If there was one golden rule in television comedy during the 1970s, it was this: Harvey Korman was the consummate professional trying to do a job, and Tim Conway was the agent of chaos sent to destroy him.
We’ve all heard the stories of unscripted moments, but there is one “lost scene”—a mix of legend and memory—that defines their partnership. It was supposed to be a serious spoof of a gritty 1940s film noir. It ended up becoming a masterclass in how to ruin a scene in the most spectacular way possible.
The Setup: Shadows and Fog
The scene was set to perfection. The stage was dressed as a dimly lit, smoky apartment straight out of a Humphrey Bogart movie. The air was thick with the vibe of a “whodunit.”
Enter Harvey Korman. He was playing the role of the grizzled, no-nonsense Private Investigator. He wore the full ensemble: a heavy trench coat, a fedora pulled low over his eyes, and a scowl that could curdle milk. His character was serious. Deadly serious.
Lying face down in the center of the room was the victim. This was Tim Conway. His role in the script was incredibly simple: lie on the floor, play dead, and wait for the commercial break.
The Investigation Begins
The director called “Action!” and the studio audience fell silent.
Harvey stepped into the frame, his footsteps heavy and authoritative. He looked around the room, chewing on an unlit cigar. He walked over to the body, his voice dropping to that signature gravelly baritone.
“Poor sap,” Harvey grumbled to the camera. “Never saw it coming. Attacked from behind. Now, let’s see if he has any ID.”
Harvey knelt beside the body. He reached out to check the inside pocket of Tim’s suit jacket.
That was when the trouble started.
The Corpse Wakes Up
Just as Harvey’s hand touched the jacket, the “corpse” twitched. It wasn’t a spasm of death; it was a rhythmic shudder. Then came a sound—a high-pitched, stifled squeak. “Hee-hee.”
Harvey froze. He glared at the back of Tim’s head. The audience let out a nervous chuckle. Harvey, ever the professional, decided to power through. He cleared his throat loudly to cover the noise and tried again.
“As I was saying,” Harvey boomed, trying to regain control. “I need to check the evidence.”
He leaned in closer. While Harvey was distracted addressing the camera, Tim’s left hand—which was supposed to be lifeless—slowly snaked out from under his body. With the dexterity of a magician and the silence of a ninja, Tim’s fingers found the loops of Harvey’s shoelaces.
In seconds, the “dead man” had tied the detective’s shoes together in a double knot.
The Fall
Harvey didn’t notice. He was too busy trying to keep a straight face. He stood up abruptly to deliver his dramatic conclusion.
“The killer is still in this building!” Harvey announced, attempting to stride toward the door.
He took one step. The laces held tight.
Harvey pitched forward, his arms flailing like a windmill. He stumbled, looking less like a hard-boiled detective and more like a penguin on ice. To save himself from face-planting, he had to perform an awkward hop, landing dangerously close to the body.
The audience roared. Harvey’s face turned a deep shade of crimson. He bit his lip, his eyes watering, fighting the urge to explode with laughter. He looked down at his feet, then at the corpse.
The Punchline
The scene was already ruined, but Tim Conway wasn’t finished.
Slowly, deliberately, Tim rolled over onto his back. His eyes were still squeezed shut, maintaining the charade of death, but his mouth was twisted into a devilish, self-satisfied smirk.
He raised his right hand into the air. In it, he was clutching a brown leather wallet.
“Detective…” Tim whispered, his voice barely audible over the crowd’s laughter. “You dropped this.”
It wasn’t a prop wallet. It was Harvey’s actual wallet.
The Break
That was the final straw. Harvey Korman snatched the fedora off his head and threw it on the ground. He collapsed onto the floor, burying his face in the “dead” man’s chest, shaking with uncontrollable laughter.
The scene never finished. The mystery was never solved. The detective didn’t catch the killer, but the corpse had successfully pickpocketed the detective.
It was a moment of pure, unadulterated joy—a reminder that sometimes, the best parts of the story are the ones that aren’t in the script.