Elaine May's Shaping of American Comedy Chronicled in Essential New Biography

By 1959, Elaine May had made it. The comedy duo Nichols and May released their debut album, Improvisations to Music the previous December. It peaked at 39 on the Billboard charts and received a nomination in the inaugural Best Comedy Album category at the Grammys. Both performers would have a chance to write their own biographies for the album jacket. The latter opted for a single sentence: “Miss May does not exist.”

Carrie Courogen borrows this witticism for the title of her essential new biography, Miss May Does Not Exist. Of May’s self-description, Courogen writes, “It would be easier to take at face value as a joke, and not a desperate wish, if she hadn’t been trying so hard to make it true.” Across more than 300 pages of highly readable prose, Courogen takes us through May’s famously enigmatic life, one at times cultivated by the artist herself, and at others the patriarchal systems, namely Hollywood, that did not extend the same forgiveness given to her male counterparts.

Writing about May elicits an extra fear of cliches: words like genius and groundbreaking are always in reach, adjectives that would cause May to cringe, not, as Courogen makes clear, because they are untrue—they are—but because they are boring, tired, and most importantly, not funny. Courogen describes a singular artist obsessed with creating at the highest degree, believing from her youth that one’s legacy is determined by the work left behind. May’s creative fearlessness, as Courogen demonstrates, made her both a cult hero of artists, and an enemy amongst executives.

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From the outset of the biography, Courogen makes no claims to objectivity: she is a fan. So much so that she admits to wandering the streets near May’s home in the Upper West Side of Manhattan, hoping to catch a glimpse of the elusive artist. May did not cooperate with the book despite Courogen’s persistent efforts—and that is probably for the best. Courogen, despite her palpable fandom and admiration, writes at a critical distance that, in its own way, makes the compelling case for May that mirrors the artist’s own approach: let the work speak for itself.

Courogen’s linear history begins with May’s earliest days. As a child, she traveled with her father as he performed in the American Yiddish theater. At 17, she gave birth to her only child, Jeannie. Then, it was to Chicago, where she lived a bohemian existence: shoplifting, smoking, and writing and writing and writing. May became the major figure in the city’s burgeoning improvisational comedy and theater scene, working with the likes of Ed Asner, Barbara Harris, Zohra Lampert, and Mike Nichols.

During May’s time in Chicago, she preached the gospel of improvisation, insisting, as Courogen emphasizes in her summary of May’s philosophy, that it would lead to the greatest truth. The book Truth in Comedy, often cited as the “improv bible,” in fact, Courogen writes, “first came from Elaine,” who helped establish many of the guiding principles with no credit. “When people cite Elaine as the godmother of improv comedy,” Courogen makes clear, “it’s not an exaggeration.”

Through this shared ethos she gelled with Nichols. The two quickly tapped into the zeitgeist, finding truth in bits resonant with the ascendent counterculture. They struck gold, for example, playing horny teenagers waiting for the other to make the first move. The skit ends with Nichols lunging as May brings a cigarette to her mouth. As they kiss, May, after a few beats, exhales smoke from her mouth. The act brought them to Manhattan, where with a bit of luck they landed an agent and were soon the talk of Broadway.

Courogen’s work is a study of artistic labor. What may seem simple in a Nichols and May act is the byproduct of two personalities endlessly addicted to the craft. Of countless hours on stage together, surviving as things went horribly right and wrong. And, most importantly, of May’s pen, her impeccable comedic sense, and encyclopedic knowledge of the stage. To read Miss May Does Not Exist is to develop a new appreciation for May’s rare blend of workaholism and raw talent. Courogen is accessible yet meticulous in her history, taking us through bits from conception to reception and, in some cases, reprisal decades later.

Following May’s years with Nichols, Courogen chronicles the tumultuous journey that would make up the next six decades of her career. The bulk of the book concerns the production histories of the four films May directed: A New Leaf (1971), The Heartbreak Kid (1972), Mikey and Nicky (1976), and Ishtar (1987). All have their own storied reputations in Hollywood. Yet the throughline of each is an artist with an unconventional method paired with an unrelenting vision. Courogen brings us on set where May, to the chagrin of cinematographers, would leave the camera running until all the film had left the canister. To the editing room, where she puffed on large cigars that would make Orson Welles blush. And to a car ride with Barry Diller, during which, the legend goes, May once intentionally drove recklessly as she negotiated more production time.

The most captivating portions of Miss May Does Not Exist concern May’s time as a “script doctor,” the person hired by studios to remedy flawed screenplays. May often insisted on receiving no credit for her work—this was a clean-up job, not an original act of creation. Courogen once again draws attention to this labor, while also explaining that May’s decision was not born (or at least not totally) out of a desire for control. Her insistence (which was not always honored) came from respect for her fellow writers who, in some cases, could be stripped from the project and/or of credit altogether by studios.

And therein lies a tragic irony. Few had to weather the capricious forces of Hollywood like Elaine May. Her eccentricities and, at times, admittedly tiresome and hectic working style earned her an irreversibly bad reputation in Hollywood. Whereas men who were tough to work with were often forgiven for their “creative genius” and lauded as auteurs, May was put on the No Fly List. Hollywood was perfectly willing to buy her mind to bolster scripts, but unwilling to fund her own. Miss May often did not exist, sometimes of her own volition, and often without. Add it to the list of industry misogyny and just plain stupidity.

Courogen makes the self-evident case for May’s centrality in the history of American comedy. The appalling, if not totally unsurprising, fact is that the book is the first study of May of its kind. Yet thankfully, it mirrors a growing reverence for the artist and her work—the screening of An Elaine May Film remains an event in New York. And more writers, performers, and directors than one could list cite her as an influence.

Miss May Does Not Exist ends with May (finally) winning a Tony for her work in Kenneth Lonergan’s 2018 play, The Waverly Gallery. Courogen fills this chapter with anecdotes from the play’s production, where May enthralled audiences on stage and her costars off. Most nights were spent after the show sipping a beer with May as she told stories. What could be better than that?

Miss May Does Not Exist is available now wherever books are sold.

Will DiGravio is a Brooklyn-based critic and researcher, who first contributed to Paste in 2022. He is an assistant editor at Cineaste, a GALECA member, and since 2019 has hosted The Video Essay Podcast. You can follow and/or unfollow him on Twitter and learn more about him via his website.

Elaine May’s Shaping of American Comedy Chronicled in Essential New Biography