Searching for Elaine May

Carrie Courogen discusses writing the biography of a hidden genius

I hate to make this about myself, but this is my newsletter and I swear there’s a reason I’m going to mention that there was a time in my life when I believed I was destined to write not just a biography, but the biography of John Hughes. At the time, he was a filmmaker who was still living but had mostly backed away from the public eye; I was a young writer who truly had no idea or business even thinking I could take on such a project. The whole thing predictably failed, and I ended up writing a memoir about the whole experience that had the good fortune of coming out two weeks after the 2016 election, so I got something out of it. But sometimes I sit and wonder how I’d approach writing a biography on Hughes or anybody else today if I had the opportunity, and I found my answer while reading Carrie Courogen’s Miss May Does Not Exist: The Life and Work of Elaine May, Hollywood’s Hidden Genius. This, I kept thinking, is not only the sort of book I want to read more of, but damn, I’m jealous of how Courogen did it.

While the title of the book does have some small connection to Elaine May’s story, it also works perfectly to set the reader up for what’s in store. Miss May does, indeed, exist. She’s 92 years old and living in Manhattan. She’s not exactly a recluse, but she notoriously doesn’t want to be bothered, either. So when it comes to somebody writing her life story, Miss May actually doesn’t exist. Courogen probably would have loved to have had her subject’s help in telling the story, but that’s not how things worked out. And in the long run, it was for the better. Not having May involved only made Courogen work harder and play around with the idea of what a biography on a living subject could be. Because of that, Miss May Does Not Exist has more energy per page than entire biographies can muster, many of which take hundreds of pages to get remotely interesting or rely on one or two pieces of salacious gossip that the rest of the bland story orbits around. Courogen’s fascination, curiosity, respect, and, yes, obsession with May’s life and work add so much to the story without ever taking away anything from the woman she writes about. Courogen respects May as a person as much as she appreciates the art May has made, and the book helps to connect the two. What has driven May all these years? It’s fascinating to find out.

Courogen’s book is even more interesting if you’ve read the wonderful Mark Harris biography of Nichols that came out a few years ago. Harris had access to the more famous and outgoing Nichols before the director and performer passed in 2014, and if Courogen had that luxury, then I feel like there would be an imbalance. Miss May needed not to exist in the making of her biography for Courogen's book to work.

There’s also the fact that books like these aren’t made enough. Sure, May’s career as a performer, actress, writer, and director is filled with one beloved or influential work after another. But she’s not a household name. She’s brilliant in one of my favorite films, 1971’s A New Leaf, which she wrote, directed, and co-starred in just a few years after she was part of the groundbreaking comedy duo with Nichols. She directed two more masterpieces in the 1970s—1972’s The Heartbreak Kid and 1976’s Mikey and Nicky, respectively—but she also went uncredited for helping to write 1980s films like Reds, Tootsie, and Labyrinth. Then, in the 1990s, her name popped up again when she teamed back up with Nichols to write the screenplay for the 1996 masterpiece The Birdcage. This is all just scratching the surface and doesn’t even touch on her scene-stealing smaller roles or her work on Broadway, but it gives a little context and shows just how much May has made, and how incredible it is she just wants to keep doing her thing and being left alone.

And Courogen is respectful of that. She tried, of course, to get May involved. As you’ll read below, she even entertained the idea of sending May an entire whitefish from Zabar’s to get her approval. But that didn’t happen in the end, and you’ll be happy it didn’t after you read Miss May Does Not Exist.

Let's get a little of your biography. If I recall, this book came out of an essay you wrote about Elaine May. When did you first come across her work and what drew you to her as an individual that you'd eventually dedicate a ton of time researching and writing about? 

I had a two-part discovery of Elaine May. I started watching SNL for the first time when I was 12—which canonically is the age for everyone when it's the best and funniest it will ever be, I think—and just fell in love with it. That broadened into an obsession with comedy, in general, and I just wanted to learn everything I could about it and really study the greats. My mom would come home from work and see me sprawled out in front of the TV watching '70s SNL or SCTV comps and be like "What's the status on your homework?" and I'd, in all seriousness, be like, "Mom, this IS my homework." Once I had worked my way back far enough, I ended up borrowing a cd of Mike Nichols and Elaine May Examine Doctors from the library and immediately thought, "Oh, I get this. This is kind of like what Tina Fey and Jimmy Fallon do on Weekend Update. They're the O.G.s for that dynamic." But a lot of their work obviously went over my head or felt dated, so I rarely returned to them. 

Cut to 2018, and everyone was talking about Elaine again because of The Waverly Gallery. For the past 15 years, I had been really into film, and decided to double major in film and journalism (before just dropping the film part after a confidence-crushing freshman year), and loved the whole New Hollywood canon and loved Mike's films. But I had completely forgotten about Elaine, though I think that was just partly the era. She was still relatively buried, her films were hard to find. And granted, I only spent a year as a film major, but not once was she mentioned in any of my classes. There wasn't this huge uptick in reclamation for her until, around the 2016 election and then the #MeToo a year later, when you started to see this trend of reappraising women in pop culture who had been wronged or treated unfairly in the past.  I read maybe one article about her films, immediately rented A New Leaf, and it was like I was 13 again, falling into a hyperfixation. I reported a long profile of her in the spring of 2019 for Glamour that eventually came out in much shorter form in October. That whole time I kept thinking "There's so much I want to say that I can't say in a 1,000 word online write-around, and it's so fucked up how many doorstopper books there are about all these guys she worked with and none about her." But, also, the whole time, I kept having an ongoing internal debate of "I want to do this / I don't think I can do this / If it were possible, it would have been done by now by someone way more advanced and established than you / Maybe, but maybe people can't figure out how to get around the traditional need for access / And you think you can? / Well, if I don't, some stuffy, old white guy is going to write this book eventually and it's going to be bone dry and boring and I'm going to be so mad at myself for not even trying."

I really just couldn't shake her. I think I felt some sort of kindred spirit connection with her. Presumptuous, maybe, but I saw a lot of my own traits (for better and, a lot of the times, for worse) reflected in her, and I just had this strong feeling of like, "I get her." And I think I knew that I was obsessed enough with the subject and the time that I wouldn't feel like spending so much time researching and writing would feel like a chore, that it would actually be a lot of fun. 

As far as I know, May hasn't been too responsive. You talk a little. in the book about your attempts to get her involved with the project, but I won't go into that because I want people to read it. I will say there was some Jewish appetizing involved in trying to get on her good side. Can you go into your process trying to order food for Elaine May? Did you have any intel into what she might like or were you just going to pick a basket from Zabar's and send away? 

Oh god. The reaction to the attempts to get her involved have been mostly good, but I've seen more than a few takes that interpreted them as stalking or harassment that I just want to say up front: I am glad you enjoyed it, one, and two, I think a lot of people would do well to reread “Frank Sinatra Has a Cold”, or “All The President's Men,” or “She Said,” or any number of pieces of journalism where reporters go beyond putting in calls and emails and do real (and ethical!) legwork to try to get reluctant sources to talk!

The appetizing came fairly early in the writing process, maybe only a week or two after the book deal was made public. The thing that was so crazy to me was that, theoretically, getting in touch with her was so easy; she was listed in the phone book! By the time I got around to sending her food, I had already mailed her one note asking for an interview for Glamour in 2019 (which I knew I wouldn't get but had to do just to say I tried to get in touch and she declined to comment), and another in 2020 when I was writing the proposal, and had called every number listed for her with no luck. The book was announced, and I wanted to contact her again and really say, "Look, I'm doing this, and I think I owe it to you to make every effort to involve you."

I hadn't entirely thought of it as trying to win her over through food. I thought about it more like, "What is something I can send that can't just be easily tossed by a housekeeper or an assistant, or by Jeannie or by her without a second look? What is something that literally will just get her attention—and she doesn't have to respond, but at least receive, because I'll get delivery confirmation? Hmm. Okay, cookies are a general crowd-pleaser, let's do that." I've loved Schmackery's for years, so I went with them partially out of the ease of familiarity. I thought, "I can get an assortment of flavors where there's bound to be something she likes—I'll probably throw in a few more trail mix-oatmeal-vaguely-healthy ones because she's a health nut—and, since I am paying out of pocket for this, I won't spend too much money on it." I sent them with a note on the gift tag that said "Dear Elaine: I'm sure you've heard, but I feel a responsibility as the author to let you know personally: I am writing a book about you to be published by St. Martin's Press. I'd really love to speak with you about it. These aren't a bribe; they're just cookies. Enjoy!" and my phone number and email. The funniest thing to me about it, which wasn't in the book: I had placed the order in mid-January, and then I got the confirmation text from FedEx that they were delivered right in the middle of the inauguration. I couldn't get over the timing of it. "Here, babe! Enjoy the we-just-narrowly-avoided-complete-democratic-collapse celebratory snack!" 

I didn't send any other food after that, mostly just because I thought "once is enough, I don't want to scare her off," but I did have a friend, who is much more in tune with what will really impress old Jewish women than I am, who genuinely tried to convince me to send her an entire smoked whitefish from Zabar's. She was like, "That is a serious gesture. That's something you don't just buy for yourself every day." Part of me regrets not trying that, but at the same time...I spent way too much of my own money on other completely ignored attempts to try to win her over or genuinely be the bigger person and send her something that legitimately belongs to her that I'm probably better off not dropping another $100+. Authors aren't made of money! I can't write all this off on my taxes!

The biography seems like a tricky thing to write, and sometimes they come off as too stiff and bland, other times they can feel like an avenue for the writer to become friends with the subject, and then there's the worst thing when the biography tells you nothing at all. Besides being a fan of May, I ripped through this book because there's this energy to it that I rarely get from biographies, and it's obvious how deeply you care about the subject. I think if anybody wants to write a biography, I'd show them a copy of your book whether they knew May's work or not, so I was wondering if you could talk a little about how you approached writing this. What was the initial idea? I assume it wasn't just "I want to write a biography on Elaine May" since she's, unfortunately, not this massive name. 

You're so right, and I think the biggest challenge for myself was getting over my own daunted feeling of "am I too ambitious for my own abilities?" My favorite kinds of biographies—and non-fiction in general—have always been ones that read more like novels, are full of life and entertaining while also being deeply informative, and really have a sense of style to them. That was the kind of book I wanted to write, and I wanted so badly to write about Elaine, but with that desire in mind and the supposed roadblocks of access and whether or not there was enough research to support a full book, it took me almost a year to really figure out how to crack it. I knew, for myself, that I had to write a proposal that was a bit more in-depth and meticulously detailed, with a lot of  research done up front, than the average proposal or outline, just because I really needed to work through the whole thing and plot it out and have a super clear vision for what I wanted to do so I could know that I could do it, and that I wouldn't get halfway through and realize I'd painted myself into a corner and there really wasn't a book here, after all. By then, I realized the mystery had to be part of it. The broader cultural context of the worlds Elaine occupied—both micro and macro—had to be part of it. And, especially, if I did end up not having a lot of research or interviews to work with about her, specifically, I could make it a story about a time and place with her as the main character and me as the detective.

I ended up getting so lucky, though, in that I did find so much more material than I ever thought I would—too much, actually—and I did get a lot of people to speak with me, that it became fully Elaine's story, and there was no room for me, so I could (mostly) take myself out of it. Which was great, because I was always a little uncomfortable inserting myself to begin with! Even though it started to become clear that the reporting of the story would, in a way, become part of the story, and that there were so many situations that were just like "man, you can't make this stuff up..." that gave me plenty of stories to tell my friends over drinks, I didn't want to be part of the story. Even my presence in the prologue took convincing from my editor. It's Elaine's biography! It's not about me! Don't perceive me! Perceive her! But I still wanted, even though it became closer to a conventional biography than what I had initially imagined, to keep it true to my voice, and allow it to be informative and well-researched and intelligent, but also entertaining and goofy and a little smart aleck-y, and avoid the trap of becoming a bland, just the facts, ma'am encyclopedia.

Elaine May in A New Leaf

One thing I can say is that I can't recall a biography that read like yours. It feels like you're a step or two behind her at all times and it adds to the whole experience. Did any other biographies or books to help get into the mindset of writing a biography?  

That is a huge compliment, because I sometimes feel a little like, to borrow meme phrasing: "I want a Sam Wasson book!" / "We have a Sam Wasson book at home" / The Sam Wasson book at home..." — I'm such a fan of his work, and every time I read or reread something of his, I just think "Oh, he's so good at this." His books have been so instrumental in shaping my sensibilities and getting me into the mindset of "Write a book that is researched, but also a page turner." Obviously Fosse and Improv Nation were huge for me. I didn't read The Big Goodbye until after I finished the book, and I'm glad I did, because I would have just kicked myself and felt too "How could I ever share a space on a bookshelf with this" to finish it. I'm so grateful that I was able to connect with him during the process and really shoot the shit about the work with him, and hear the way his brain works, in a way that made the book better and made me think of things I hadn't before, or reframe thoughts, and also just feel more confident in my ability to write this.

Lili Anolik's Hollywood's Eve was also a huge inspiration; I read it when it first came out and had this feeling of both "I love this so much and I'm also so deeply envious of this because I didn't realize until now that this is the exact kind of book I'd want to write." I think in my early pitches I used it as the number one comp—like, different overlooked recluse, different scene, but same sort of idea! Warren Zanes' biography of Tom Petty has also stayed with me since it came out as this ideal blend of research and style that I admired. I read Janet Malcolm's The Silent Woman, which is sort of a biography about Sylvia Plath but more a book about biographies and how the genre is inherently flawed, when I was close to finishing the book, and that reframed my mindset a bit for the prologue and provoked a few thoughts that I sort of wove in here and there early in the manuscript. The idea of how there is really no one truth and you can't entirely trust a biographer, but you also can't entirely trust a source, and they're all kind of using each other—it reinforced my desire to say upfront, this is a flawed and incomplete biography because she did not participate and she kept a lot hidden, but even if she did participate, it would still be a flawed and incomplete biography and we couldn't fully trust her then, either.

I liked your guerilla marketing campaign of putting up flyers on the Upper West Side. Was it just the UWS? I think I know the answer as to why you posted flyers in the best neighborhood in NYC, but I was wondering if you could talk a little more about it. 

I laugh a little to myself every single time I pass one of the flyers. I only put them up around the Upper West Side, mostly because...honestly, I just got tired and a little lazy and ran out of supplies. I keep thinking "I really need to put some up around Film Forum! Another prime demo!" but time has gotten the best of me. Still, out of every New York neighborhood, the Upper West Side is the best (and I would have said that even before I lived in it) and the best possible demo for this specific guerilla marketing. There are so many old theater and film heads here! They're not online! They're not seeing the blurbs and social assets and blogs and tweets and all of that.

I unfortunately worked in social media and PR before my brain was fully developed, so while I wish I could just approach things solely as a writer and not give a shit about the audience, it's easy for me to tap into that and think in terms of promo strategy. There was no mention of a print campaign in the marketing plan I got from my publisher, and at a certain point when pub date got closer, I just thought, "Wow, that's a missed opportunity. How else will old people—people who really know who Elaine is and would love this book, I'm sure—find out about it?" and decided to just take things into my own hands and utilize the Russian doll version of myself inside me that's still some scrappy, 20-something nobody blogger who learned to use DIY tactics when traditional avenues weren't available to me. Which then, again, speaking of versions of myself, part of the tactic and the location choice was me indulging in that same scrappy little shit-stirring menace. I knew by putting them all over her (our) neighborhood that Elaine would have to see them at some point. I wanted to be a little like, "Hi, girly! You thought you could keep kicking the can down the road and play all these games with me and starve me out and I would end up not being able to write this book and then no one would ever be able to write a book about you, but guess what! I did it and it's coming out! And it's actually very nice to you, so!" Someone's been trying to tear them down in a few choice locations, so clearly I've struck a nerve!

The movies she directed would be enough for me to say she's one of the greatest ever, but then there are the ones she was either not credited for or people just might not realize that she wrote the screenplay for The Birdcage or helped work on Reds. Is there one work of hers that stands out above the others for you as the Elaine May work? 

I want to say Reds, but I think ultimately that's just a hair more The Warren Beatty, Director, Film for me. So I think, at the end of the day, it's gonna be Tootsie, which, coincidentally, is also a movie I became obsessed with in my early teens. I remember I had the Syd Fields screenwriting book and read all the fuss he made about how it's maybe the most perfectly constructed comedy of all time, and was like "yes, yes, yes!" But, again, in spite of how it was probably one of my top ten favorite films for more than half my life, I didn't know she had a hand in it until like the past five years. Even if it's maybe not her most signature The Elaine May Work, I think it might be her best. When Mike Nichols called it her greatest save, he wasn't being hyperbolic. I get so giddy when I talk about this, it's so geeky, but my favorite part of this entire journey was learning more about that and, especially, finally getting to read her handwritten notes and amendments to the script. I was practically peeing my pants having it in front of me, I was so over the moon excited. And it didn't disappoint—she really did totally reshape it, and added in most of the best jokes, and she had such astonishingly precise notes and edits. It has touches of her signature voice that when I watch it now, maybe because I'm just so intensely familiar with her, that I can watch and say—even without re-consulting the script—"Oh, that's Elaine" after a line or two, but it's more astonishing to me how removed she is from it, too. That movie is rightfully held up as one of the greatest comedies of all time, and even if it isn't screaming "THIS IS AN ELAINE MAY SCRIPT," that's because of her. 

Finally, the question everybody wants to know: Is Ishtar a masterpiece, and since I say the answer is yes, why is it so despised? 

I go back and forth on whether or not Ishtar is a masterpiece. There's one scene in it that, even if it hadn't aged poorly, is just kind of a drag on the pacing, that maybe keeps me from saying it's a masterpiece with my whole chest, but, yeah. Even if not a full 5 stars, 4 and a half! I think it's so despised for a few reasons: It's been such a punchline for so long that people are conditioned to hate it without even seeing it. People hate it because of how much money it cost to make (dumb reason to hate a movie). People hate it because they don't get the bit (the number of reviews I've read that are mad about Beatty and Hoffman both playing against type, as if that isn't the joke in and of itself!). People, mostly, I think, hate it because they think it's just this dumb comedy. And it is, but it's the best kind of dumb comedy in that it's actually a smart comedy pretending to be dumb. It's a smart movie Trojan-horsed into the cineplex as a big, dumb movie. It's a dumb comedy that is so dumb it transcends dumb and becomes brilliant because it is aware that it is being dumb! Sure, there are a lot of dumb comedies made by dumb people that are genuinely dumb, but if you look back on some of the greatest dumb comedies, you realize that you have to actually be very smart to make a very stupid comedy. And most people don't get that! The ones who do, the fellow Ishtar heads....we're a club I am proud to be a part of.