In the early 1980s, Paul Reubens was on fire—figuratively, of course, as that would be a hazard to his career. He was one of the shining stars of the L.A.-based comedy troupe, the Groundlings. What happened next? “SNL was absolutely the Holy Grail,” Reubens revealed in the documentary, Pee-wee as Himself. Because who wouldn’t want to chase after a mythical artifact that may or may not exist in a sketch comedy?
Reubens, along with his fellow mischief-makers, including Phil Hartman, would gather ’round the television like kids watching a horror movie—cringing, scoffing, and occasionally yelling, “Why don’t these sketches ever end?” Apparently, they were experts in critique without any credits to their names yet. “(We’d) suck our teeth at stuff,” Reubens remembered. Nothing like a little jealousy to fuel budding comedy careers.
But you see, beneath the cauldron of grumbling, lay their deepest desire—“we still all wanted to be on the show,” Reubens confessed, revealing that they secretly idolized it like a dusty old trophy collecting cobwebs. “We still all thought, ‘This is it.’” Funny how passionate disdain often hides a deep yearning.
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The Groundlings, similar to Chicago’s Second City, served as the comedy incubator for Saturday Night Live, unveiling fresh comedic talent like a magician pulling rabbits from hats. In 1980, the original SNL cast, along with Lorne Michaels, skipped off to Hollywood like kids on the last day of school, leaving plenty of room for the hopefuls—like Reubens—who were convinced their time was nigh.
Reubens, suitcase brimming with feathers and sequins, flew to New York for his audition, channeling all the delightful absurdity he could muster. “I had all my costumes and all my props with me,” he smirked, unaware that “shoo-in” is just a word, not a guarantee. As he entered the audition room, fellow comedians whispered, “Look out! It’s Gilbert Gottfried,” the producer’s BFF—because obviously, talent is subjective, but friendship is forever.
“I looked at the guy and realized, we’re the same type,” Reubens said, painfully aware they were the resident nerds in the comedy ecosystem. Spoiler alert: he didn’t get the job. The heartbreak of rejection can often feel like a sudden plot twist in a bad rom-com.
Ah, but every cloud has a silver lining, doesn’t it? The not-so-glorious results of his audition were perhaps the best thing to happen to Reubens. Meanwhile, Gottfried’s brief tenure on SNL was like a bad cold—quick and uncomfortable. “Before we even hit the air, articles were saying disaster was coming,” he lamented, proving that journalists are both prophetic and engaging, particularly when it involves chaos.
Gottfried admitted, “They didn’t use me much.” In a sketch involving a funeral, he played the corpse. Let’s just say; he was clearly working up the career ladder in the most morbid way possible. Meanwhile, Reubens, panicked and fearing he’d become the punchline at a Groundlings reunion, directed his focus entirely to his beloved character, Pee-wee Herman. After an airport phone call to his parents for cash, he launched a live Pee-wee show—and thus began a series of successful ventures that would leave the likes of SNL in the dust.
As for Gottfried, the nerd who edged out Reubens? “I hated it for the longest time when someone would recognize me from Saturday Night Live,” he mused, possibly regretting the role of the lifeless body—truly the cherry on top of a hilariously unfortunate cake.
