An open letter to the scribes who organized last Saturday’s White House Correspondents Dinner:
Given your recent public relations wreck, these words are a little late. There may still be time to save next year’s dinner, however, and preserve a venerable institution that serves a valuable purpose. Your annual dinner helps deflate overblown egos, an area of Washington life where leaks are desperately needed. So, in hopes of helping you pick up the pieces, here’s some free advice about roasts, based on my 30 years in the speechwriting business.
First, your keynote roaster was not the problem. The problem was your clueless dinner committee. Somehow they persuaded themselves that unleashing Michelle Wolf on the fold would be a good idea. Maybe the committee was hoping to punish the president for leaving his correspondents at the altar. If so, they should have known that stand-up comics with modest abilities and no personal links to the complex culture of Washington do not speak “truth to power.” Instead, they invariably take the low road to laughs by speaking insults to invited guests.
Second, you forgot that political roasts are mock combat, not the real thing. They are gladiator games in which swords should never touch flesh. At a political roast, punchlines should only sting momentarily. Scars that are still visible in the morning are marks of abused power.
The primary bond between roaster and roastee should be affection, not contempt. Comedian Jeff Ross only roasts people he loves. Yes, the Hollywood/show business version of the roast format allows for obscene humor and the joys of going too far. But the political version does not. Political roasts may be a blood sport, but that red stuff around the podium is special effects. If real blood hits the walls, the roast will turn into a horror show.