Chuck Lorre tells all: his 10 years in Scientology, his brush with stars like Roseanne and Burt Butler, and how the 'Big Bang Theory' cast shocked him.
Chuck Lorre has tangled with some of the most difficult TV comedy stars in modern memory: Roseanne Barr, Brett Butler, Sybil Shepard and, of course, Charlie Sheen. Of the four, she's only made up with Shane — and that rift took years to mend, as their Two and a Half Men crisis […]
The titan of TV comedy gets personal — and takes some sharp shots — in his new "Sitcom" memoir.
Chuck Lorre has tangled with some of the most difficult TV comedy stars in modern memory: Roseanne Barr, Brett Butler, Sybil Shepard and, of course, Charlie Sheen. Of the four, he's only made up with Shane — and that rift took years to mend, as their "Two and a Half Men" fallout was perhaps the ugliest.
In his new book "Sitcom: A Memoir" — ironically titled, since he hasn't traditionally been a fan of the term — Laure recounts the highs and lows of his career. He often names names - many of which don't necessarily fit well in the book. RELATED STORIES Music Industry Moves: Frank Brigman Leads Universal Music; Warner Mexico promoted Yosim Aladero to General Motors
"Roseanne" producer Carci Werner and former CBS president Leslie Munoz are being hired. Laure shares her bewilderment at the actions of some of her TV show's creators, admitting she was disappointed when the cast of "The Big Bang Theory" didn't get paid to split the fortune with some of the show's new stars. Popular in Variety
Laure also - half-jokingly, half-not - blames the Writers Guild strike of 2007-2008 for the death of democracy, noting how the lack of scripted television led networks to rely more on reality shows like Donald Trump's The Apprentice.
But most of Laure's shots are aimed at himself. He details his difficult relationship with his mother, his struggles with "alcoholism, soul-crushing poverty, a life-threatening illness, decades in a religious cult, three failed marriages, a lifelong prescription for valacyclovir," and the bad choices he's made. This includes dropping games and home video leftovers to the theme song he wrote for Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.
"I decided that if I was going to do this, I would tell the truth as best I could," he says. "If I wanted to cover up my life, there was no point in doing so."
Among his admissions, Laure's ten-year journey in Scientology may be the most surprising thing that managers, stars and producers who have worked with Laure over the years may learn. For the first time, Laure reveals that as a young and hungry musician, she was invited to a Church of Scientology event. Soon, he signed a contract with the Sea Org for a billion years.
Laure spent the next decade as a Scientologist — and he admits that when his father was dying, "I actually thought I could heal him with Scientology." Soon after, Laure developed severe ulcerative colitis. But as her illness worsened, Laure continued to believe, "Don't worry, Scientology will heal me."
When Lore and his wife Paula finally decided to leave the church, they were immediately excommunicated by their Scientology friends, but because Lore was poor at the time, the church made no effort to keep him. "The church is notorious for stalking members who leave, begging and/or threatening them to return," he writes. "Obviously that's only true if the outgoing Ethans have money. We were so broke no one noticed we were gone."
So, why has Lore never revealed her Scientology past? "It was always embarrassing to me," he says. "I burned a decade of my life into that thing. I can wallow in regrets, but I decided to recognize that even that was a step I had to take to get to where I am."
Here's a few more things we learned about Lorre from the "Sitcom":
Lorre spoke to Variety about the "Sitcom." Here's that chat, compressed for clarity and length:
I decided that if I was going to do this, I would tell the truth as best I could. This includes the truth about me - let's be kind and call them missteps, but mistakes can be a word too. If I had to wrap my life around, there would be no point in doing so.
It was a shame for me to burn a decade of my life in that thing. Seriously, 10 years of living in this artificial bubble. I can wallow in regret or I can recognize that even this was a step that had to be taken to get me where I am.
I'll let you know if there's a knock on the door. This is very funny. As I was writing it, I'm going, "Am I holding myself accountable?" here?
In my effort to make "Dharma and the Wolf" really happen, I downplayed the fact that I was running for the exits - so as not to make myself bipolar with Jenna, who was deeply involved in the affair with her husband. Yet I truly understood his worldview because I had lived it. I remember telling the writers, I can't stand teasing him for his beliefs. She was a happy, cheerful, productive member of that group, and given the journey I had with Roseanne and Brett Butler and Sybil Shepherd, Jenna was a delight. I thought it was really important to ignore his personal beliefs. Of course, I was probably hiding this fact because of my very insecure attitude about my involvement in that organization. A year or two later, after the show ended, when I approached him with the idea of a series called "The Three Cinderellas," that's when he apparently changed his mind about me.
You can understand it from a purely commercial economic perspective. The business model was to produce 100 episodes of a network sitcom, then sell it in syndicated reruns and get rich. It was almost a guarantee that 100 episodes equaled wealth and a windfall for many years to come. That was the principle I think worked there: ignore the misbehavior of the stars and do whatever you can to keep it going and get to that magic 100-episode number. With that as an economic, ethical, fair-play model, it was nonsense [Carsey Werner did not respond to a request for comment.]
I think it should be discussed. That the Writers Guild should accept responsibility for the end of the Western world. I'm allowed to have any ridiculous hypothesis I want.
No one on the show was prepared for that massive success and financial results. And yes, I remember being disappointed that there was no "one for all, all for one" attitude. But when you talk to someone in that position and they've suddenly gone from a Toyota Trellis to a Mercedes-Benz limousine, it's a wonderful transition for anyone. People's answers were also colored by having lawyers, managers, representatives, wives, husbands, boyfriends, girlfriends, friends. There was a collective reaction to it all, and it was incredibly disorienting for all of us. No one was equipped for the leap that the show became.
Anyway, go ahead and guess. But we are not going to have this conversation.
It's important to note: I don't know this for a fact. As I said in the book, it was a theory I had in the rearview mirror looking back that this might be what was going on. It was never discussed. I could be completely wrong, but nothing else makes sense. It was a really dark, chaotic, scary and angry time. For a year or two, it was really hard to understand everything when this was happening. It was hard to understand when it was happening. I hope what comes across in the book is that at the end of the day, we reconciled [on Lorre's "Bucky" show]. It was a great experience working with him again, even to the point where I called him and said, "How do you feel about writing the website for this book I wrote?" And you look at the back of the book, one of the funniest things is Charlie's blurts.
It is a treatise on longing. I don't know if I understood this when I started writing this, but I think I have a perspective on it now. Regret, while a very human attitude, is an attempt to rewrite the past, right? Or at least swim in it. But my story is such that the things I usually regret - they were what led me to a career and a life I could never have dreamed of, far beyond my dreams. So how much do I want to drown myself in regret?
None of this affects what I do for a living, which is trying to make people laugh. It's my job, that's why they pay me crazy money. This is what I do when I go to Burbank. And the corporate superstructure, whether it's AOL, Time Warner, AT&T, Discovery, now Paramount—really has little to do with the work on the ground.
There was always that clash of two companies. I guess that conflict is over now. But what difference does it make? Network TV is the same.
I'm kind of a naive optimist. I find this environment incredibly exciting and vibrant. There are so many opportunities, so many platforms where you can go and say, "Here's an idea for a show. Pay me to make it." I couldn't go to CBS with the Kominsky Method. This is a world driven, and perhaps still driven, by demographics. They're not going to do a show about 75- and 80-year-old men wrestling with the details of aging. In the book, I mention HBO and Hulu and Amazon and Apple, all of which have carried it. But Ted Sarandos and Netflix said yes, and I got to make something that was really a deeply emotional and personal project. I know it's cliché, but it really was a labor of love.
I didn't want it in the book. This is just arrogance. This is not the purpose of doing these things. The point of doing these things is to try to make a difference, not to beat your chest and say, "Look at me, look at what I've done."
It's definitely something I really should have thought about. But again, as I said somewhere in there, this is my recollection of how things went down. And if you disagree, write your damn book.