An “All-Around Good Guy”: Steve Martin’s Career Arc
In his memoir Born Standing Up: a comic’s life, Steve Martin details a stunt he pulled at the Troubador in the early 1970’s that perfectly embodies his path from the early start to the eventual summit. After receiving a series of mixed reviews, Martin brought five bananas onstage at the end of his act. He nonchalantly proceeded to peel each one and then placed one on his head, one in both pockets, and crushed one in both hands. With the bananas in position, Martin began to read an excerpt of his latest negative review, announcing, “Sharing the bill with Poco this week is comedian Steve Martin…his twenty-five-minute routine failed to establish any comic identity that would make the audience remember him or his material.” Upon this recitation, Martin left the stage and closed his act.
It is this unconventional, wisecracking attitude that has established Steve Martin’s career as one of experimentation and variance, from classic standup to smashing movies and successful music to brilliant writing. Few have managed a juggle quite like his; he frequents 30 Rock, the Museum of Fine Arts, and Broadway as both a patron and a player. Steve Martin is a man of fame, not infamy, but prosperity and adversity are a cursed pair. In the midst of his soaring highs have been grim low periods, of both personal and professional matter. Like many comedy greats, it is from this turmoil that Martin found a foothold.
In his list of annual comedy MVPs, Bill Simmons pegs the year 1979 as Steve Martin’s, tying him with Robin Williams. Simmons attributes this ruling to Martin’s success in three specific mediums of popular culture: film (The Jerk), albums (“A Wild and Crazy Guy), and television (“‘official best SNL host ever’ status”). In regard to the latter, Martin more than meets Simmons’ insistence that an MVP “routinely crush any late-night appearance or SNL hosting gig” and is consistently ranked across various outlets as the best of the Saturday Night Live hosts (CBS, VH1), though he occasionally loses the top spot to another icon, usually Alec Baldwin, his rival for most hosted episodes. He even makes an appearance on Rolling Stone’s rank of cast members despite his never being an official player on the show; rather, it’s fair to describe him as an honorary cast member, a great feat considering the exclusivity of the show’s family. In regard to Simmons’ criteria of “hot comedies,” Martin released three albums- two platinum and one gold, respectively- leading up to and through 1979: “Let’s Get Small,” “A Wild and Crazy Guy,” and “Comedy Is Not Pretty!”.
Martin became a luminary in a way unconventional for his line of work, eventually gathering the following of a rock band rather than a comedian, with fans sporting rabbit ears and arrow headbands at his shows. Stints at Disneyland and Knott’s Berry Farm shaped his style and knowledge. His teen years at Disneyland provided endless inspiration, leading to trademark gags like the famous trick arrow and flagship phrases like “Well, excuuuuuuse me.” He perfected magic tricks and physical jokes in Merlin’s Magic Shop and found something to admire in Wally Boag, a performer at the Golden Horseshoe in Frontierland, making a point to catch and analyze his daily shows between shifts. Here he learned a great deal about the spirit and structure of comedy: “Wally had something about him, an infectious happiness, and a mysterious something else I later learned was called comic timing. He was immensely likable and youngsters and oldsters responded with equal hilarity. There was a dose of naughtiness about him, too,” (Disney Parks Blog). In the Bird Cage Theatre at Knott’s Berry Farm, Martin established a base performance style. In front of audiences as small as four, he was able to work on his magic-comedy act, a heterogenous overlapping of everything he knew and everything that might get a few laughs, including juggling, magic tricks, and, of course, the banjo. The repetition of four five-minute shows a day helped him shake his amateur shell and gain confidence.
College philosophy also contributed to his ideas. Instead of following a traditional formation for laughter that included a buildup of tension and clear resolution, Martin decided that if he “kept denying them the formality of a punch line, the audience would eventually pick their own place to laugh, essentially out of desperation,” (Martin 111). This became the premise of his comedy, allowing audiences to choose when to laugh instead of telling them himself. For this to work, Martin had to radiate confidence bordering on arrogance, convincing the audience that he was funny without letting them know why he was funny.
My goal was to make the audience laugh but leave them unable to describe what it was that had made them laugh. In other words, like the helpless state of giddiness experienced by close friends tuned in to each other’s sense of humor, you had to be there. -Born Standing Up, 113
This strain of humor became Martin’s hallmark. It confused people until it delighted them, and critics tore him to shreds until they commended him as a pioneer. It works well with his overall apolitical act, no matter the medium. David Felton in Rolling Stone called his bits “little pills you swallow that make you laugh — no message, no ulterior motive or purpose,” something that rings perfectly true in the best way. This was likely another facet of the startlingly simple nature of his act at a time when it was easy for everything to be divisive, between Vietnam, Nixon, and a changing social scene; instead, Martin made it a conscious point to construct an act that transcended politics. Humor without guilt or offense, low-stakes laughter with a singular purpose of entertaining, was something sorely needed then and still needed now. Anyone can laugh at his antics.
Stage I: An “Ob-leek” Sense of Humor
Son, you have an ob-leek sense of humor. -Elvis Presley to Steve Martin, backstage on The Ann-Margret Show in 1972
Beyond the theme park bubble, Martin spent slow weeknights wearing out Orange County roads to hit catchpenny clubs, eventually landing a professional career writing on The Smothers Brothers Comedy Hour, unknowingly paid out of pocket by the show’s head writer. The foreign pressure and therefore harrowing environment opened several doors, allowing him to include names like Glen Campbell and Sonny and Cher on his résumé, but also ignited a significant anxiety attack that would further haunt him upon full-fledged stardom.
Feeling like the writing jobs were less of a jumping off point and more of a dead end, he quit and risked it on the road, performing at clubs and colleges across the country accompanied only by a technical group and a roadie. It was in this isolating travel that Steve Martin became Steve Martin. Though a lonely netherworld, he found himself free to leave it all on the stage, tightening and modifying his spectacle after realizing what did and didn’t work. As a result, his act became an increasingly visual one with eventually classic schticks like balloon animals.
After several appearances at the Ice House club, Martin performed televised stand-up for the first time on The Steve Allen Show. This opportunity led to many more like it until he found himself on the premium gig of the time, The Tonight Show Starring Johnny Carson in 1972. The engagement became a benchmark; Martin erroneously assumed he would be known after his first showing and began waiting for the day someone would recognize him. He performed on the show successfully several times more until Carson limited him to guest hosting after a faulty bit, a significant setback.
This next young man is a comedian, and…at first you might not get it, but then you think about it for a while, and you still don’t get it…then, you might want to come up onstage and talk to him about it. -Steve Allen introducing Martin on his show in 1969
Slowly but surely, Martin’s record carried him farther and farther into the world of stars. The McEuen brothers of the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band, especially Bill, were great friends and advisors. The Bird Cage days were paying off, and so was the relentless work ethic.
Stage II: Wild and Crazy Success
I started a wild flail, which I must say was pretty funny, when a showbiz miracle occurred. The camera cut away to a dimly lit Johnny, precisely as he whirled up from his chair, doubling over with laughter. Suddenly, subliminally, I was endorsed. At the end of the act, Sammy [Davis, Jr.] came over and hugged me. I felt like I hadn’t been hugged since I was born. -Born Standing Up, 153
The first clear sign of success came for Martin after a knockout run on The Tonight Show in 1974 after a dozen other appearances and a disheartening demotion. Finally, this particular night proved to be the one he had worked toward, and the next day, a woman on La Brea asked if he was who he was, only to hilariously have her respond with, “Yuck!” (Martin 154).
The next period led Martin through spotty popularity, but his status solidified after several notable sources of press, including an interview in Rolling Stone, a special on HBO, and continued coverage on The Tonight Show.
This lightning strike was happening to me, Stephen Glenn Martin, who had started from zero, from a magic act, from juggling in my backyard, from Disneyland, from the Bird Cage, and I was now the biggest comedian in show business, ever. I was elated. My success had outstripped my wildest aspirations. -Born Standing Up, 180
At last, he had gone from greasy establishments with audiences small enough to hear their individual conversations to massive stadium packings. A turnout of three thousand in Milwaukee led him to don the now-famous white suit in an effort to ensure his visibility to the farther seats. He hosted Saturday Night Live for the first time in 1976, an engagement that doubled his crowd for the following Monday’s show. A Wild and Crazy Guy was released in 1978, going double platinum and prompting Rolling Stone and Newsweek to put him on the cover. Audiences grew to ten, twenty, and then fifty thousand. Shows sold out and made him a bonafide celebrity.
Martin was able to send money to his mother and buy a first and then second house. He stopped evaluating price tags, a far cry from the days of eight dollar hotel rooms. Fans stopped him for autographs, and he occasionally required a hat to hide his face in public. James Cagney called his suite just to say hello, and he had a friendly chat with Gene Kelly backstage at an American Film Institute event. Within a decade, Steve Martin had gone from a weirdo wannabe to a beloved household name.
Stage III: A Dry Well
I knew about the flash in the pan…I worried about it happening to me….Onstage I was no longer the funniest I ever was; my shelf life was expiring. -Born Standing Up, 183
Low points had inevitably dotted Martin’s career before he even had one. The early anxiety while writing on Smothers Brothers was the first of many times blurred by depression and loneliness, and panic attacks revived themselves on stadium tours in the late 1970s. Even after his Tonight Show breakthrough, a short series of bad club gigs, including a performance for a non-English speaking audience of Japanese tourists, was evocative of the days on the road. Fame isolated him, but so did lack of fame. The solitary road life he led traveling from club to club and then later arena to arena was accompanied by intense bouts of exhaustion, detachment, and insecurity.
Although fame was a proud achievement, it was accompanied by many contrary side effects. Everyday interactions were tainted by a pretense of celebrity, and the constant barrage of admirers was seclusive in its own way. The Steve that fans saw in public was not the one they loved on television, in theaters, and through airwaves.
A rocky relationship with his father also contributed its fair share of turbulence. After his first bout on SNL, Glenn Martin wrote a negative review of his son’s performance in his realtor newsletter, and, though he later apologized after being chastised by a friend, he called the show “the most horrible thing on television” in an interview (Martin 172). Steve brought his father to the premiere of The Jerk, and upon being asked how he thought Steve did in it, Glenn replied, “Well, he’s no Charlie Chaplin,” (Martin 192). This agitation incited Steve to seek the outside world as a haven of possibility and resulted in heavy distance between him and his parents and sister.
The tipping point came as a conglomeration of seemingly insignificant stressors. In Las Vegas in 1981, Martin saw empty seats after five years of busy sellouts. Technical difficulties while performing his hit “King Tut” in Atlantic City sent him into a flying rage. Martin realized he was in the midst of an “artistic crisis,” on the downhill slope and never did stand-up again.
The revelation that “comedy became serious” (Martin 202) was disheartening and made Steve nostalgic for his more elementary time with less to lose. The intense attention from both press and the public was stressful enough, and he was no longer able to interact with his audience in the same way because of the exponentially larger crowds. Somehow, the other side of success removed the fun nature of his work and distanced him from its core.
This artistic crisis was accompanied by a familial one, and Martin decided to reconnect, making regular visits to his parents and re-establishing a close relationship with his sister Melinda. The precedent of hostility and coldness from his father was interrupted as Glenn softened and even gushed to friends over Steve’s play, Picasso at the Lapin Agile. This spark of emotional density revealed a humorous side of his father that Steve had never witnessed, just before his mental and physical health further declined. Before his death, the two left nothing unsaid and more or less resolved the years of bitterness that plagued Steve’s career.
Stage IV: A Real Renaissance Man
I was not naturally talented- I couldn’t sing, dance, or act- though working around that minor detail made me inventive. -Born Standing Up, 3
Though standup made him famous, Martin is known as a man of many talents. Acting was his initial goal, and his works, numbering over two dozen, have been overwhelmingly well-received. His 1977 short film The Absent-Minded Waiter was nominated for an Academy Award, and The Jerk grossed nearly $200 million. Even ¡Three Amigos! has retrospectively become a cult classic.
In addition to the big screen, Martin has made a name for himself in the literary world. His works have been projected to audiences on Broadway and through The New Yorker and The New York Times. Screenplays, novels and novellas, children’s books, plays, and musicals are all a part of his repertoire. The likes of Tom Hanks and Amy Schumer have brought the latter to life.
As if books and movies just aren’t enough, Martin has also made use of his musical talents. His comedic novelty songs, like, of course, “King Tut,” have made a presence on top charts, but his work with the Grammy-winning Steep Canyon Rangers, Nitty Gritty Dirt Band, and other bluegrass greats, including Earl Scruggs, have also proven fruitful.
Furthermore, Martin has been an avid art collector since age 21. The empty days on the road allowed him to frequent libraries and museums to pass the time, feeding his interest and familiarizing himself with the quality and knowledge of an aficionado. Not one to be static, Martin has also curated displays of his own pieces.
Personally, I know him for his movies and always found him undeniably and oddly funny. Father of the Bride and Cheaper by the Dozen were always available for play in my mom’s Suburban, and I distinctly remember seeing both installments of The Pink Panther in theaters. While my own idea of Martin is different because I didn’t catch on until after family comedy became his genre, my impression of his career is no less impactful than someone who grew up watching his debut on Saturday Night Live or his success in The Jerk.
To his credit, Martin isn’t just good on screen, paper, and vinyl for a comedian. He’s good, period. He’s been called one of the best actors to never be nominated for an Oscar, among the likes of Mia Farrow, Alan Rickman, and Jeff Goldblum. His bestselling memoir, Born Standing Up: a comic’s life, was nominated for a Grammy in 2009 for Best Spoken Word Album. Plainly, Steve Martin excels in several fields while most of us struggle in one, making him a genuine polymath.
Stage V: Back to the Future
One can have, it turns out, an affection for the war years.-Born Standing Up, 3
Shockingly, Steve Martin made a return to the roots of his fame in 2016, thirty-five years since his last set of standup, to open for Jerry Seinfeld. The ten-minute spiel was a surprise to everyone, including the audience. He has also embarked on a national tour with Martin Short, and the two even announced an upcoming Netflix special for 2018. Additionally, Martin has made waves with his old flame Saturday Night Live, using his rivalry with Alec Baldwin as a source of material to link two of the most iconic hosts and eras of comedy. Upon returning for the show’s fortieth season anniversary special, he performed the classic “King Tut.” His most recent theater productions, Meteor Shower and Bright Star, both hit the stage to positive reviews. Magic Camp, a live-action feature Martin wrote for Disney, will be released next year in 2019 and will likely be a perfect tribute to his magician past.
It would appear as though we are living in a Steve Martin revival. No, it’s not fair to say he really ever left, but there is certainly a new resurgence of his name. Right now, he’s doing it all- standup and music on the tour, movies, and television, in addition to a continued background of literature and art.
Everyone from Baby Boomers to Generation Z can have a claim to a piece of Steve Martin’s legendary fame. His unique style draws us all in, and his range of medium provides an option for all types of fans. This spectrum of dimension ensures not just longevity but also esteem and popularity.
Works Cited: Martin, Steve. Born Standing Up: a comic’s life. Charnwood, 2008
