JOSH YOUNG TAKES ON AMERICA'S CRANKIEST BEDTIME COMPANION

Article in "George" Magazine
February 1997 issue
pp. 82-85, 100

The set of Politically Incorrect With Bill Maher looks like the Acropolis, with large paving stones and fallen Corinthian columns that, one is to infer, have crumbled under the wit of the show's host. The acerbic commentary that ricochets back and forth at this late-night comedy roundtable, often cutting to the heart of the nation's hypocrisies--the audience is meant to understand--could bring down Western civilization as we know it. While most comedians tell political jokes that rely on connections anyone with a pulse can make--Bill Clinton and Big Macs, or Liz Taylor and marriage--Bill Maher likes a joke that takes on such big issues as pandemics and crimes against humanity. The punch lines usually mock those who don't understand the world well enough to get the reference, and offend those who do.

Maher offers a personal favorite: When the November '95 Bosnian-Serb peace talks were held in Dayton, Ohio, he said, "Dayton has turned out their usual good spirits. They have a banner over Main Street that says, WELCOME ETHNIC CLEANSERS."

"To me that's a brilliant joke," Maher now observes, his ego on display. He's sitting in his sparse, windowless office at CBS Television City in Los Angeles, around the corner from the soundstages where The Young and the Restless is taped. "Ethnic cleansing is not something you would normally find in a joke in any format, and you're certainly not going to find it on any other show."

Maher's approach to political and social issues, coupled with his rapier wit, has done for the talk show what his buddy Jerry Seinfeld did for the sitcom: stripped out the prosaic structure and highlighted natural human wackiness. Watching Politically Incorrect is like eavesdropping on a pop culture version of the Algonquin Roundtable, with Maher playing the Benchley character (more Peter than Robert) at a gathering of iconic sitcom stars (Suzanne Somers), obscure congressmen (Randy "Duke" Cunningham), rockers (Joe Walsh), Beltway insiders (Ed Rollins), religious leaders (Reverend Jerry Falwell), writers (Fran Lebowitz), miscellaneous fulminators (Joan Rivers), and the freakishly famous (Kato Kaelin).

Where David Letterman and Jay Leno mainly restrict politics to their monologues, Maher spends his entire show leading a dialogue about the issues. A one-liner, such as "Does show business make you an asshole or do assholes go into show business?" isn't a punch line for Maher; it's a topic sentence for the four guests to begin a free-wheeling discussion. No issue is too sacred. For example, Maher has said that the media needlessly frighten the public about AIDS, which he says is a disease mainly affecting gays. "It's politically wrong to act as if AIDS isn't everywhere and an equal threat to everyone," he says. "But this show is supposed to be telling it like it is--that's what politically incorrect means to me."

When Politically Incorrect aired on the cable channel Comedy Central and literally had a zero-point-something rating, it seemed more like a sideshow in TV's political circus and late-night ratings war. Then ABC picked up the show and scheduled it after Nightline, one of the most respected news programs in modern broadcast history. Now Politically Incorrect may change the way America watches politics, and it will almost certainly affect how younger Americans get their information.

Not only is the 41-year-old Maher (rhymes with spar) following Ted Koppel, he is also competing against the second half of The Tonight Show With Jay Leno and the Late Show With David Letterman at a time when a recent Freedom Forum Media Studies Center poll showed that, in the 1996 election, 35 percent of voters under age 30 frequently got their information from late-night television talk. Occasionally, Nightline beats Leno and Letterman in the Nielsen ratings, giving Maher a strong lead-in. Then there is his strong format, one that lets him serve dinner and dessert.

To wit: Instead of airing a straitlaced debate on the legalization of prostitution, as Nightline might do, or chatting with Hugh Grant after his arrest for soliciting a prostitute, as Leno and Letterman did, Maher put forth the topic "If a woman can rent herself out as a surrogate mother, why can't she rent herself out for a half hour as a prostitute?" Instead of a dry exchange between Koppel and someone from the Christian Coalition, or easy questions lobbed to a contrite actor, you get an exchange with Maher saying, "Politicians are usually loathe to come out for prostitution." To which Reverend Al Sharpton retorted, "You're right. They usually have them come to the house."

Maher got his start the same way many of today's stand-up comedians did--as a kid sneaking downstairs to study Johnny Carson's monologue. (Interestingly, Maher would gain national attention by telling one of the first televised AIDS jokes on The Tonight Show, in the mid-'80s, when his boyhood idol was still the host; Carson told him that the punch line-- "I just want to meet an old-fashioned girl with gonorrhea"--received one of the show's longest laughs.)

Maher grew up in River Vale, New Jersey, a predominantly white, bedroom community of about 10,000. His father, Bill, who died of lung cancer in 1992, had worked as a staff announcer for the Mutual Broadcasting System and later as a news editor at NBC radio; his mother, Julie, was a nurse. The two met during World War II when his father "served in General Patton's army," as the proud son puts it.

Something of a class cutup in grade school, Maher was more likely to make the teacher laugh than the students. He was a die-hard New York Yankees fan as a kid and played baseball until high school, when he wasn't good enough to make the team. "I wanted to play, but they wanted too much out of you, like all that practice," he snarls. "I wasn't about to put up with that." He's not sure whether he had an eye for the absurd but says that the fact that his mother was Jewish and his father Catholic provided easy stand-up material.

After earning a bachelor's degree in English literature from Cornell in 1978, Maher began working as a comedian in New York, a place he hated to visit as a kid because he considered it too dirty. Times were tough, so he made a deal to live rent-free in the maid's quarters at the South African ambassador's residence in exchange for chauffeuring the ambassador's kids around town. He worked the New York clubs nightly, earning $50 for performing or hosting an open-microphone event. He wasn't a political comedian, but he kept up with current events. His crowd consisted of Jerry Seinfeld, Paul Reiser, Roseanne Barr, Larry Miller, and Garry Shandling. In 1994 he published a roman a clef about those early years, titled True Story, which HBO plans to make into a movie.

Miller says the old gang has stayed fairly close. Last summer, he, Shandling, and Seinfeld all showed up a Maher's Fourth of July party. "It's not, everything is just ducky and the way it always was, but whatever occurs is easy. It's like that scene from The Deer Hunter when they come back from hunting and they're downing a few drinks. There is a shot of [Robert] DeNiro and [Christopher] Walken who, with a small smile across the room, nod at each other and say, 'This is good. This right now is good.' It's like that."

When Roseanne, Seinfeld, and Reiser hit it big in sitcoms, Maher was still struggling to find his own ticket. He and moved to L.A. and become an actor, but his credits were mostly canceled sitcoms, such as Sara with Geena Davis, and bit parts in B movies, such as Ratboy and Cannibal Women in the Avocado Jungle of Death. "The toughest part of my career was when I was in my 30s watching my friends get their breaks," he says. "You start thinking, Oh my God, am I going to get my ticket punched? Knock wood, I did." He pauses and actually thumps his head. "The biggest career hump is whatever is going to make you famous. In this country you really can't do much until you find a vehicle that gets you that clout. [For me] Politically Incorrect was it." His friends agree. "Anyone who knows Bill knows Politically Incorrect was perfect for him," Miller says. "We all have different prisms that we see things through, and Bill's is gray."

Maher pictured the format as a throwback to the days of Jack Parr, and unscripted talk show with genuine conversation, not scripted bits and set-up gags. Never would he utter the standard Leno/Letterman line "So tell me about your new [blank]." There would be no pre-interviews, just a list of topics. The only requirement: Bring an opinion. "There is a rigorous niceness on most talk shows that Politically Incorrect doesn't have," says playwright Paul Rudnick, a frequent guest.

Politically Incorrect debuted on Comedy Central on July 25, 1993, from New York. Part of the show's zeitgeist in the early days stemmed from its guest list. Maher didn't plan to have a parade of obscure intellectuals, has-been actors, and other marginally famous riffraff, but they were the only people he could get at first. He didn't find it disrespectful to have, for example, Representative Major Owens from New York debating the actor LeVar Burton.

"I had an image of a congressperson that was rather lofty, and then I met some of them who are not bright at all," Maher says. "My image of someone in the Congress was Bob Dole or [New York senator] Pat Moynihan, people of real stature. Pat Moynihan is a real intellectual. He is someone who should be leading a policy fight in this country, but there is just an ocean of difference between Pat Moynihan and some of the people who have come through here. They're right on the level of that '70s sitcom star. Forget about not bright; there are some that are flat-out nuts."

Politically Incorrect usually trailed Soap reruns in the ratings on Comedy Central, but then in less than a year a combination of gushing press coverage and a few controversial shows helped build momentum: one with former Nixon operative G. Gordon Liddy, playwright Harvey Fierstein, Washington mayor Marion Barry, and the wildly opinionated Ohio congressman Jim Traficant, Jr.; and another when loudmouthed comedienne Sandra Bernhard demanded respect from right-wing fundamentalist writer John Lofton and spat in his face. By the time Maher landed Kato Kaelin in his first television appearance after Kaelin had testified in the O.J. Simpson trial, Politically Incorrect had become Comedy Central's biggest hit and a bona fide cult classic.

Each night, Maher closes his monologue by saying, "It's been satirized for your protection." Will it ultimately be sanitized by Disney-owned ABC?

Even now, as the show moves to the big time, Maher promises to continue inviting anyone who has achieved even a modicum of fame, though ABC is pushing for higher-profile guests until the show establishes a network audience.

Then there are the jokes that Maher admits can be biting and a bit risque. On the subject of Madonna after her baby was born, Maher said, "The operation really went well. Not only was the baby healthy, but doctors found four lost Super Bowl rings."

Maher allows: "That's really close to the edge, but it's okay because you have to connect the dots to get the joke."

ABC Entertainment chairman Ted Harbert calls the Madonna joke "the funniest joke I've ever heard" and says he would have defended it from network censors. "While it's not the most tasteful joke in the history of mankind and while I am not the head of broadcast standards, I would sure fight for it."

Although Maher regularly uses O.J. for fodder, the night I arrive at the comedian's house in Bel Air, he's watching the World Series instead of Simpson's first major network interview, aired on CBS News Extra. "My office will probably tape it," he says, showing no interest. His two yappy, attention-addicted dogs follow as he leads me through his house, with its hardwood floors covered in authentic Persian rugs and its exposed brick walls draped with hand-sewn tapestries. A lighted pool glows in the backyard. We settle into a couch in a small TV room to drink Diet A&W Root Beer and watch the Yankees.

In person, Maher looks downright goofy. He has a big head and little body that photographs well but looks weird in real life, and his nose is bulbous. His hair grows in strange directions, and somehow it appears to be cut both short and long on the top and sides. He's certainly not leading-man material or even newscaster-ready, but on television he is handsome in a quirky way and smooth.

Maher is single and plays the field. Sometimes he even takes notes at dinner if his date says something funny. Arianna Huffington, a Politically Incorrect regular, says she has taken it upon herself to play matchmaker. "I'm looking for someone who feels passionate about things because that's what makes Bill who he is," Huffington says. "It would have to be a woman who is politically incorrect and who is also engaged in current events; otherwise he would get easily bored." When Huffington told Maher's mother that she was looking for a wife for Maher, his mother said she should forget it because it would never happen. "I haven't had any luck," Huffington admits, "but I'm persevering."

Unlike most Hollywood personalities, Maher doesn't make small talk. During both interviews, he's all business. He answers one question and waits for the next. He's dismissive only once: when I ask if it's sexist for him to address female guests as "kitten," as he has called Huffington, or "baby," his moniker for New York representative Susan Molinari. "Pffff," he says, brushing the question out of the air with his hand.

Typically, show business personalities will talk about themselves with very little prodding; after all, they are selling their personas. Not Maher, who doesn't allow anyone to sell anything on his show--unless it's the host selling his own HBO special. He walks a fine line, similar to the one he walks during his monologue. While not rude, he makes no attempt to be overtly friendly. The truth is, he would rather be watching the Yankees game along.

But Maher, who has rented his hosting services to events ranging from the much-publicized White House correspondents' dinner to the obscure Orville H. Gibson Guitar Awards, also isn't shy about basking in his hard-earned success. Occasionally, it borders on arrogance--without irony. During a discussion about his previous acting roles, he volunteers that there have been movie offers for leads in studio films. Which films? "I don't want to say, because I turned them down and somebody will read that I was offered them first."

Comedies or dramas? "All different kinds of stuff," he says. "When you're hot it really doesn't matter what you do; they just want somebody who's hot." At one point, he talks about being mobbed by screaming teenagers in Kansas City and how he loved it. Later, he belittles someone who might not have heard of Politically Incorrect: "What planet are they on?"

Says Miller, "Bill doesn't suffer from the sin of faux earnestness. It's that way in his work, too. People love that about him, that delightful curmudgeonliness."

Maher is savvy about politics and has a respectable historical perspective. He quotes former senator Hubert Humphrey quoting Otto von Bismarck ("Politics is the art of the possible"), and he attempts to quote Richard Nixon quoting Teddy Roosevelt's line about giving credit to the person in the arena because he has the dust on him. He discusses what the Greeks meant by a democracy and why our current system resembles an ochlocracy, specifically in the presidential primaries. "The extremists of both parties dictate the primary season like little mobs," he says. "Even if Pat Buchanan doesn't win the nomination, he pulls the thing so far to the right, because if he's doing well, other candidates have to compete with him." Maher's solution is a return to the days when party bosses picked the candidates. "Look at the recent primary people--McGovern, Dukakis, and Mondale," he says. "Let the pros handle it. They gave us Truman, Eisenhower, and Kennedy."

A baby boomer, Maher calls his generation a bunch of spoiled brats who are indecisive and blame everyone but themselves for America's problems. He is so nostalgic for the days of World War II--a time he never knew but understands was responsible, unselfish, and unified--that he voted for Bob Dole. ("Dole needed me, too," he quips.) He calls himself a fiscal conservative and a social liberal; he's prochoice but favors the death penalty. He's not, he emphasizes, a Reagan Democrat. He calls Ronald Reagan the quintessential two-faced politician whom people crave, because Reagan talked the conservative rhetoric but ran the national debt into the trillions and didn't cut anyone's pet programs.

His pet peeve is politician bashing. He doesn't go as far as political consultant James Carville, proclaiming a perverse love for politicians, but he respects the difficulties of maneuvering through the tangled bureaucracy in Washington. "It's very easy for people sitting in their living room, not contributing anything to the community or the nation, to say, 'Oh, they're waffling,'" Maher says. "You try it. Live in their shoes for a week and have your head snapped around, and see how hard it is to actually get something done. Why do you think so many quit? People think they're scum."

He believes that politics is ultimately about compromise, and he faults his generation for not understanding such a basic tenet of democracy. "It's more emblematic of what the baby boomers are that they don't accept compromise as a virtue. We want all or nothing. Henry Clay was considered the great compromiser. In the 1850s, that was a compliment. Now if you say that, it's like calling somebody the great asshole."

Maher is rolling on his favorite political subject: the duplicity of the American voter. "The politicians are not waffling," he continues. "They're learning. We're the wafflers. We elect a Republican Congress to balance the budget one year, and the next year we're saying, 'Oh no, not if they're going to have to cut stuff.' In this focus-group democracy we live in, you get a very accurate reflection in your leaders, and that's what we don't like."

Given how cynical people are about politics, and given the powerful effect of entertainment programming on public discourse, it seems natural that Politically Incorrect will follow Nightline.

ABC is, in fact, strongly considering a "hot switch" between the shows in those markets where Politically Incorrect is live--that's network speak for cutting from Koppel's signing off to Maher's bursting on stage without a commercial. Typically, this is done from one sitcom to the next so viewers won't channel surf. ABC's Harbert says the network isn't trying to fool anyone into thinking the two are sister programs, but he admits they are a perfect fit. "I think that Politically Incorrect is the most compatible entertainment show I have ever heard of to go after Nightline," he says.

Julia Phillips, author of the best-selling Hollywood memoir You'll Never Eat Lunch in This Town Again, and a politically incorrect pundit in her own right, goes even further: "It's not news as entertainment anymore to go from Ted Koppel--who is satirical because he looks like Alfred E. Neuman but has a serious show--to Bill Maher, who is out-and-out satirical but has guests who often say something really profound. Welcome to the future; it is now."

ABC beat out several suitors, including at least one other network, for the show. Besides giving Maher a time slot that is prime real estate (as opposed to Sunday morning) for someone in his line of work, the network also had to push its affiliates to pick up the show and dump whatever else they were airing. ABC has not offered a Monday-to-Friday show for the midnight slot since Rick Dee's Into the Night was canceled in November 1991. Nearly all of ABC's affiliates have agreed to air Politically Incorrect, but only about half will air the show live, because of either prior commitments or a wait-and-see attitude. The show will be live in eight of the top-ten markets and tape-delayed in Chicago and, ironically, in Washington, D.C. (Letterman had similar affiliate clearance problems when he moved to CBS.

While ABC's initial commitment to Politically Incorrect is for 26 weeks, a second 26 weeks is virtually assured, according to Harbert. High hopes aside, he admits, "Late night is one of those time periods where you just have to hang in there." This could get expensive. The license fee ABC pays to the show's producer, Brillstein-Grey Entertainment (which includes Maher's payment and is undisclosed), is fixed without regard to the kinds of things ABC's national advertisers care about--namely how many stations carry the show live and its Nielsen rating. After the first 52 weeks, ABC has the option to renew Politically Incorrect for a full year, a decision that may have to be made when the network is still losing money on the show. Still, the short- and long-term strategy seems to be Maher or bust: "I've got nothing else in development," Harbert says.

Indeed, the show is funny enough to hold the attention of the politically listless and smart enough that the informed don't feel sleazy watching. As New York Times critic Caryn James wrote: "Politically Incorrect has pulled off the rare trick of being irreverent without becoming irrelevant."

The question is, how relevant will it become? If Politically Incorrect becomes the Pulp Fiction of talk shows and crosses over from a cult following into the mainstream, more news junkies may be getting their perspectives on the important issues of the day from Maher than from Koppel, and more channel surfers may unwind at night with a laugh from Maher rather than from Leno or Letterman. This isn't such a bad thing. News is disguised as entertainment on such shows as ABC's 20/20 and Dateline NBC, so why not debate the headlines with a comic spin? At a time when fewer than half of the eligible voters went to the polls in the 1996 presidential election and only one quarter can identify their congressional representatives, the more any show draws people into the dialogue on national issues, the better. It seems insignificant that the host is stand-up comedian, especially since his political views mirror those of the network anchormen through whose eyes more Americans see the news each night.

Maher seems to have little fear that he will bring down civilization as we know it. "The end result is that I am taking advantage of an uninformed society, but not intentionally," he says. "Given that we mix people who are true pundits with people who are truly no, I don't think we will ever be taken seriously, nor should we be. The only message is that politics isn't dry, it's not boring, and it's a lot better soap opera than the one you're watching instead of the news."