Amy Gravitt

EO

In the Rolling Stone interview you and Nathan Fielder did around The Rehearsal, you said, “The funny I don’t worry about,” because you trust the creators you work with. If getting the laugh isn’t your primary concern, what is? What are you evaluating when you're deciding whether to champion a project?

AG

I don’t worry about the funny with our creators because I trust that they’re funny. We work with so many people—whether you want to call them multi-hyphenates or auteurs—who are writing, acting, directing, or some combination of all three. Every one of those roles reinforces the tone, texture, and feeling of a show. When a comedy is authored that way, it’s going to be funny.

Now, is everybody in the audience going to think it’s funny? Not necessarily. My goal is to have enough shows with such distinct points of view that they speak to different audiences and different senses of humor.

EO

But you’re skipping a step. Before you can trust a creator, you have to discover them. Before the show, before the audience, before HBO has said yes, you’re encountering a writer, a script, or an idea for the first time. What are you looking for? What makes someone worth betting on?

AG

It’s so funny to me because I genuinely do worry. What I worry about is whether a show finds its audience. When it comes to the comedy itself, I trust my creators to be funny. They’re funny to me, so I can’t spend my time worrying about whether other people will think they’re funny. I have to trust my gut.

I don’t think your experience in your early twenties has to be directly related to the industry. I know this conversation isn’t really about that stage of your career, but it’s true. For the people who venture outside of it, that’s where they begin to develop their voice, and that’s what makes them different. I was just saying this on a Zoom before our call: I don’t care if you went to XYZ film school or worked in XYZ mailroom. There are a million people with that experience. That doesn’t distinguish you. It doesn’t help me understand who you are or what your voice is.

EO

I’m also thinking about emerging talent—actors graduating from conservatories with debt, writers coming from outside the traditional pipeline, people who don’t necessarily have the right connections. For someone trying to build a career today, how important is it to develop a strong sense of your own taste? How did you come to trust yours?

AG

Yeah, maybe we should go back to the beginning. My first job in the industry was at Section Eight, George Clooney and Steven Soderbergh’s production company, in 2004. I started as an intern and then became an assistant. I was obviously thrilled to land an entry-level job in an industry I knew nothing about, but I also realized pretty quickly that it wasn’t the right fit for me. It was a foot in the door, and I was perfectly happy doing the administrative work, but I didn’t share their sensibility or the kinds of projects they were making.

Around that same time, I got my hands on a DVD of the UK Office. Like everyone else, I was immediately blown away by the caliber and execution of the comedy. Soon after, an assistant position opened up in HBO’s comedy department. I started going to comedy clubs, watching stand-up, and seeing shows at places like the Improv and the Groundlings.

That’s when I realized I could trust my taste. Comedy spoke to me in a way that other material didn’t. I could read genre scripts or books and, for whatever reason, I couldn’t always get underneath them or figure out whether they were good because they just didn’t resonate with me. But comedy did. I remember thinking, These are my people.

EO

Was that the moment you realized you could trust your taste? The moment you thought, I know it when I see it?

AG

Yeah, I think so. It also connects to what we were talking about earlier because, at the time, comedy clubs and festivals were where writers and performers got their voices into the world. It was before people were really able to self-produce work for the internet. That’s where new talent was discovered.

EO

It’s interesting because I’ve interviewed B.J. Novak, Abbi Jacobson, Justin Kuritzkes, and so many people whose careers began around that same ecosystem. They all came up through slightly different paths, but they all seem drawn to the same thing: comedy as a place where a distinctive voice could emerge.

AG

I feel lucky to be included in that group, even though I’m not somebody who’s creating the work myself. When you work in comedy for long enough, you develop a shared sensibility. Comedy occupies a slightly outsider position within the industry, and the people who work in it share that identity. It feels like a community.

EO

That’s what I wanted to ask you about in terms of taste. You recognized pretty quickly that there was a misalignment between your instincts and the work at Section Eight. How did you bridge that gap? How did you arrive at comedy and realize, This is where I belong?

AG

That was really the luck of timing, as far as the opportunity itself.

EO

An actionable opportunity.

AG

Exactly. I don’t think that if I had set out with this exact job as my goal, I would have ended up here. The world just doesn’t work that way. You have to focus on the next step that’s right in front of you. At Section Eight, I remember feeling like I couldn’t even formulate an opinion about the scripts and material we were reading. Nobody was asking me to, but even for myself I couldn't quite get underneath it. I couldn’t tell whether something was good because it just didn’t resonate with me.

Then, through happenstance, Steven Soderbergh decided to make K Street for HBO. Because it lived inside HBO’s comedy department, I got to know all of the assistants there. Around the same time, I’d discovered The Office. I was also going to the Improv and the Groundlings and thinking, These are my people. Then the assistant to the head of comedy decided she wanted to become a writer, so the job opened up. I’d gotten to know the other assistants at HBO, and they put me up for it.

EO

You mentioned K Street. I was listening to Matt Damon on Good Hang the other day talking about Steven Soderbergh, and what struck me wasn’t just that he shoots, edits, and scores his own films. Matt described someone with such complete command over the work that he could stop a scene and tell an actor, “You're in the wrong movie.” He knew exactly what he was making. It made me think differently about K Street.

You arrived at Section Eight at a fascinating moment because George Clooney and Steven Soderbergh represented two very different models of authorship. George had become one of Hollywood’s biggest movie stars and was using that position to produce the kinds of films he wanted to make. Steven, meanwhile, was constantly reinventing the process itself—experimenting with form, production, and method. Do you think being around two people who had developed such distinct ways of making work shaped the way you thought about building a creative career, even if you didn’t recognize it at the time?

AG

One of the groundbreaking things about K Street—and it still would be today—was that it was responding to the events happening in Washington that very week. It was shot, edited, and aired in the same week, which is almost impossible to do. Well, obviously not impossible because Steven did it, but nearly impossible. From a production standpoint, it was extraordinarily demanding.

I think that’s what was so interesting about Steven. He was always looking for different ways of making things, different ways of shooting. Again, I was just an assistant. I was there when it happened, but I had nothing to do with it. It’s interesting that you highlight that because my experience of working there was almost the opposite. I felt like I was starting in a hole. I hadn’t gone to film school, and I felt like I lacked the education that everyone else seemed to have. I felt behind.

I was incredibly grateful to be there, but George and Steven were already so established that they had reached a point where they could make whatever they wanted, however they wanted. They could experiment. What I realized was that I wasn’t going to learn the middle ground of building a career because they had already built one. So when the opportunity at HBO came along—and you have to remember this was a moment when everyone wanted to be making movies, and moving from film to television wasn’t necessarily considered the prestigious move—I took it because I thought, this is where I’ll actually learn the business. I’ll learn how decisions get made, meet writers, understand development, and see how projects actually come together. More subconsciously, though, there was also the question of tone and taste. I was simply more drawn to comedy and to comedy people. I felt more comfortable there. If I didn’t have this knowledge base that I thought everybody else had, at least I could trust my instincts. And that turned out to be true.

EO

What was your life actually like then? Outside of work, what did Los Angeles feel like? Were you already immersed in the industry, or did it still feel like you were swimming against the stream?

AG

There was so much about it. You have to understand, I grew up in Virginia Beach. I didn’t know anything about Los Angeles or the entertainment industry. The idea that I’d one day have a career here would’ve been completely unimaginable to my teenage self. I’d been in the Navy and received orders to serve on an aircraft carrier in San Diego, which brought me to the West Coast. At this point in my life, I’d married my college boyfriend, who was in film school in Los Angeles, and that’s how I ended up here. By the time I got out of the Navy and started working first at Section Eight and then at HBO, we were getting divorced.

So I was single, in a huge city, while starting a new assistant job. I didn’t really know anyone or know how to navigate Los Angeles. The other young assistants at agencies, management companies, and studios became my community, and many of them are still my friends today. I was a tiny fish in a giant pond. Looking back, I genuinely don't know how I thought I was going to make a life here.

EO

One thing I’m still curious about is why comedy. We talked about the opportunity presenting itself, but what were the alternatives? What weren't you doing that you could have been doing?

AG

Well, I wasn’t sitting at home reading stacks of feature drama scripts. I don’t think that's really the question. I think we’re talking more about what happens once you have a little bit of traction—if that’s what we want to call getting an assistant job. Where you land at that point in your career is incredibly important because that’s where you start to build the network that will become your network throughout your career. If you don’t end up in a place where your taste aligns, you’re going to spend your career trying to anticipate what other people think or what other people’s opinions are. That’s a losing game.

EO

So is that what you felt changed once you got to HBO?

AG

Exactly. Sitting on a comedy desk and being around that group of assistants, I felt like I had a foundation. Professionally, I became completely focused on comedy. I wanted to see as much stand-up as I could, read as many pilot scripts as I could. Back then people were still writing spec scripts—episodes of existing television shows—and I was reading those too.

I’d always had an interest in novels. Back then I probably read more novels looking for potential show ideas than I do now. These days I read literary fiction more for pleasure. But at that point I was really looking for anything that could communicate my taste and my point of view to the people around me, so people would know what I liked and have a sense of my taste. That becomes your calling card as an executive.

EO

What has surprised you most about how your career has unfolded?

AG

Honestly, the whole thing. The fact that I’m even here still surprises me. I’m a very methodical person. Coming from a military family and then serving in the Navy myself, I was used to a very steady idea of career progression. Every goal was simply the next promotion every couple of years. I think the thing that’s surprised me most, having now been at one company for twenty-two years in a creative job—which is pretty unusual—is that we’ve been able to stick together. It's not unusual inside HBO, but it is unusual in the industry. I think we’ve managed to preserve something singular. That’s really what feels special to me. We’ve preserved the culture of HBO.

EO

You never wanted to go anywhere else?

AG

No. That’s just my nature. I also have a very unusual situation. Except for my first assistant job, I’ve essentially worked with the same boss for twenty years, and we have a really strong shared sensibility. I’ve also been able to build really long relationships with the creatives we work with. I don’t really know what I’d be looking for somewhere else that I’m not already getting here.

EO

I mean you’ve been there for so long that you’re probably not asking yourself those questions every day.

AG

Nope, not at all. I always joke that I feel like I’ve been homeschooled.

EO

Then where does the tension come from? How do you keep yourself engaged if it isn't coming from changing jobs?

AG

Obviously, the longer you’re in a job, the more responsibility you have. Like I said, replenishing the slate is always a new challenge. One of the things I love about television is that you get to work with the same people over and over again, whether that’s through subsequent seasons of a show or entirely new series they bring in. But every series does come to an end, and you have to find the next thing. I think that’s where the newness is and why locating it is always possible. 

We’ve talked a lot about comedy providing comfort while also pushing at boundaries and doing something new. I think that’s the balance inside the building. We have the stability of this brand and these people we’ve known for so long, but we’re always bringing new shows and new people into the conversation.

EO

Earlier you mentioned trusting your gut and not worrying about being the funniest person in the room. Twenty-two years into this, what do you think you’ve actually learned?

AG

To bring it back to not worrying about the funny, I think I’ve accumulated a lot of institutional knowledge and gut over the years. That’s what I bring to the talent I work with. I don’t have to worry about being funny because I know what I know, and I know the people I work with make me laugh.

EO

What keeps you up at night about comedy? Or about the industry more broadly?

AG

I always want comedy to remain a viable art form in the industry. That’s what keeps me up at night. Doing right by the shows and the people I work with keeps me up at night. A fear of public speaking keeps me up at night too. That’s true.

EO

Comedy has changed so much over the last two decades. There are so many different pockets now. How do you think about that?

AG

The right vehicle for Julio Torres’s voice is very different from the right vehicle for Tim Robinson’s voice. The challenge for me is helping people, helping talent, understanding what that idea is that takes their voice from just being a point of view to becoming a sustainable series.

EO

How do you know when something that’s been pitched as a television series is really an hour special or a feature film?

AG

My colleague Nina Rosenstein in New York oversees specials, and she’s fantastic. But to me, the distinction between a series and a special is very clear. The very short answer is taking something from being autobiographical to creating a set of characters in a world that can sustain stories outside of your own experience.

EO

What would you say to the version of yourself that first moved to Los Angeles? The person who’d just taken that assistant job.

AG

I actually think it’s the inverse of what most people say. I think I was naive enough to stay. The version of me now wouldn’t have had the guts to do it.

EO

To stay?

AG

To stay.

EO

What did staying teach you?

AG

I don’t know that I have the answer to that. I guess it gave me enough belief in myself to know that I’m going to figure it out. Or maybe a belief in comedy. I knew I had the work ethic. I didn’t yet know that I had the talent, but I think it was there. And then you need some luck. Goodwill. And goodwill from the people around you.

EO

Phew. That’s different. Goodwill from the people around you. What was necessary in the context of HBO, specifically? Why were you the right fit for that place?

AG

The thing that keeps coming back to me isn’t a one-word answer. I remember sitting in early meetings as a young executive with Carolyn Strauss, who was the head of programming at the time. She would ask questions, and I’d sit there truly not being able to speak in meetings, not knowing what to say. I remember thinking, “How does she know what to ask?” I think I was patient enough to sit, listen, and learn during those apprenticeship years. I think that time is so important in a career. Obviously there was something natural about my fit inside the company, but that also went hand in hand with apprenticing under people like that. I think I’m a really good listener which has ultimately served me in my career.

EO

At some point listening has to become leading. How does that transition happen?

AG

You do the work.

EO

Is there sacrifice?

AG

I still sacrifice. You sacrifice your personal life in these jobs. But I eventually got it together. I rebounded. I got remarried and I have kids. But I don’t spend as much time with them as other parents do. I’m wildly stressed a lot of the time. I also think this whole conversation around work-life balance is ridiculous. There’s no such thing. It’s all one thing. Sometimes great things happen when your life is wildly out of balance.

EO

It’s a shame because work-life is a fallacy. What’s the challenge now?

AG

I think the challenge now is that it’s fantastic that so many shows are getting made, but it’s also an incredibly crowded landscape. It’s much harder for comedy to break through. I love that there are so many different tones now, and so many smaller shows that speak to different audiences. But because there are so many of them, it’s harder for those shows to break through. Those are always going to be the shows I fight for. I think they’re the shows that help all of us make sense of our lives. To bring it full circle, I personally need comedy to process everything in my life. The big moments. The sad moments. I need a dose of comedy in everything that I do. I just want to make sure that’s out there for people who don’t have a front-row seat to it the way I do.

EO

So in some sense you’re still holding space for the outsider.

AG

I do feel like comedy always has to fight for a place in the world.