When Control Vanished: Tim Conway, Harvey Korman, and Comedy at Its Wildest
“Sir, I’m the one asking the questions here!” Tim Conway snaps, slamming the desk with such conviction it feels as though the fate of the entire sketch — perhaps the universe — hangs in the balance.
Across from him sits Harvey Korman, cast as the interrogator who is supposed to be in charge. He leans forward with authority, ready to steer the scene back on course. Within seconds, it becomes painfully clear that control is no longer an option.
What begins as a sleek parody of a James Bond–style interrogation unravels almost immediately. Conway’s detective is calm, serious, and utterly nonsensical. His questions twist logic into knots. His pauses stretch just long enough to feel dangerous. Every moment becomes a setup for disaster.
Korman does everything in his power to survive the chaos. His eyebrows climb higher with each beat. His lips press tighter, fighting laughter that threatens to explode at any second. The tension builds not from what is said, but from what might happen next. The audience can feel it — the fragile balance between order and collapse.
Then comes the truth serum.
In Conway’s hands, it may as well be a live grenade. His delivery slips into drunken nonsense, answers wander far from reality, and logic is completely abandoned. With every absurd line, Korman inches closer to surrender.
Finally, he breaks.
The camera catches it all — shoulders shaking, mouth wide open, laughter pouring out uncontrollably. There is no recovery. No reset. The sketch takes on a life of its own, driven by two comedic minds feeding off each other in real time.
At that point, it’s no longer just a performance. It’s a moment of pure television magic. The rules dissolve. The script becomes irrelevant. What remains is raw, spontaneous joy — the kind that can’t be rehearsed or repeated.
Tim Conway and Harvey Korman didn’t simply perform a sketch that day. They captured something rare and unforgettable: comedy at its most dangerous, most honest, and most contagious.
It’s the kind of laughter that doesn’t stay on the screen.
It follows you.
And decades later, it still refuses to let go.