Since the days of the ancient Greeks, comedy and drama have stood side by side. So why do serious actors freak out when asked to play a comedic scene? We spend much of our lives trying to crack each other up. We wait for the right moment and then zing the other person with a sharp barb. Yet we pick up a funny scene and fear that we don't have comedic timing.

Let's first examine what makes something funny. What makes a joke work? I'd argue that the demeanor of the person telling the joke is just as important as the quality of the joke itself. Have you ever seen someone set up a joke by apologizing for not being able to remember it well or by saying he or she isn't good at telling jokes? Already you can't laugh because you're worried about the joke teller. Nervous energy destroys the delivery, whereas even a bad joke can make you laugh when it's told by someone supremely confident in the telling. The next element of joke telling is surprise a kind of verbal slight of hand in which the audience is led in one direction and then quickly taken in another. We're tickled because we don't see the punch line coming. That change of direction is the essence of comedic playing. Now, is it true that some people are especially gifted at comedy? Of course it is. But the reason for this is not what you may think. The funniest people I have ever worked with are rather depressed individuals. The late director Stanley Kramer once told me that directing a cast of legendary comics in the film It's a Mad Mad Mad Mad World almost killed him. Without naming names, he said he'd never worked with a more neurotic group of people. He also shared my belief that comedy comes from pain.

As for me, I had the good fortune of working with Garry Shandling on The Larry Sanders Show. Shandling is shy in social situations but also tends to notice everything going on around him. His humor comes out of very astute observations about what people are feeling. One of the things that made The Larry Sanders Show so funny was that it drew humor from real life. One time, for example, I'd just come from services at the Synagogue for the Performing Arts in Los Angeles, and Shandling just couldn't get over the fact that there actually was such a place catering to Jews in the entertainment industry. He then wrote it into an episode, having the character Hank join the show.

The most common mistake actors make when approaching comedy is they try to be funny. You can try to make the character opposite you laugh within the circumstances of the scene, but if you try to make the audience laugh, you will invariably mug or indicate. There's a great story about the famous acting couple Alfred Lunt and Lynn Fontanne. They were touring in a play, and he asked her why he wasn't getting a laugh in a scene in which he asks for a cup of tea. The moment had been working before, but the laughter had stopped and he couldn't figure out why. Fontanne asked Lunt if he really wanted to know. He did, and she told him: It was because he was asking for a laugh, not a cup of tea. Remember, the funniest moments of our lives are funny to others, not to us. What made Lucille Ball one of the greatest comedians of all time was that she took each scene seriously. Whether she was trying to say "Vitameatavegamin" or stomping on grapes, she always had a strong objective and committed to it. The comedy came from what the scene was about. When the stakes are life-and-death over a silly issue, we find it funny. But like Lunt, actors have to be careful not to work for laughs. Laughter is like a drug to us: It means approval. And let's face it: Most people who go into this profession did not or could not get enough approval as children.

Unfortunately, a simple funny moment can be ruined when the actor starts working to get bigger and bigger laughs. Years ago I attended a terrific production of Hair in a small theatre in L.A. I saw it twice, first in its opening week and again eight weeks later. One actor who had me rolling in his small comedic bit the first time destroyed the moment later in the run by working for laughs.

On the flip side, I directed Michael Chiklis in the solo show Defending the Caveman on Broadway, and two months into the run I called him on my way to New York and asked if I'd recognize the show. He assured me I would. To my delight, he'd found where all the laughs were but wasn't playing for them. He was willing to let different things happen at each performance.

There are also different types of laughter. We can laugh at an antic of the clown dropping his pants. We can laugh because we recognize something about the human condition, my favorite kind of laugh. And we can laugh when something about our own lives is reflected back at us. For example, I helped Jim Belushi create his character on the sitcom According to Jim. You might ask, "What character?" as the role was certainly close to home for him. But while we have to find every character inside ourselves, we also have to know what part of ourselves to look for. A few seasons ago, Belushi was directing an episode of the show and wanted to come in for coaching not only because he was wearing many hats, but because the story was unusual for the series, involving his character meeting the father who had abandoned him. As we worked, Belushi asked me if the episode was funny. I responded that it wasn't funny in the ha-ha way but that it had a touching ironic feel. He understood immediately that he had to trust the truth of the scenes and never push for an audience response.

Comedy takes confidence, depth, insight into the human condition, and a willingness to make a fool of yourself in pursuit of your character's goals. If you don't take the circumstances seriously, you won't even get a chuckle.

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