Phil Rosenthal

creator and host somebody feed phil • writer & producer

Phil Rosenthal is the creator and host of Somebody Feed Phil, a new unscripted documentary series that started streaming on Netflix in January 2017, which combines his love of food and travel with his unique brand of humor.

Rosenthal was born in Queens, New York and moved with his parents and brother to New City, New York in Rockland County, where he was raised. After graduating from Hofstra University on Long Island, where he majored in theater, he embarked on a career as an actor, writer and director in New York City. In 1989, he relocated to Los Angeles.

Rosenthal’s early writing credits include the series Down the Shore and Coach. In 1995, Rosenthal created the hit CBS comedy, Everybody Loves Raymond, which premiered in 1996. He was the Showrunner/Executive Producer for all nine years of the show's very successful run, during which time it was nominated for over 70 Emmy® awards, and won 15 awards, including two for Best Comedy Series in 2003 and 2005. Rosenthal won the 2002 Writers Guild Award for Excellence in Television Writing for his Everybody Loves Raymond script, “Italy.”

Rosenthal co-wrote America: A Tribute to Heroes, the 9/11 telethon which aired on all four networks in September 2001, for which he won a Peabody Award and an Emmy® nomination for Outstanding Writing. Rosenthal is also an author, having penned a book on the art of comedy and the making of a sitcom classic. You’re Lucky You’re Funny: How Life Becomes a Sitcom was published in 2006.

In April 2011, Rosenthal wrote, directed and starred in his first feature film for Sony Pictures. Exporting Raymond, the true story about the attempt to turn "Everybody Loves Raymond" into a Russian sitcom, was met with critical acclaim.

Rosenthal’s first travel food series, I’ll Have What Phil’s Having,  premiered on PBS in fall 2015 and received two Taste Awards as well as the winner of the 2016 James Beard Award for Best Television Program, on Location.

Rosenthal lives in Los Angeles, with his wife, actress Monica Horan (who played Amy on Everybody Loves Raymond), and their two children.


Transcription

Drew Kugler: Phil, thank you for for being here today here at your home.

Phil Rosenthal: Welcome.

DK: Thank you, thank you for having for having us here. As I was just saying—a long follower of your success, but that's not what we're here to talk about—

PR: My failure?

DK: Your failures. (laughs)I want to go back to that movie—

PR: Let's talk about my failures.

DK: (laughs) that movie you did—anyway—no, no. I want to talk about conversations with you.

PR: Yes.

DK: In watching the show, in watching your previous body of work, I've learned a lot actually from you about conversations. And I want to I want to break them up into three areas today and take it one piece at a time.

PR:  All right, and I'm going to leave here being self-conscious about talking to people?

DK: Yes. Oh yes, that's my goal.

PR: OK.

DK: The actual thing is, I think you're going to teach people here something pretty interesting. In the —one of the shows from Please Feed Phil, right? I got the title right?

PR: No, you're as bad as my parents.

DK: Right.

PR: Somebody Feed Phil.

DK: Somebody Feed Phil. We can edit that. Anyway—

PR: No, it's funny. I like it. Maybe there's something wrong with the title. I've heard “Someone Feed Phil.” ”Who's Feeding Phil?” My parents—that's their favorite way to say it. ”Who is Phil?” is what I hear a lot. Whatever you like.

DK: On that show you were speaking to Alon Shaya. And you talked about food as connection.

PR: Yes.

DK: It was a very, very critical line that made my both professional and personal ears perk up. Connection. I am not near in the league of foodies that that foodie people that you are, or known to be. But it resonated with me, so I wanted to ask you about connecting over food. And with at least one question to get us going. In the show you eat with others, and you eat by yourself a little bit.

PR: Right.

DK: What's the difference in the eating experience for you, when you are by yourself, versus when you're with others?

PR: It's very simple. You're not sharing it, when you're by yourself. And to me the sharing of it is everything. It's only good—everything I think in life is only good if you can share it, right? Every experience I think is better when you share it with another person. You ever go to Europe and you're walking alone in—down the street—and you're marveling at how gorgeous it is. Let's say in Italy. And you think of another person that you wish was with you to show them this. I mean—yes there's obviously—it's nice just to be there, but I always jump to the next thing. Oh, I wish someone so-and-so was here; they would love this?

So that's how I feel about every lunch I have. Who am I going to have lunch with? This is something that goes back for me for—I don't know—my whole life. Who am I having lunch with? It's almost a tent pole in the day. It's the respite in the day. If you build it like that—like you're building a two-act sitcom—all the action from the first act builds to that act break, they call it. So you could figure your day is like that; all the action, all the work you're doing in the morning builds to lunch. Can't wait for lunch. And lunch is both a break and the restorative that you need for then the rest of the day. And in comes all the action—from the act break, that break or the action falls from that moment, in the second act, you see?

That gets me, by the way, to dinner. But, but the lunch is like this tent pole in the middle of the day. I've always felt that food was this great connector. I think as animals, we hunted and we ate probably together for safety reasons. “Hey, watch my back, there may be a lion.” Right? To get to eat our wildebeest when we're trying to eat it. And then, if the food is good, you're both in a good mood. And if you get along, well that's everything, right? So I say in today's climate, instead of a wall, how about a table? Because that—to me—if food is the great connector, then everything else is possible. And I go on to say, “Food's the great connector and laugh's the cement.” If we laugh together, we share a sense of humor, or even if you just appreciate my sense of humor, or I appreciate yours, now we're friends.

So you know they say that liquor is the great lubricant for conversation. Yes, it loosens you up a little, maybe your inhibitions give away a little bit, but I think that food certainly gets you to the table. And it's something nice to talk about. If nothing else, “Hey, this is good.” I always made sure that on the set of the sitcom that we had great craft service. Craft service is what you put out for the crew to nibble on. It's usually chips and nuts and kind of junky food. But if you make it nice, all of a sudden people come to the craft service table and they turn to each other, “Can you believe this? Can you believe they flew in cinnamon rolls from Ann Sather's in Chicago? Wow. WOW. And right away we're bonding over something nice!

DK: Over Ann Sather's. Tell me if the two other things the foods that you made sure were there. You got cinnamon rolls.

PR: Fresh soup was being made every day. Fresh sandwiches were being made every day. We had a chef that's there—and a lot of places have it—but it's usually just junk food that people just grab a handful of and move on. Candy and stuff. But I made sure that once a year, maybe there was deli flown in from New York. Or, once a year in the office, we'd have crab claws from flown in from South Florida, and we'd get hammers from the set and cover the writers' table with newspaper, and go to town.

DK: And everybody would show for that. The stars, the people, whoever it was—community.

PR: It was—nothing brings you together like food, I think. And then you're happy, and once you're happy, then you're talking.

DK: And did that—I'm assuming as you looked ahead from I'll Have What Phil's Having and then on to this experience with Netflix—what you just articulated—you are fortunate enough to be able to make an entire creative production and experience world out of what you just said.

PR: And the sharing of the food, to me, is the bridge to get you to the people I want you to meet.

DK: Right. Right. As you say that, does somebody come—is somebody in your mind's eye—is there one—just as you think about, “I would want you.” So do we go to Bangkok and meet the woman with the goggles.

PR: We go to Bangkok. Yeah, you meet her. She's awesome, right? Jay Fai is her name. She seventy something. She's been cooking this crab omelet for her whole life. It's one of best things you'll ever eat in your life. But she's on her feet eleven hour days, right? She now, by the way, since we did the show, she won a Michelin star. This is street food, but it's pretty expensive street food for street food. That omelette, which is the size of a football, it's like I call it a football filled with crab, is twenty-five dollars, when most a street food next to her is fifty cents or a dollar, OK? Twenty-five dollars is—but that just tells you how labor intensive it is—the shelling of these fresh crabs. And the value of the crab meat itself. That crab omelet would be prohibitive in the United States. You don't see it. You have a crab omelet; there's little bits of crab and it's an omelet maybe half an inch high. I'm talking about a giant crab, and it would be ninety dollars here. It would be impossible. No chef would do it—they said, “No, we couldn't afford to do it. And no one— well, we couldn't afford the manpower. We couldn't afford to put it on the menu. And we what we would have to charge to make any money at all—would be—no one would pay for this.”

DK: Prohibitive.

PR: Yes. So I meet this woman, and I watch her work. And I get to talk to her. She hardly speaks English. But what are we communicating? Joy. Love. I'm hugging this woman. Because I can tell what her spirit is. I can see delight in her eyes. I can see how delighted she is that I like it so much. And I see that this is someone who's devoted her life to making you happy.

DK: And she has a whole—if I'm correct—I looked her up—she has a whole restaurant that she runs, if I'm correct—

PR: Yes. It's not big.

DK: No, no, no. But there's an entire production along—

PR: It's a little bit more than a shack—

DK: Got it.

PR: And there's other things on the menu, obviously, you see in the in the show. We have this giant seafood soup, this Tom Yum Goong soup. Oh my God. I hope I said that right. But man, there's something more pertinent to what you're talking about though. In the scene where I—there's a —everybody has—when you do these shows—there are fixers. And fixers means someone who lives in the location, who has production experience, who's going to take you through and make sure everything runs smoothly—with the police permits or the chefs—getting there—the in-between person between you and this foreign place that you're going, because they live there. So we had one fixer—her name was Nok. And she's a mom, I think, with two small kids and she. She's so lovely; she would never have an opportunity to actually eat in a restaurant like the Gaggan which is rated best restaurant in all of Asia. This is a, maybe a three-star Michelin, restaurant? This is fancy food. And I thought, what if we surprise her? It happened to be her birthday. And I found out that day. And I said what I'm going to—set the scene—called for me to meet Gagaan. He was going to cook for me, sitting in a counter.

DK: By yourself.

PR: Alone. Now I would have Gaggan to talk to; that's fine. Not no small thing. you know But I eat enough, I'm happy, I'm fine. What if we just made this woman's life? What if we just turned her on to something? Wouldn't that be a better scene, first of all, selfishly thinking of the show. But also, look at her, she's working her tail off for our production. She couldn't be nicer. I love her. I want to do this for her. Let's—and I said let's set up the cameras. Don't tell her. Let's hide the cameras, and I'm going to walk over to her, and I'm going to offer her a seat at the counter. Might be fun. And sure enough, it's my favorite scene.

DK: You had a great time.

PR: The greatest time. Because I saw it through her eyes. I'm Mr. Lucky bastard. I get to eat this way, right?

DK: Right.

PR: In my stupidly lucky life. This person—let's see what someone who never gets the eat this way looks like when they eat. Right? And the fun we can have with that.

DK: Through food.

PR: Of course through food. That happens to be the common experience that we're sharing. But what's uncommon is there are flavors that she's having, an ingredient that she's having; she never had sushi before. Never had it before. You watch a show, you see this person eat something that I think a lot of us have now taken for granted. For the first time!

DK: And her reaction—which I won't give it away—her reaction when she bit into it; it had the cone I remember—

PR: Yeah—

DK: —and her reaction, as she looks at you is—I laughed the three times I watched it.

PR: Gorgeous, right? I mean she's a gorgeous and and to me that's everything.

DK: Got it, got it.

PR: By the way, if she didn't speak a lick of English, it still would have been great.

DK: Still would have worked.

PR: Yeah.

DK: Do you ever, before we leave momentarily the food world, do you ever like eating alone?

PR: Sure, yeah.

DK: What does that bring you?

PR: I don't know. Just that peace, you know. Maybe I want to read my tweets or whatever while I eat. Maybe I want to watch TV while I eat. I love it. I love all—it's all good. But if you ask me what I prefer; sharing the experience.

DK: That is clear. Speaking of sharing; as people will know, by even a quick glance at Google, you were the creator of one of the great sitcoms all time.

PR: Thank you.

DK: And—

PR: That sitcom is called Frasier

DK: —no, no we know what is called. Now that was one of those things when I was first watching it, I misreferred to it again as Everyone Loves Raymond—

PR: Yes, a lot of people do—

DK: What is the—

PR: Well you know it's funny. It's a word thing. Everybody and everyone is interchangeable to most people. But I love a certain people say, “It's my favorite show. It's the best show I've ever seen. Everyone—” I'm like, “If it's your favorite, how about getting the name a little right?”

DK: Is it your favorite, by the way?

PR: It's up there—

DK: Next to—

PR: How could it not be?

DK: True, but you watch—you are a—I've listened to—you are a—

PR: a student of the form—

DK: A student of the form. You watched shows when you were a little kid. It got you, I've heard, all the background that accelerated you into this world.

PR: Honeymooners. All in the Family. Dick van Dyke. Mary Tyler Moore. Taxi, right?

DK: Right.

PR: Odd Couple. I love those shows.

DK: Right.

PR: Love. They influenced me. Why? Because they were what's called a four-camera sitcom. Meaning this wonderful hybrid of theater and film. More were done in front of an audience, right, so it felt like an evening at the theater when they were great. And they all took place on planet Earth. They all never strained credibility so much at that you said that would never happen. You want to—if you're making one of these things—you want to go to the edge of believability, but not over the edge.

Go to the edge of believability but not over the edge. Yet, you have to justify—and it's so much more satisfying if you justify the craziness—so that the audience believes it. Great example of this is Tootsie. Nothing happens in that movie and there hasn't been one since. That said, right, that comedies have devolved into just a lot of gross-out stuff and silliness. There hasn't been—Tootsie I maintain is a sitcom. As a film, it's a it's a believable person in an incredible situation. It's putting that character— of the Dustin Hoffman character—into an incredible situational comedy. That's what it is. But the writing the directing and performance all stays on planet Earth. You're never, ever doing anything that could not happen in real life. Now would it happen in real life that way, absolutely? No. Is it stretching it a tiny bit to say that these people believe that he's a woman? No, I don't think so much. Because Dustin Hoffman himself, if you know anything about the making of that movie, actually convinced a lot of people he was a woman in real life.

DK: Shaved the eyebrows. Did the whole thing—

PR: But he cared about that character. It wasn't just like Milton Berle in a dress, where you say that's a man in a dress and he's goofing on what it is to be a fancy lady, right? This was an exercise in believability. Could he pass? And he did.

Anyway, I got off on a tangent, but—

DK: One of the great movies, one of and my favorites—

PR: Yeah, that's what you shoot for.

DK: That's right. So you did that. Were I want to go for a second, as we stay with this theme of conversations, in other episodes of this podcast that people will listen to, the guest who has done in most cases work with me, will often refer and tell the story of how I pushed them. With love. To have what is commonly called a difficult conversation.

PR: Ohh, is one coming?

DK: There's one, well, maybe it's a difficult question, but as the creator of that excellence—

PR: Why were you mean to your brother?

DK: Oh no... as the creator of that excellence behind the scenes there were moments where a difficult conversation had to take place. You had to kill an idea. You had to change somebodies emphasis as an actor. You had to have the hard conversation. And my question is, in creating that excellence and greatness, what was the role of having the hard conversation—

PR: Yeah.

DK: —especially for someone who is completely identified as being this sweet, nice guy.

PR: I love this. OK so I actually, not to sell a book, but I wrote a book about this whole thing. It's called You're Lucky You're Funny: How Life Becomes a Sitcom, and it's about how you can take your life and turn it into something that you wouldn't think would be valuable, into something that might be valuable, like a sitcom, OK?

DK: Got it.

PR: We all think that our lives aren't worth anything. That nobody would be interested in hearing about our lives, but it turns out that Ray Romano and I—what we did was combine our lives, right? And then I went off and wrote a script. What I didn't know about his family, I turned in—I put in the personalities of my family. That's how the show was born. OK. Now first difficult conversation—Ray Romano is a comedian. He is a great comedian. For twelve years he was comedian, before he was on David Letterman one time, and Letterman said there should be a sitcom for this guy, right? And they set about looking for a writer to create the show for it.

OK, when you get that job, this comedian now has to trust you with his life. No one's ever written material for this comedian before. The difficult conversation comes when I hand in my script to him, and he has to have the difficult conversation with me, and I have to have the conversation back. How do you handle his criticism, his, his what he's going to feel comfortable with, what he doesn't want to feel comfortable with? Both of us hate confrontation and would do anything to avoid it. Both of us.

DK: What did you do? 

PR: The whole first season of that show was us barely looking each other in the eye, because I don't know if he trusted me, and to be honest, I didn't know if I trusted me, either. Because it was the first show I created. And yet, I remember needing to have the talk. Like, like that the studio and the manager said, “You guys have to talk.” We would have been happy not to talk. Just to show up and do the work. But there was something in there that was he wasn't comfortable with, right? Be it just because he wasn't used to acting, you know? He wanted, I remember, could we put a little of his act into the show and make it sound like conversation. Well you could, a little, but more than a little it starts to sound like a stand up comedy act. And we want to sound like real life, so that was actually part of the conversation.

DK: Who started the conversation?

PR: Wow. He had to, because he had to tell me what was what he was feeling uncomfortable about. OK? Once that ice was broken—and by the way there were times when I had to do it. Some of it—you get into the—I'm not going to say it's manipulation. But I'm going to say it's learning how to direct maybe, and how to communicate with someone else. I'm going to give you a great example of this. There were things he was uncomfortable with. For example, he—we had a bit in maybe show number two, where Debra is a terrible cook. She can—nothing she cooks is good. Even the coffee is terrible. OK, and he goes, “I don't know if I can do this.” I say, “What's the matter?” He goes, “I don't really drink coffee.” I said, “No? Guess what? It's TV. In the cup, anything you want.” Right? He goes, “I don't know if they'll buy it.” Which, I know is crazy, but I love that, because what he doesn't even realize is—that's the method. That's method acting. He doesn't know how good an actor he is. He's great, by the way. Let me preface everything by saying if you've seen his work since Raymond, if you've seen him from the beginning of Raymond to the end of Raymond, and then everything after that, you see a trajectory of great.

DK: Big Sick.

PR: He's in, he's in Big Sick, yes. He's in the new Martin Scorsese movie with Al Pacino and Robert De Niro, called The Irishman. It's coming on the Netflix, next year or two years; whatever it is. They have the de-age Pacino and DeNiro digitally. That's going to eat the whole budget. OK. So, Raymond I say, “Well, just cut the coffee thing. Don't worry about it.” You know secretly I love this, because I come from a theater background, and I love that he intuitively doesn't want to do anything fake. That's the number one job of the actor—is to what we're talking about—be believable.

OK, now. Eight shows later, let's say, there's another coffee thing. We forgot. It was another coffee thing. And I noticed that when we were rehearsing on stage, “Oh no, sorry about the coffee we'll change it.”He goes, “No. No. No.” He goes, “At some point I got to start acting I guess.” So right away, he's all ready.

Now four shows or five shows after that, we do a show where his father, played by Peter Boyle, tricked him into thinking that baseball he had his whole life was signed by Mickey Mantle, when in reality he signed it. OK. And he finds that out one Christmas, now. And he's pissed off. And he goes to confront his father. And his father tells him the story of how he really wanted to get this for his boy, Raymond. And he waited outside Mickey Mantle's dugout and the clubhouse for days in the rain, and Mickey Mantle never came out. And he kept trying and trying and trying, and then he found the signature in a newspaper or something, and he practiced copying it until it was exact, to give it to his boy. And he tells him that story. And in the script it calls for Raymond to listen to that story, not say anything, go over the table where the kitchen table where his father is sitting, and give him a kiss on the forehead. Right? And say Merry Christmas.

Raymond, in rehearsal, doesn't say anything and doesn't do it in rehearsal. And I say, “Raymond, what about that— you know—it says in the script...” He goes, “That would never happen.” Now, this is now in front of everyone. So when we rehearse, we have all the writers there and the crew is there, and the other actors are there. And I said, “Oh, OK. But do you do you see a world where maybe that it could happen?” “It would never happen.”

This is the first time I've ever seen him angry. Wow, I hit—we hit something. Wow. And I sees getting visibly upset. I don't know what to do. I pull him aside, personal, right now this is two guys awkward about confronting, and awkward about talking to each other about the thing we care very, very deeply about: the show. It's him literally out there, and it's me, my baby; OK we care. I didn't know what to say, but I said, “No, no forget it. You don't have to do it. You don't have to, but just here's, here's the only thing I want to say. Sometimes this can happen and I'm just going to say it and I'm going to drop it. Don't do it at all. But when we're shooting in front of the audience, on on Friday night, and you get to that moment, if you feel it, try it. If not, don't—I don't care, you don't have to do it. And we dropped it.

Three more days of rehearsal; doesn't do it. Audience comes in, the show is going well. Peter Boyle nails that speech. You could hear a pin drop. We don't usually do the serious moment. I love them, because they give the show some gravitas and ground you in believability and reality. He does the speech. There's a pause. Raymond walks over kisses him on the forehead. Everyone—me now—crying. Why? Because it came from a guy who doesn't do that, necessarily. Well, there's your communication. Sometimes you say without saying it. Which, first of all is, I think, good writing. Second of all, there's different ways to have a conversation.

DK: Right.

PR: This was not an order from me—this. I grew up a little bit. I learned maybe if it's meant to be, it's meant to be, and you don't push it. If it's not meant to be, it's not meant to be. If you push it, what would that do? Create resentment, maybe? Bad feelings. It was his choice. All I did was show him that there was an option. Which I think is the key maybe to how we get along as human beings.

DK: That's right. Which leads me—so perfectly—to the last question. And it's something that I want to indirectly make sure I thank you for.

PR: Oh...

DK: though so go like this you mentioned earlier Dick Van Dyke. There are because of it was we're about the same age, there were indelible moments of Dick Van Dyke. right? OK my indelible moment yeah and then I'm going to get to my indelible Raymond moment. OK, indelible Dick Van Dyke moment was him rehearsing a scene in bed, putting on his hat, when Laura was going to have the baby. As long as I live, I will never forget his movement. I don't know why it sticks. There is a moment in Raymond, which even with my Google research, I can't find that episode. But I'm professionally praying you can remember it. Ray and Debra are quietly observing Marie and Frank. Marie and Frank are saying nothing to each other. I learned from you that day a secret to marriage. Next month I will be married for twenty-three years, and it helps me every time; where it isn't about—where the conversation is not about what you say—it's about being there. Tell me about that. Can you can you recall the episode—

PR: I want to say that that entire episode was about they don't talk enough. They don't converse enough. And Debra's lamenting this.

DK: That's right.

PR: We know and and maybe they want to go to therapy even, I don't remember exactly. But at some point it reaches a climax and they're very angry, and they're at the parents' house and they're getting something. And they look through the pass-through from the from the living room to the kitchen, and they both stop and look at Frank and Marie, who aren't talking at all, but they're eating together— always eating in our show—in my life. And they silently, beautifully communicate everything they need and everything they want. They don't have to talk. They've been married fifty years and they are fine. Perfectly fine and comfortable.

DK: Because they're together.

PR: Just because that together and because there's a comfort in the ritual that happens every day. Right? And we don't have to say it and Ray and Debra look at each other, and you know they get it because we get it.

DK: That's right.

PR: Yeah. I haven't thought about that scene in a while, but that's nice.

DK: Well it taught me personally and along with Rob Petrie with the hat, at that moment and if maybe after you could somehow magically point me toward that episode. I went through all my seasons and I couldn't find the reference, but I wanted to begin to conclude our time here by thanking you for that.

PR: Well, thanks. There's a there's a punchline to that communication with Raymond about the kiss on the forehead. That was episode I want to say twelve out of twenty four that first season. And at the end twenty four episodes, we got picked up for another season, which is everything you could possibly want. It's like hitting the jackpot again. The first jackpot is they make a pilot. The second jackpot is they put it on. The third is it's doing pretty well. It's like winning the jackpot over and over and over again. But this one means we get to hang around for a while and we had a party. We had a party; end-of-year party. And I got—he—Ray hands me an envelope. Very strange. So is it a tip—is it a bonus? I opened the envelope. I found a quiet spot later in the party. Couldn't wait to see what was in it. And I went alone into a corner while the party is going on, and I open this envelope and there's a card in it. And all it says is, “I never thought I'd thank anybody for making me kiss Peter Boyle.”

That's everything to me. So, he and I are brothers—yes—since then. We still don't talk a lot, because for some reason, we're not that type with each other. I don't think he's that type with many people, really. I don't think—you know—his wife used to say when she'd watch the show and there'd be a Ray and Debra scene. She she would turn to him and say, “You just talked to her more in this scene than you have to me all week.” You know and then he would say, “Yeah, because I have writers there.”

DK: Gives him stuff to say.

PR: Gives him stuff to say. But, you know, he's gotten way better. Sometimes it's hard to communicate with somebody that you feel is uncomfortable communicating. It makes you inhibited, because you know they're uncomfortable.

DK: But I want to conclude—you figured it out—as any relationship can—work, home, whatever. You figured it out when you found out that it would be worth it, right?

PR: Right.

DK: It would be worth the sacrifice, worth the awkwardness, the agita. All of that, because of what we get.

PR: Aren't most relationships worth that—that unless you're with the most toxic person that you should get away from, yeah, isn't every body worth it?

DK: Yeah, and there's always a cost. There's always a cost. Mr. Allen put it put it very well in Annie Hall, right? “Doctor, my wife”—you know the joke —“my wife my, my, my brother thinks he's a chicken.” “Well, tell him he's not a chicken. Talk him out of it. STOP IT.” And he says, ”But I need the eggs.”

PR: Right. So who's crazier?

DK: You know, Phil thank you so very much. I've learned a lot. Thank you for your contribution to culture. Thanks and we'll keep watching the show—

PR: Somebody Feed Phil—come on, Drew.

DK: Somebody Feed Phil. 

PR: Jesus. How many times does he have to hear it? You're Mr. Communication. Maybe ya' listen a little bit.

DK: But I'll let you to do it, because you're much better at it than I. Thank you very much.

PR: Thank you.