Things got off to a bad start when I spoke to George Carlin in April. He impatiently responded to the first query with, "Well, I've answered that question before . . ."
Like most other comedians I've spoken to, Carlin, who died of an apparent heart attack Sunday, warmed more to general biographical topics than those about the mechanics of his comedy.
The state of the world prompted a lengthy diatribe or two about his disappointment at our shortcomings as an advanced species. It was eloquently paced and delivered and at times funny — "I like to point out to people how badly they're doing," he said — but laced with an uncomfortable spite that blurred the line between humor and bile.
When one line prompted a laugh, Carlin quickly responded, "No, I'm serious." Then he paused and chuckled.
That delicate light and dark balance was a big part of Carlin's genius, though his legacy will be the "seven words you can never say on television." Only one has crossed over on network TV in the 36 years since he released the routine on his Class Clown album. Cable TV clearly didn't get the memo. But the fact that the routine hasn't been time-stamped as a period piece speaks to Carlin's meticulous writing style. As he said, "I don't really talk about the times. I don't do topical material. . . . I don't like doing it or hearing it because it's easy stuff to do. It's perishable."
Carlin's best routines weren't based on punchlines, but rather circling a subject, sometimes flinging darts, other times picking at its surface. He was a strange being, a '60s counterculture type without a whisp of earnestness. Carlin's comedy was contemplative but with a punk-like bluntness.
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