I forgave her. Morgan
and I became comedy partners, writing perfect scripts in synchronization, and
because of her, I will be talked about in the media tomorrow with a positive
attitude. Because of Morgan, I will always be laughed at and because of me she
will always be supported.
The show’s at commercial now, and
I’m wondering if I can go and join the audience without bothering anyone.
Tamara, the agent who changed my life, comes to congratulate me for my first
show. “I knew when I went to see you, that you would make history some day.”
She says confidently, “That’s why I know you’ll do great things for this show.”
“Tam, I don’t know what to say!”
and I don’t.
“It doesn’t matter what you say, as
long as you keep people laughing,” she says, and, with
that I begin to laugh too.
“Thank you so much Tam. I don’t
know what I’d be without you.”
Morgan walks towards us from the
writer’s room too, holding a bouquet of flowers. “We did it!” she squeals
excitedly. She hands me the flowers and throws her arms around me.
I pat her on the back and look back
the set and the glowing audience and Lorne’s smug expression. This is just the
start for me.
“Yes. Yes we did.”
