Carl Reiner, a titan of American comedy and entertainment over the last 100 years, died last week. For those of you not as familiar as you should be with Carl, his tremendous talent and range, and his litany of achievements, the opening line to his Wikipedia entry sets things up nicely: “Carl Reiner (March 20, 1922 – June 29, 2020) was an American actor, comedian, director, screenwriter, and author whose career spanned seven decades.” Actor. Comedian. Director. Screenwriter. Author. And among the best this country has ever produced in each category. Over the course of seven decades. Remarkable!
Funny business
While I admit to not suffering fools lightly (because while it’s OK to be dumb, it’s not OK to be stupid), I’m generally a pretty down-to-earth guy. That said, in a select few areas, I’m uncompromising. To wit, the news sources and topics I consume. Comedy, too.
I am a self-admitted comedy snob. To say that my standards are high would be a gross understatement. Rarely does a comedian, book, TV show, movie, joke . . . meet my high standards. But when it does, it’s instant and deep love.
Here’s a list of qualities that often hook me: wide-ranging knowledge; cleverness; no (or minimal and smart) reliance on blue language; and comedy that is wry, sardonic, absurd, and/or contrarian. I’m a sucker for good slapstick, too.
Carl had all the comedy attributes I love. In spades. I liked him a tremendous amount and had the utmost respect for him. That’s why his death tugged at my heartstrings a lot harder than most celebrity deaths.
Get with the program
Carl became a household name in the 1950s, while writing and acting on the TV program Your Show of Shows and then the show, Caesar’s Hour. Those programs came and went before my time. But from bits I have seen, I know that the quality was high. That resulted in no small part from the show’s writers’ efforts. And a more all-star group of writers and contributors you will not — and will never — find. Sid Caesar. Carl Reiner. Mel Brooks. Neil Simon. Woody Allen. And others who were, to put it mildly, no slouches.
From programs I’ve watched that focus on comedians and the art of comedy, I learned that for those involved in creating the content of Your Show of Shows and Caesar’s Hour, working together on those programs was the most special of experiences. Listening to Carl, Mel, Sid and the others talk — and mind you, they had done so very much over the following decades, both professionally and personally — you’d think they were still writing for those programs. And while their work on those shows set them up for the successful careers they had, one gets the unmistakable sense that there was something — just something — magical about the experience and time working on those shows.
One for the ages
In every program on these people that I watched or listened to, each person came across as smart, clever, and genuinely happy as one could ever hope to be. Even as they aged. And aged, And aged some more.
The average lifespan for an American male today is about 76 years. When Carl, Mel, Sid, and much of the Caesar’s writers were born, it was 15–20 years less. Carl was 98 when he died. Sid was 91 when he passed. Mel is 94 and going strong on his way to becoming a 2,000-year-old man. Many of the other contributors to Your Show of Shows and Caesar’s Hour died in their 90s. I think it’s no coincidence that they lived much longer than average. Or, it appeared to me, more joyfully.
I think that a major reason they not only lived so long, but were/are so active and generally happy all along, is that they knew/know how to live. And I think they developed that knowledge in the 1950s, even if they couldn’t (or had no reason to then) articulate it.
Secret, secret. I’ve got a secret.
So, what’s the secret? Maybe we’ll never know.
Or maybe we will.
After Carl died, I discovered and watched the documentary If You’re Not in the Obit, Eat Breakfast. The film — narrated by Carl — centers on finding the secret to living into your 90s and loving every minute of it. Mel also features prominently. Sid wasn’t available. Probably because he’s long dead. But the reasons for his absence were not disclosed. So, we just have to speculate.
One person interviewed in the film is Dan Buettner, who’s described in the film’s Wikipedia entry as a “longevity expert.” I dunno what you have to do to become a longevity expert. But hey, let’s stipulate that he’s earned his bona fides.
Longevity-expert Dan posits in the film that there are five essential keys to living a long, active, and happy life: staying physically fit, being cognitively aware, living out your passions and values, contributing/feeling a sense of contribution, and having a feeling of ongoing achievement. Carl agrees but adds a sixth item: humor. Jerry Seinfeld, also featured in the documentary, also says that love is essential.
Although Carl wasn’t an acknowledged longevity expert (Does that render his list of achievements moot? You be the judge, Dear Reader.), I’m gonna say that humor is a legit key to a long, active, and happy life. Because, you know, Carl actually lived a long, active, and happy life. That’s got to count for something, right? And even though Jerry’s just a kid and, tho highly accomplished, also no acknowledged longevity expert, I’m willing to recognize that love belongs on the list. Maybe because The Missus would be upset if I didn’t. Maybe not. I won’t tell.
Time to become goal-re-oriented
If you look at the keys-to-a-long-happy-and-active-life list items, you may notice something. None are anything like “amass a lot of material possessions.” Or “have lots of money.” Or “live in a McMansion and drive a clown car.” And while the first two items are to an extent the luck of the genetic draw and can for some people be bolstered by spending money in the healthcare field, many people can increase their odds of accomplishing them through living right.
I think the absence of material possession- or pile-of-money-related items on the list was no oversight. And I think that even if Carl, Mel, Sid, and others in the Caesar’s writers’ room may sort of have known early on that the key to a long, active, and happy life had nothing to do with having lots of material possessions and money, they appreciated it even more so afterward. From this observer’s perspective, it certainly seemed like they were living lives in which they exemplified the list items above all else.
Given the chronic discontent that so many people seem to live their lives feeling — especially when contrasted with the happiness exuded by the writers’ room crew (and the objective example of their long lives) — I think far too many people have been pursuing the wrong goals. Namely possessions and money. A long, active, and happy life would seem to be able to be had for a much, much lower price.
We can learn a lot from these wise nonagenarians and longevity-expert Dan and Jerry, the young whippersnapper. So, let’s celebrate Carl. He’ll be sorely missed.
