Me and Murphy Brown

As I wind down my Top 25 Favorite TV Shows, I will let you in on this one spoiler. "Murphy Brown" will just miss the cut. Sorry about that. And it's not showing up, despite the fact that I liked it a lot and spent parts of three television seasons hanging around the set. And that the series holds a special honor in my own personal history.

It's the only TV show that I actually appeared in.

Through a variety of intricate connections, my writing partner and I once enjoyed tremendous access to the "Murphy Brown" show. Our current producing partner was, at the time, line producer there as he had been for 9 of the series' 10 seasons. When we first moved to Los Angeles, we filled our days being on the set and absorbing the whole atmosphere. We became such fixtures there that people like director Peter Bonerz or co-star Lily Tomlin would routinely stop to chat with us. As a matter of fact, there were a few occasions when the Warner Brothers Studio Tour would visit and the tourists would ask us questions about the show. People on the crew would greet us in the morning and say "good night" to us at the end of the day. The only thing we were missing was a screen credit and a sizeable check in my direct deposit.

On Friday nights when the show would film, we would eat the pre-show buffet meal with the cast and crew in an adjacent soundstage. When the filming would start, we would assume reserved seats in the audience, but also frequently found ourselves on "the floor," usually tucked away in some hidden corner off-stage or under the audience bleachers. It all became extremely routine. And we even got just a trifle blase about the whole experience. Until we hit the the last episode of the season.

The finale of any TV show's season is almost like high school graduation night. Friends, relatives, doctors, lawyers, and Indian chiefs crawl out of the woodwork to suddenly be part of the celebration. Most of them hadn't been on the soundstage all year. But, suddenly, Joe Regalbuto's wife has this sudden urge to see what her husband has been really doing the past six months. The onslaught of riff raff on this night created a potential dilemma that would have infuriated the Burbank Fire Department. There were too, too, too many people on Soundstage 4. And we were at the lowest of the lowest on the totem pole. There was no reason for us to be anywhere near the place on that Friday night.

But, our producer-friend had an ingenious solution. Since the only people with justification for being there beyond the studio audience were the actors, there was an easy fix. We would be extras in the show! And, not just goofballs standing idly off to the side. Nope, since we were so freakin' experienced, we were given the opportunity to do a "cross." Essentially be part of the active atmosphere while Candice Bergen and guest star Rue McClanahan did their dialogue at a scene in Phil's Bar.

That Friday afternoon, our scene was rehearsed multiple times. Cross behind Candice and Rue, open the door, exit. Cross behind Candice and Rue, open the door, exit. Cross behind Candice and Rue, open the door, exit. We knew it cold. We ate our pre-show meal with confidence.

Enter the studio audience and, before we knew it, it was time for Scene B. Our big appearance. First take. We crossed behind Candice and Rue, opened the door, and exited. Perfect. But, in sitcom land, all scenes are shot at least three times straight through so the editors have their choice of shots. Second take. We crossed behind Candice and Rue, opened the door, and exited. There was no need for us to vary our acting approach. Solid. But, then, there was the third take...

As we began our cross, my writing partner walked right into Candice's chair and gave it a bump. He knew he did it. I saw he did it. But, hopefully, 350 other people didn't notice. We kept moving. We opened the door and exited. We waited for the end of the scene and the director's call for all of us to "move on" to the next scene. As we stood outside Phil's, we heard no such call. Instead, there was a murmuring all around.

"He bumped the chair."

"The chair got knocked."

"We got to do it again."

"Bumped the chair."

"Bumped the chair."

"BUMPED THE CHAIR."

We felt like we had botched up the one take of Janet Leigh getting slashed in the shower.

So, in a rather unprecedented move, that scene was shot a fourth time. And my writing partner walked so gingerly around the chair, you would have thought he was entering a funeral parlor. I'm not sure what take they used, but the actual screen shot is below. I'm in the center of the frame. My chair-knocking partner is on the far left.

This would be our last week ever at "Murphy Brown," and that had nothing to do with our on-camera clumsiness. Indeed, we even pitched staff writing jobs for the final season, but the show opted to bring back many of the writers from the first three years. But, still, there was nothing like being a small part of a hit series.

When "our episode" aired six weeks later (during May sweeps, thank you very much), my pals on the East Coast got to see it first. And, at about 6:11PM Pacific time, the congratulatory calls started to pour in. Well, trickle in. My good friend, the Bibster, had taped it and analyzed our five second cross as if it had been shot by Abraham Zapruder.

Several years later, when "Murphy Brown" went into syndication, I waited in anticipation to relive my moment (our original tape had been mysteriously destroyed by my writing partner who didn't like the way his hair looked). Imagine my horror to discover that it had been cut out in order to make room for more Dulcolax commercials. Luckily, when Nick At Nite picked it up, our appearance was restored.

Now I'm waiting for the DVD release of the ninth season. And, Warner Brothers needs to know that I am available to do a commentary track for that episode.

Dinner last night: Sausage and peppers.