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Sound Off: Table of Contents
Sound Off: Judge J writings
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The Root of All Evil Taping Part I
 This two parter is from the pen of Judge J. and is a wonderfully detailed report on her trip to see the taping of Root of All Evil. So, grab a beer, or three, and settle in for a hilarious read.
Judge J.
And yes, this is *really* her.
Lewis Black Gets Down and Dirty Digging for the Root of All Evil
Since the late 60’s when Sammy Davis Jr.’s Hizzoner first shucked and jived his way into our living rooms on Laugh-Ins’ outrageous “Here come de judge” segments, television has been guilty of casting dispersion and dishonor on our judiciary if ratings warranted such tactics. Evidence of the networks’ further denigration of the sanctity and sanity of both the bench and the bar has been serially demonstrated in prime time for years where, instead of depicting the honorable side of the legal profession (Perry Mason), television has dared to think outside the jury box and given its viewers a glimpse of the homey (Matlock) the hip (Ally McBeal), the humorous ( Night Court) and even the heinous (Damages) side of the legal community in series that question, cajole or in some cases castrate these once sacred cows of our legal system.
So, just when you thought that you’ve seen it all and thought it was safe to go back into the courtroom, enter the Jewish Mother of All Jurists, the iconic, irascible and ingenious Lewis Black, courtesy of Comedy Central’s new series, Root of All Evil which debuts March 12th at 10:30 PM/9:30c. Root stars Black who, as the Trier of Fact, gets to jewdiciously dispense his own inimitable and outrageous version of Black Letter Law, while he peevishly presides over a rotating roster of comedians including, among others, Greg Giraldo (Comedy Central Roasts), Andrew Daly (Madtv), Patton Oswalt (Ratatouille, King of Queens) Paul F. Tompkins (Mr. Show with Bob and David), and Andy Kindler (Late Show with David Letterman) who play lawyers prosecuting decency's greatest offenders as they debate who or what is more evil.
Now, for an avid Lewis Black fan like myself (who spends her days in the courtroom either in front of the bar or on the bench and is more than just a little bit pissed off, disillusioned and frustrated with the current state of just about everything but doesn’t have the time, inclination or, most importantly, the comedic genius and the Herculean chutzpah to publically decry it), when the rare opportunity to attend a taping of Root in LA presented itself, it was a no brainer, even for someone like me who TiVos everything - even CNN.
What follows, are my varied and sundry recollections of the December 6th and 13th tapings which I was asked to pen by the equally illustrious and industrious Webmistress of Black’s website domain. There is one caveat: although I’ve dutifully attempted to accurately memorialize what I witnessed to the best of my ability, because my quest to get to the "root of all evil" forced me to endure such unspeakable physical hardships as thirst, isolation, sleep deprivation, hunger, boredom and hyperthermia, while simultaneously braving the elements of cold, wind and rain, there is more than a slight possibility that my memory may over time have become dulled, deluded or desensitized about precisely what happened. That being said, for those who can exercise just a modicum of patience and get through the little bit of me that precedes it, you’ll be amply rewarded with a whole lotta Lew.
Spoiler Alert: For anyone who’s afraid to read on because they think that I’m about to ruin the plots and punchlines of the outrageous antics I witnessed, rest easy, because even though I will be describing what happened during the tapings, I won’t be going into specific detail about any of the on-camera remarks themselves. Moreover, since Comedy Central is going to make many of the outtakes available for viewing online, I won’t be including any of these jew-cy morsels at the end of this article either.
Part I
Cold Country for Old Men (or Young Women)
Dateline Hollywood - Dec 6th
4:10
We’re in the left hand turn lane at the intersection of Las Palmas and Santa Monica Blvd. waiting for the light to turn green when I get my first glimpse of the discreetly gated Hollywood Center Studios with its pink and white art deco buildings and sharply clipped shrubbery. Call me crazy, but it’s almost as if their swaying palms are seductively beckoning me forth to bear witness to yet another “historic” Hollywood moment.
4:15
It’s cold, windy and cloudy and will probably start raining any minute. Worse yet, I’m almost an hour early, I don’t have a Plan B or an umbrella and the only place where I could possibly sit and wait is the uninviting curb directly adjacent to Gate C, the audience entrance - which might have been an option had it not been for the telltale traces that it was a favorite dumping ground for some gigantonormous breed of canine, the likes of which has yet to see the inside of the Westminster Kennel Dog Show.
I hunker down in the back seat and instruct Yuri, my Russian Driver (who’s command of conversational English is limited to the phrase “We go now Miss” - which, depending on what message he’s trying to convey comes out either in the form of a question or a declarative statement of fact) to do a drive-by recon of the surrounding neighborhood while I consider my options. We’ve driven less than a mile when it dawns on me that, contrary to the blurb posted on the studio’s website which boasts that it’s "centrally located in the historic heart of Hollywood" and "convenient to a wide variety of amenities, and practical needs," there isn’t a friggin Starbucks, Barnes & Noble, public park, bar, or even a nationally recognizable fast food franchise within a one mile radius of Gate C.
OK, maybe it’s just me, but when I think "amenities" a vision of half vacant strip malls whose remaining tenants run ethnic food, cheap electronic or liquor stores, greasy spoon fast food restaurants or a donut shop whose windows (as evidenced by the torn but still legible bumper sticker demanding that we "Impeach Nixon!" which was still plastered across the front window) apparently hadn’t been Windexed since the 70’s, does not leap to mind. Likewise, the term "practical needs" does not conjure up images of ratty check cashing stores, fungus breeding Asian nail salons, heavily padlocked and iron-barred pawn shops or XXX rated adult book/video stores.
4:25
Other than the six or seven hookers hanging around the intersection of Las Palmas and Santa Monica Blvd. the streets are deserted. Yuri pulls in next to a donut shop and I hear the distinctive click of the automatic door lock which is accompanied by a tentative “We go now Miss?” I quickly consider the options of getting my nails done, grabbing a quick bite or picking up some reading material to pass the time. Evidently, the thought of getting an incurable flesh eating disease, food poisoning or worse, plus the growing urgency to quickly find a ladies room which didn’t make me want to run to my nearest infectious disease doctor, caused me to sigh out loud, “Boy do I need a drink…” Obviously the need for such basic necessities is universal because, no sooner than I had uttered these words, I heard the familiar sound of the ignition starting and Yuri emphatically announcing “We go now Miss!” as he puts the limo in gear. We sped off just as one of the patrons of the nearby adult bookstore was about to take a piss on the limo’s front left bumper. It’s true what they say in Hollywood. Timing is everything
5:00
Refreshed and revived, courtesy of the “amenities” of the Hollywood Roosevelt Hotel, I’m deposited at the appointed time at the appointed place where I’m met by the harried, yet congenial, audience coordinator, who resembles a grownup/slimmed down and very underpaid version of Accepted and Super Bad’s Jonah Hill, complete with a tousled shock of curly hair and a somewhat befuddled but cuddly look. Since I’m here and I’m on his list, I’m in.
5:15
After clearing studio security (really two adorable and affable gloved elderly black gentlemen armed with flashlights and rulers who are dressed in stock issue ACME security uniforms, which I suspect were borrowed from the studio’s wardrobe department), I’m allowed entrée into the audience holding pen, which is nothing more than a series of bolted down metal picnic tables under some sort of semi-permanent canopy. It’s starting to rain and a lot of the people are wearing hooded sweatshirts, heavy sweaters, parkas or a combination of all three.
Suddenly I feel terribly underdressed, and it’s not because I’ve shown up at some black tie affair wearing cut-offs, flip flops and a halter top. Conversations are loud and varied and range from comments about what a bitch the freeway traffic was, the weather (rain even in December is really big news in Southern California), Lewis Black (with some people reciting aloud some of their favorite Lew-ism about water, soy milk, personal ball washers and politicians) to inquiries from some of the late arrivees about what show they were bussed in to see.
5:30
Along with about 150 other people, I’m herded into a dark studio and told to quickly find a seat somewhere in the hard metal stadium seating which is set up in a horseshoe pattern. Although a voice on the PA tries vainly to convince everyone that they should just sit anywhere, because “there’s not a bad seat in the house”, no one listens and mostly everyone (save the people who are still trying to find out what show they were bussed in to see) scrambles for a seat upfront.
I quickly scrutinize my options as I strategize my next move - everyone’s going to the left so I quickly go right and nab what I consider to be a primo aisle seat in row 3 directly across from the set and right above two rows of seats that have been cordoned off. In my haste, I unfortunately fail to notice that I’m sitting directly under a very large air conditioning vent, which might not have been a problem except for the fact that the studio was already cold - VERY cold - and I stupidly hadn’t brought a sweater or a jacket. There are cables, cords and wires everywhere. The camera crew, Best Boy, Boom Operator and Gaffer are all scurrying in different directions trying to get the optimum setup for their respective equipment while a couple of stage hands are furiously swiffing the floor of the set into gleaming submission. All in all it’s controlled chaos and I love it
5:35
A young woman sits down next to me, introduces herself as a USB student who interns twice a week at Comedy Central and tells me that the seats right below us are reserved for some Comedy Central Execs. She also offhandedly mentions that she moved from the other side of the stage because some of the crowd over there seemed “a little bit off” and a lot of them smelled. Whatever the reason, I’m delighted because now I have a sufficient buffer zone between me and the three blonde bee-hived, heavily-rouged and overly perfumed 80 year-old D movie Hotties who had been hungrily eyeing the three (now two) vacant seats next to me from across the aisle. As we settle in I quickly look back and see them bristle in their dyed muskrat coats. The distinctive aroma of mothballs mixed with Jean Nate waifs through the studio just as the air conditioner directly above me clicks on. I can literally see our breaths as we exchange pleasantries.
I look across at the set. It’s nothing like the woody and waxed courtrooms I’m used to. It’s spartan and shiny and in this dim light looks more than a little bit ominous - it’s kind of a bizarre mishmash of high-tech and sci-fi which, for some reason, vaguely reminds me of the command center of Star War’s Death Star. There’s no jury box, counsel tables or even a witness stand and the only thing that even remotely resembles a courtroom is the raised judge’s bench (in this case a table) which is a couple of steps above the rest of the set and has two bottles of water and a gavel on it. I half expect to see Lewis Black dressed as Darth Vadar swoop in at any moment.
5:50
The audience "warm up" is in progress which, considering the current temperature in the studio, is no easy feat. A jovial fellow who resembles Chicago Bears’ defensivelineman William "the Refrigerator" (how apropos) Perry is doing his best to up the energy in the studio by throwing stale chocolate Halloween candy into the crowd. Unfortunately, when "The Frig" starts tossing the chocolate into the crowd, he's quickly pelted with a returning volley of half opened bite size Snickers and Milky Ways that are so old and hard that the wrapper, peanuts, caramel, chocolate and nougat have all melted together in one inedible mini-mess. Nice try, Big Guy, but obviously you’re not familiar with the time honored adage, “Candy is dandy - but liquor is quicker.”
5:55
We’re given our marching orders: Once taping begins, no talking, no nose picking and no offensive hand gestures – just big, big smiles and lots and lots of applause. We’re also told, in no uncertain terms: there’s no intermissions, no snack bar and (even though the tapings are scheduled to last 3½ hours) there's no telling when you’ll get out of here. And finally, the piece de resistance: nobody - but nobody - gets up or leaves once filming starts. Put in laymen’s terms: Leave now or forever hold your pee. The offending air vent right above me kicks on and, as I start to shiver uncontrollably, I look up and spy what, even in this retarded light, suspiciously looks like giant meat hooks suspended from the ceiling.
6:00
The lights (and thank God my core temperature) go up as soon as Lewis Black is introduced and nonchalantly ambles out to center stage. Although I’m excited as hell to see him I must confess I’m a tad disappointed because I was expecting him to show up wearing "basic black" (i.e., the traditional black robe of a jurist) and found him instead dapperly dressed in a delicious, custom made brown suit with matching Italian, softer than the skin on my upper inner thigh leather, brown shoes. All is forgiven, however, as soon as he opens his mouth and starts ranting and raving about the vagaries of working in television. His hysterical histrionics elicit roars of laughter and thunderous applause from the crowd as well as a few enthusiastic "F-ng A's!" from a couple of people sitting in what my USB seatmate had previously dubbed the smelly section of the audience. Black good naturedly reacts by flashing a broad smile along with a triumphant double-index finger salute (which, under the circumstances was, besides being perfectly timed, totally appropriate, since he obviously knew that he "had us" at "F-ng").
Then, quickly transitioning into an almost zen-like calm, Black graciously and repeatedly thanks the audience for coming, being so patient and enduring the sub-artic temperatures (all delivered - except the last - with explicatives deleted). Just as suddenly he lapses back into his acerbic on-stage persona and provides a short but very, very funny (with explicatives thankfully intact) explanation of what we’re going to see at the tapings, which includes some non-repeatable and less than glowing personal comments about his one and only guest appearance on Oprah many years earlier (the ramifications of which you’ll witness first hand when you tune in to the first episode of Root). As the applause subsides and Black exits stage left, I hear a couple of people who are sitting in the odiferous section across the set loudly remark: "Root of what?", "Lew who?" and "Hey, I thought this was a taping of Deal of No Deal."
6:10
Black suddenly re-appears on the judge’s dais clutching a few pieces of rumpled blue paper. After spending a couple of minutes intently reviewing their contents, he picks up the gavel and begins to lightly knead it in his palm (causing me to surmise that perhaps this is some sort of arcane acting technique taught at Yale’s prestigious Drama School which enables an actor to become one with his role).
6:15
Although there’s a lot of noise emanating from backstage, the swiffers are out en masse frantically buffing the hell out of the set floor and the camera crew (whose hooded parkas and sweatshirts are now in their upright position) are definitely poised to go, nothing is happening. As Black is getting his face re-pancaked, his suit de-linted and his glasses de-smudged for the umpteenth time, he playfully spins the gavel on the dais while firing off wisecracks to some of the crew below. Boy, is this guy relaxed or what.
6:20
The lights go up indicating that, finally, shooting is about to begin. No, wait. Stop. There are water bottles and blue paper scattered all over the top of the dais. A frantic call goes out to the Prop Man but, before he can be roused, Black’s on it - bussing his own props out of camera range and quickly hoofing it back to his mark. As soon as he’s cued, Black revs himself up, glares into the camera and introduces the first case, YouTube vs. Porn, with a fiery and hilarious opening monologue (along with an unflattering video clip of Black, which makes the crowd go wild and totally pisses him off). It’s really something to behold, particularly live and at close range and I half expect him to stroke out at any minute. Not surprisingly, he does it in one take and, as far as I can tell, without ever having to look at the teleprompter.
6:25
Comedians Patton Oswalt, representing YouTube, and Greg Giraldo, representing Porn, appear on the set below Black and make their Opening Statements. Oswalt, looking nothing like his nebbishy TV alter ego, Spence Olchin, is absolutely adorable in a light brown three piece suit. Giraldo, perfectly coiffed, is slick, spiffily suited and oh so totally GQ worthy.
They exchange unpleasantries, do their best Jack McCoy impressions and generally strut their stuff to the audience’s delight. It’s sort of like watching a high caloric standoff between a slightly squished misshapen Hostess Twinkie and a piece of doily wrapped chocolate decadence cake with a dollop of cream on top - my mouth is watering already.
From where I’m sitting I’m able to see the teleprompters projecting the scripted material. Luckily for everyone, Oswalt and (to a lesser extent) Giraldo are good enough actors/comedians to be able to ad-lib from the scripted stuff, which makes the interplay between the two of them a whole lot funnier and more spontaneous because the improvised stuff gets some unexpected and hysterical responses as well as hoots of laughter and appreciative applause from the audience (along with a couple of throaty chortles from Black who’s still precariously perched atop the judge's dais leering down like some sort of adorable Jewish Gargoyle).
After some fits and starts, due mainly to Giraldo’s repeated flubbing of his lines, the guys get into a nice little groove (thanks in large part to Oswalt’s masterful delivery of his material - the little guy is really a good actor, especially when he gets more to do than just play straight man to the likes of scene stealers Kevin James and Jerry Stiller) and the scene is over.
6:30
The lights dim again and as the talent exits stage right, I hear the odious roar of the air conditioner which immediately makes me start checking my extremities for any signs of numbness, tingling or discoloration.
The Prop guys immediately appear and place two small podiums on the floor of the set, where I assume Oswalt and Giraldo will probably stand during the next segment. Black, again armed with the same set of rumpled blue papers and a bottle of water, is still on the dais silently flipping through his notes while minor adjustments are made by the camera and lighting crew. After he’s re-pancaked, de-linted and de-smudged for the third time, he clears the debris off the dais and the lights come up again as "The Debate" segment of the show, where Oswalt and Giraldo are supposed to argue their case, cross-examine the other and present video evidence that bolsters their position and debunks their opponent’s, is underway. Or so we all thought.
6:35
Houston - uh Hollywood - we have a problem. Apparently after reviewing the most recent takes, the powers that be decided that the lighting is wrong, wrong, WRONG, because there are way too many shadows. A major meltdown occurs and as the Gaffer, the Lighting Director and the Key Grip all frantically congregate in the middle of the set, the lights dim again. Great, now my goose bumps have goose bumps.
6:40
Still on the dais, Black grimaces and rolls his eyes in frustration and begins to swing the gavel back and forth in pendulum like fashion. Fortunately for the huddled masses below, this seems to give him the desired momentum to launch into a full blown rant about: "Why is it still so f-cking cold in here?" and "Why everything in television takes so f-ing long, costs so f-ing much" and "is always soooo f-ing- f-cked up all the f-cking time!!!!" Rhetorical questions of course. But, when delivered by a Master Baiter like Black - very, very funny stuff indeed – which has most of the audience convulsing with laughter as they eat out of the palm of his wildly gesturing hand.
6:45
After apparently resigning himself to the fact that he, like the rest of us, is being held hostage in Hollywood Center’s freezer compartment, Black is now quietly pacing back and forth on the dais and benevolently perusing his audience while impatiently sucking down yet another bottle of water. Oswalt and Giraldo, who are walking around the set below him in an effort to keep warm, are talking with some of the audience who have gotten up to see if they still have any feeling left in their legs and forage for left over candy bars.
All of a sudden Black starts mischievously tossing the gavel in the air while trading off color barbs with his co-stars below. However, just as the kidding and cursing start to heat up, he inadvertently bobbles the gavel in mid-sentence, which causes it to land about five feet away from the dais. As he gets down on all fours to retrieve it, a "man down" alert must have sounded backstage because, before he had even righted himself, the entire makeup department had converged on the dais to fluff, power puff and thoroughly de-lint and de-smudge him once more.
Black then joins Oswalt and Giraldo on the floor of the set and the three engage in some good natured bantering and needling during which Oswalt repeatedly and affectionately refers to Black as "Grandpa," "Gramps," and my personal favorite "Lew Daddy," and Giraldo pokes fun at Oswalt’s dweeby haircut, doughy physique and his tiny, whiney voice. Finally the director walks up to Black and delivers the bad news. It’s official: It’s going to be a while - quite a while.
Shaking his head, Black throws up his hands in animated exasperation and as the director beats a hasty retreat, looks out at the audience and groans, "This Sucks!" "Son of a bitch!" - "You’ve got to be f-ing kidding me?" The cursing continues until Black, now in full rant, executes a perfectly pissed off pirouette and exits stage left with Oswalt and Giraldo in tow. As the lights go down, the air conditioner again flips on - leaving the rest of us to ponder the very best way to stave off hyperthermia. I hunker down in my seat in a last ditch effort to cover my tender vegetation.
Will the taping ever get back on track? Will our heroine freeze to her seat? Click here for Part II!
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