Of course, David was smiling as he said all this. He’s that rare breed of guy who’s happiest when he’s unhappy. Six months later, NEWSWEEK checked in with David to see how the new episodes turned out and to ask if the magazine’s presence on the “Curb” set was as painful for him as it seemed. “Unbelievably painful,” he said, laughing. Was it this reporter or would someone else have been just as bad? “No, no, you in particular. You’re just a very uncomfortable person. And you make others uncomfortable. You didn’t know where to stand, how to posture yourself, stuff like that.” But a set visit is nothing compared with the NEWSWEEK photo shoot he’ll have to endure: “Oh, that will be 10 times worse. Nothing can compete with a photo shoot in terms of pain and discomfort.”
Nothing, that is, except a truly great episode of “Curb Your Enthusiasm.” For the uninitiated, “Curb” is like a triple shot of “Seinfeld” without the chaser. It’s dark, misanthropic and endlessly inventive. David has written instant-classic episodes about terrorism, incest survivors, Christian Scientists and Hitler. How does he get away with such gall? The fact that the show’s on HBO, where advertisers hold no sway, doesn’t hurt. But mostly it’s because, in every episode, no one gets it worse than Larry. “This show digs into the complexity of modern life in a way that’s almost uncomfortable,” says producer Larry Charles. “It’s about the id unleashed, and there’s something cathartic about that.”
Based on the new season’s first four episodes, David intends to keep bringing the pain. Sunday’s premiere launched two marvelous story lines that will stretch the length of the season. Larry and his TV wife, Cheryl (played with sublime patience by Cheryl Hines), will celebrate their 10th anniversary in three months–a date that nicely coincides with “Curb’s” season finale–and we learn via flashback to 1994 that the two have struck a provocative deal: if they make it to 10 years, Larry can have sex with another woman. Once. Meanwhile, at a karaoke bar, Mel Brooks (played by Mel Brooks) sees Larry onstage and, though he has no evident talent, offers him the lead role in “The Producers,” his Broadway megahit. David’s costar is a deeply unamused Ben Stiller. Later on, other big-name guests will appear, including David Schwimmer and none other than Jerry Seinfeld, who’ll turn up in an episode set in Manhattan. “But don’t blink,” David warns, declining to elaborate except to say that the brief cameo wasn’t planned. The comedian just showed up on the set one day. That’s right, “Seinfeld” fans, he did a pop-in.
On a chilly, overcast morning in Malibu, Calif., David, 56, is milling around the patio of TV Larry’s Spanish-style home. He’s practicing his golf swing and, to no one in particular, singing “Put a Little Love in Your Heart.” Contrary to prior media accounts, David seems totally at ease. Only his curious posture hints at the man you’d expect: from his knees up, his body tilts back five degrees, as if he’s grown accustomed to people shouting in his face. Because “Curb” is largely improvised–David maps out the plot, but not the dialogue–he’s clearly trying not to think about his upcoming scene.
Now, before recounting what happens next, we must note that David is maniacal about people revealing plot details. He has many reasons for this, but what they boil down to is, it ruins everything. In his pocket, David always carries a three- by five-inch booklet that outlines the current episode. Only select people working on “Curb” get a copy of the outline; during the show’s first two seasons, Hines, David’s costar, was not one of them. In other words, even this brief anecdote may be agonizing for David. So as a courtesy to him, please don’t read the next section.
In a midseason episode, the Davids have hired a Native American named Wandering Bear to do yardwork, and Larry is trying to persuade Wandering Bear to demand more money for work he did at the house of Larry’s agent, Jeff (Jeff Garlin).
WANDERING BEAR (resisting Larry’s exhortations): There’s an old Indian saying: “What goes around comes around.”
DAVID: That’s Indian? Really? I always thought that was, you know, American.
WANDERING BEAR: Could be. Maybe it’s German.
As soon as director Robert Weide yells “cut,” everyone busts up. The “Curb Your Enthusiasm” production is stocked with people David has known for ages. Weide tried in vain 20 years ago to produce a script by David called “Prognosis: Negative,” about a toxic bachelor who reunites with an old flame when he learns she has cancer and is going to die soon anyway. Larry Charles was a top producer on “Seinfeld.” Garlin is an old stand-up pal. David’s relationship with HBO is even older. Chris Albrecht, the network president, lived across 43d Street in Manhattan from David and gave him wee-hour slots at the Improv, the comedy club he ran in the 1970s. “Larry was his own worst enemy onstage,” Albrecht recalls. “He would get frustrated. He was cerebral. But all the comics would rush in from the bar to watch him. He was the comic’s comic.”
After “Seinfeld,” for which he reportedly netted $242 million, David wrote and directed a movie called “Sour Grapes.” Making it was a blast, he says… until the critics hammered it. He returned to stand-up and made a behind-the-scenes mockumentary about the process for HBO. It went so well that Albrecht asked him to turn the idea, minus the stand-up, into a series. “I remember the day we were deciding the name of the show,” says Garlin. “We were ordering food and someone said, ‘Larry, do you want any soup?’ And Larry said, ‘No, no, soup’s too distracting.’ I thought that’s what we should call the show: ‘Soup’s Too Distracting.’ It was the funniest thing I’d ever heard. You’re not gonna order soup because it’s too distracting? Who’s had this problem? But that’s Larry.”
Ultimately, the final name for the show came from David. It’s both a warning to viewers–i.e., “don’t expect too much”–and a plea from David to humanity. “When people get overly excited about something, it’s horrible,” he says. “It’s like a public display of affection without the affection.” As the series swung into production, David thought it’d be a breeze. He’d do 10 episodes a year–as opposed to the 23 required for a network series–and it would take eight months, tops, leaving him four months off a year. As it turns out, writing 10 episode outlines takes David so long that he has to start on a new season the moment he finishes the previous one. “I’m working all the time,” David says. “It’s 51 weeks a year. I’m working more days on this show than I did on ‘Seinfeld’.” Is that OK? “No! It’s not OK at all!” He laughs. “It’s the opposite of OK!” The end of “Curb,” he says, is definitely in sight. There will be a fifth season, but only David knows if the show will last beyond that. And even he doesn’t know yet.
These days, though, David really, truly is enjoying himself. “Once the writing is out of the way, it’s a big relief,” he says. “And let’s not discount the fact that I’m acting here, which is fun. Having people scream and curse at you?” David smiles. “That’s fun.” His “Curb” pals also believe that family life has settled him some. With his wife, Laurie, an environmentalist, he has two children, ages 7 and 9. “The Larry I knew 20 years ago was a lot closer to the Larry on the show,” says Weide. “But there are still the idiosyncrasies. Like, he’s got this great house with an ocean view, so you go over there and you say, ‘Wow, it must be great to wake up and see that view.’ And Larry says, ‘Eh, after a couple days, who notices anymore?’ But then there are the little things that make him so happy. Like discovering a shortcut to the airport. He’ll talk about it for hours.”
The next day on the set, at TV Jeff’s house in Topanga Canyon, is a beautiful summer day. In this scene, David is chased out the front door and down the street by Jeff’s dog, which Larry has… oh, let’s say, angered. As he runs out the door, Jeff’s wife, Susie (played by the incomparable Susie Essman, every “Curb” fan’s favorite supporting player), shouts one of her trademark streams of obscenity and it’s off to the races. The crew, however, is having trouble timing the dog’s pursuit. It’s been seven takes, and David’s hamstrings are starting to scream. On the next take, the dog gives out. It doesn’t even chase Larry. “It should make you feel good that you’ve got more endurance than the dog,” says Charles, as David limps back. “You’re like John Henry.” After a quick rest, David tells Weide he’s got one more 40-yard dash in him. The ninth take looks good, and from down the road David shouts, “Yes? No?” Weide shrugs. “Yeah, that timed OK.” “Oh, come on!” David cries. “Where’s the enthusiasm?” Smile, everyone–it’s back.
