“IF LAUGHTER IS MEDICINE… TIM CONWAY WAS THE WHOLE PHARMACY.” Tim Conway just tilted his head, whispered “Don’t touch that nose,” and Harvey Korman was DONE. What was supposed to be a serious hospital scene suddenly felt like it was held together with tape. Korman tried so hard to stay professional—his lips shaking, his eyes watering—but Conway kept pushing, one tiny improv line at a time. Every glance, every pause, every ridiculous whisper sent him closer to collapse. And within seconds, the whole set fell apart in the best way possible. That was the moment “Dr. Nose” became comedy legend—a scene so unhinged even the actors couldn’t control it.

There are comedy sketches that make you laugh, and then there are the rare, once-in-a-lifetime implosions that remind you why live TV will always be magic. The “Dr. Nose” sketch from The Carol Burnett Show belongs in that second category—a moment so wildly unpredictable that even decades later, people still watch it and laugh like it’s brand new.

It all started with one tiny whisper. Tim Conway leaned in, barely moving, and murmured, “Don’t touch that nose.” That was it. No grand gesture. No big setup. But for Harvey Korman, it was the beginning of total destruction.

You could actually see the seriousness melt off his face. His lips twitched first. Then the corners of his mouth curled in. He tried to fight it—the deep breaths, the tight jaw, the desperate stare into the middle distance. But Conway had that look in his eyes… that mischievous glimmer that said, I’m not done with you yet.

And he wasn’t.

Every line Conway delivered after that was pure improvisation. He ditched the script and followed whatever absurd idea popped into his mind. A strange question here. A ridiculous observation there. A pause so dramatic it became its own punchline. Korman didn’t stand a chance. His body was already shaking from trying to hold it together, and the audience felt it—like watching someone teeter on the edge of a cliff made of laughter.

Then came the breaking point. Korman folded. His shoulders dropped, his face fell apart, and he erupted into uncontrollable laughter. The audience roared with him, and even the camera crew couldn’t hide their shaking. In that moment, the sketch completely lost structure—no one was acting anymore. It was just two grown men trying (and failing) to survive Tim Conway’s unpredictable genius.

What makes it legendary isn’t just the comedy—it’s the humanity. It’s the feeling of watching two friends crumble in real time, letting the absurdity take over, trusting each other enough to let things fall apart.

That’s why people still call it “the greatest unscripted disaster in comedy history.” Not because it failed… but because it went off the rails so beautifully that it became unforgettable.

Tim Conway didn’t just steal the scene.
He demolished it—with a whisper, a twitch, and that dangerous little sparkle in his eyes.