With comedy, I think it's so important, especially in TV, to
With comedy, I think it's so important, especially in TV, to know and trust what the writers are writing and just have it down.
Hear now the words of Jay Harrington, who spoke of the craft of laughter and the sacred art of storytelling: “With comedy, I think it's so important, especially in TV, to know and trust what the writers are writing and just have it down.” In this utterance lies not only advice for actors and performers, but a truth older than time itself: that the vessel of comedy is built upon trust, and its power flows from the harmony between those who write and those who bring the words to life. Without this trust, the laughter becomes hollow; with it, the laughter becomes divine.
For comedy is no small gift. It is the balm of nations, the sword against despair, the gentle fire that warms the heart even in the darkest of nights. Yet comedy is delicate, like a flame upon the wind. If the actor hesitates, if he mistrusts the words, the flame falters, and the audience feels not joy but discord. That is why Harrington counsels the performer to trust the writers—for in that trust is freedom, and in that freedom the joke takes wing, soaring beyond mere words into the realm of pure delight.
Consider the tale of Lucille Ball, the queen of early television comedy. She trusted her writers, and her writers trusted her. Together they crafted “I Love Lucy,” a show that has endured across generations. When the script demanded she stumble, she stumbled with abandon; when it required her to cry, she wept with the exaggeration of angels. It was not hesitation, but surrender—a deep surrender to the written word—that made her eternal. Without trust in her writers, she might have doubted, and in doubt, the laughter would have withered. But by yielding, she triumphed.
This is the essence of Harrington’s teaching: to know and trust is to lay aside vanity. It is to say, “The words are a path, I am but the traveler.” Too often, pride tempts the performer to resist the script, to seek glory in improvisation without foundation. But comedy is fragile; its rhythm is precise, its timing a heartbeat. One falter, one moment of mistrust, and the harmony shatters. Only when the performer embraces the writer’s design does the story unfold as it was meant to, a dance of joy shared with all who watch.
Yet the lesson is not for comedy alone. It echoes into every realm of life. To live well is to trust the wisdom of others—the builders, the teachers, the guides. Just as the actor must trust the writer, so must the student trust the master, the soldier trust the commander, the traveler trust the map. Without trust, all becomes chaos, and the harmony of creation dissolves into noise. With trust, each part fulfills its role, and together they weave a pattern greater than themselves.
O children of tomorrow, take this lesson into your hearts: do not cling too tightly to the illusion of control. When you are called to perform—whether upon a stage, in a home, or in the theater of the world—learn first to trust, and then to embody with all your strength what is given. For in that surrender lies greatness, and in that greatness lies joy.
Let your practical steps be these: when you are part of a work greater than yourself, honor the role you are given. Study the task until you “have it down,” as Harrington says. Do not resist with ego, but flow with trust. Yet, trust does not mean blindness. It means humility joined with discipline, reverence joined with preparation. Trust the foundation, and then bring to it the fire of your own spirit.
So may you walk in balance: trust in the design, and passion in the performance. For laughter, for love, for life itself—all are born of this union. And when the curtain falls, may your work, like the work of the great comedians, echo in the hearts of those who witnessed it, bringing light into their days long after the stage has grown silent.
KDPham Thi Kim Dung
This quote from Harrington makes me think about the delicate balance between an actor’s performance and the writer’s script. Comedy often works best when it’s natural and organic, so does this mean actors should just perform as written, or should they take some creative risks? Can too much trust in the script hinder the comedic potential, or is it more about the synergy between actors and writers that makes a comedy truly great?
GDGold D.dragon
Harrington’s point about knowing and trusting what the writers are writing is essential, especially in comedy. But is there ever a time when a script can be too rigid? Can comedy thrive if actors don’t feel free to bring their own personalities or spontaneity to the table? Sometimes it feels like the best comedic moments come from actors pushing the boundaries of the script. How do you balance staying true to the script and allowing space for creative improvisation?
NNThi Ngoc Nhi Nguyen
I completely agree with Harrington—comedy works best when there’s a strong trust in the writing. I’ve noticed how often TV shows succeed when the actors are aligned with the writers’ vision, but how does that dynamic change when a show becomes more improvisational? Is it easier for actors to add their own creativity to a comedy script, or does that take away from the structure the writers intended? I think comedy thrives on trust and collaboration between writers and performers.
MHNguyen Minh Hang
Harrington’s insight on comedy really resonates with me. Trusting the writers and their material is crucial, especially in TV. But what happens when actors feel like they can’t connect with the script? Is there a point where an actor should add their own flair to the writing, or is it best to stick strictly to what’s given? Can comedy work if the actors aren’t fully aligned with the material, or does that risk ruining the essence of the show?