“IF YOU CAN’T MAKE HARVEY LAUGH, YOU HAVEN’T WRITTEN IT YET.” That was the rule. Not written down. Not negotiable. For eleven seasons on The Carol Burnett Show, Tim Conway wrote with one man in mind. Not the audience. Not the network. Harvey Korman. If the joke didn’t crack Harvey, it wasn’t finished. If Harvey laughed on the first read, Tim would rewrite it — because the real version had to break him on live television. They worked together for over forty years. Neither one ever called the other a best friend in public. They didn’t need to. Everyone watching already knew. When Harvey died in 2008, Tim went quiet for a long time. He never found another Harvey. He stopped looking. Some people spend a lifetime searching for that one person who laughs at exactly the right things. Who’s your Harvey?
If You Can’t Make Harvey Laugh, You Haven’t Written It Yet There are creative rules, and then there are sacred…