Lee Farber: A Few Of My Favourite Things

One of Wondros Collective director Lee Farber's most recent projects was a Doc Brown-led search for missing time machines, named Expedition: Back To The Future.

Not quite needing to hit 88mph is Farber's dive into his past for this week's Favourite Things, in which he takes us through some meaningful highlights that keep him creatively driven.

Having written for The Wayne Brady Show and The Soup before embarking on a star-studded directing career, Farber's selection is an anecdote-peppered delight, covering stories of a nude-fuelled childhood, laugh-fuelled lucky breaks and whisky-fuelled obsessions.

The Seltzer Bottle

I grew up seeing the name 'Farber' displayed prominently around images of naked female breasts and buttocks. 

Allow me to explain: My father, Robert Farber, is one of the world’s foremost photographers of nude women. Elegant nudes. Tasteful nudes. Romantic nudes. But nudes nonetheless. So the walls of my childhood home in New York City were adorned with posters of lots and lots of, shall we say, pink parts, imprinted with the name 'FARBER' in bold letters. 

And the coffee table books… same thing. Nudity. 'FARBER'.

The walls of my childhood home in New York City were adorned with posters of lots and lots of, shall we say, pink parts.

But prior to our genital renaissance, there was another family business: Seltzer. My father’s father, Norman, and his two older brothers, Harry and Sam, were the Farber Bros., who ran a very successful seltzer business in Newark, NJ in the mid-20th Century. So imagine my surprise one day in the early 21st Century, while doing a search for my father’s work on eBay to check the latest values in nipple futures, I came across this beautiful seltzer bottle, emblazoned with the name FARBER. 

Finally, my family name not surrounded by a woman’s curves, but by the curves of a vintage glass soda dispenser. 

It was, dare I say… refreshing.

The Magazine

I began my career as a comedy writer. I didn’t mean to. I swear. When I graduated from Film School at USC, where I was laser-focused on directing, I came to the unfortunate realization that no one was going to hand me a script to direct. So while I schlepped around town as an assistant, I wrote as much as I could. 

Eventually I ended up as the assistant to Bernie Brillstein, the legendary talent manager and producer. Bernie represented Lorne Michaels, and sold Saturday Night Live to NBC, at which point he also managed John Belushi, Dan Aykroyd and Gilda Radner (and went on to produce The Blues Brothers and Ghostbusters). Bernie repped Jim Henson from day one, and was instrumental in getting The Muppet Show on the air. Working for Bernie was a dream come true, but it was only the beginning.

I began my career as a comedy writer. I didn’t mean to. I swear.

To say Bernie and I hit it off is an understatement. We just loved each other. For whatever reason, we cracked each other up. And in a very short amount of time, he became like a father to me. One day, he read my writing and exclaimed, in his distinctive bellow, “Farber! You’re a good writer! I’m gonna get you a job!” And just like that, my career began. At the time, he was building Wayne Brady, the multi-talented comedian and performer, to be the next big thing, and before I knew it, I was writing for Wayne’s ABC variety series, which premiered in the summer of 2001. 

The following year, Wayne moved into the talk show arena, and Bernie asked me to write on The Wayne Brady Show, a nationally syndicated talk show which he was producing. In 2003, we were nominated for an Emmy, and as luck would have it, we won. Believe it or not, despite being one of the defining people in the television landscape for decades, Bernie had never won an Emmy before. And here he was, on stage at Radio City Music Hall, standing with his former assistant, now protégé and friend, receiving what he so richly deserved.

They’re gonna put us on the cover of Jews With Trophies magazine.

As we left the theatre, there were swarms of photographers snapping our photo. Bernie, not one for attention, said, “Farber, what are they taking our picture for?” I told him, “They’re gonna put us on the cover of Jews With Trophies magazine.” 

He laughed his biggest laugh, which, in Bernie’s case, meant he went completely silent with his face frozen in a scrunched-up smile. He had a loud laugh too, but when something was REALLY funny, he went silent. 

And this time, he got silent. 

A few weeks later I surprised Bernie with a framed copy of the aforementioned Jews With Trophies magazine, which I made in Photoshop, our faces proudly displayed on the cover. I couldn’t resist pointing out that with this first award, Bernie was now “1 for 48”, nor could I avoid touting his two most dubious accomplishments: creating Hee-Haw in the late 60’s, and running the ill-fated Lorimar Studios for a hot second in the 1980’s. 

When Bernie saw the magazine, he once again laughed the silent laugh.

The One-Sheet

I’d like you to know that I made a movie. I’d like you to know that because few people do. It’s funny. Really funny. In my naiveté, I thought all you had to do when you make a move independently is to make it good, and the rest will take care of itself. This is incorrect.

The movie is called The Lonely Italian. It’s a strange hybrid between documentary and narrative that takes place in the world of online dating. The film is about a young Italian man who comes to America and finds himself unable to meet women in the traditional, “forward” way of his culture, because we are all so buried in our own devices, we don’t look at the world around us. So he joins pretty much every online dating sight around (even the oddballs like 'Farmer’s Only' and 'Date Me, Date My Pet'), trying to find the love of his life. And the thing is, this is a real guy. And he really did join all these sites. So the dates themselves are real. The stuff that happens in-between, the 'connective tissue' that drives the story forward, is scripted.

In my naiveté, I thought all you had to do when you make a move independently is to make it good, and the rest will take care of itself. This is incorrect.

I can’t say I advise making a movie this way, which took years to put together, nor do I suggest making a film that has no 'stars' for distributors to get excited about. But I can say that every creative individual should have the experience, at least once, of doing something without any interference from a studio or network executive. 

Don’t get me wrong, many execs are great partners, and their input often drives you to even deeper levels of creativity. But to just have the experience not having to make any compromises (other than financial), is one I’ll cherish. 

And I got to make the poster exactly what I wanted it to be, as seen here.

(By the way, the film is available on Amazon Prime, and I promise you, it’s the funniest movie you’ve never seen.)