
Ruth Buzzi, comedy sketch player on groundbreaking series ‘Laugh-In,' dies at 88
Buzzi died Thursday at her home in Texas, says her agent Mike Eisenstadt. She had been diagnosed with Alzheimer's and was in hospice care. Shortly before her death, her husband, Kent Perkins, had posted a statement on Buzzi's Facebook page, thanking her many fans and telling them: 'She wants you to know she probably had more fun doing those shows than you had watching them.'
Buzzi won a Golden Globe and was a two-time Emmy nominee for the NBC show that ran from 1968 to 1973. She was the only regular to appear in all six seasons, including the pilot.
She was first spotted by 'Laugh-In' creator and producer George Schlatter playing various characters on 'The Steve Allen Comedy Hour.'
Schlatter was holding auditions for 'Laugh-In' when he received a picture in the mail of Buzzi in her Ormphby costume, sitting in a wire mesh trash barrel. The character was clad in drab brown with her bun covered by a hairnet knotted in the middle of her forehead.
'I think I hired her because of my passion for Gladys Ormphby,' he wrote in his 2023 memoir 'Still Laughing A Life in Comedy.' 'I must admit that the hairnet and the rolled-down stockings did light my fire. My favorite Gladys line was when she announced that the day of the office Christmas party, they sent her home early.'
The Gladys character used her purse as a weapon against anyone who bothered her, striking people over the head. On 'Laugh-In,' her most frequent target was Arte Johnson's dirty old man character Tyrone F. Horneigh.
'Gladys embodies the overlooked, the downtrodden, the taken for granted, the struggler,' Buzzi told The Connecticut Post in 2018. 'So when she fights back, she speaks for everyone who's been marginalized, reduced to a sex object or otherwise abused. And that's almost everyone at some time or other.'
Buzzi took her act to the Dean Martin Celebrity Roasts in Las Vegas, where she bashed her purse on the heads of Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin and Lucille Ball, among others.
Her other recurring characters on 'Laugh-In' included Flicker Farkle; Busy-Buzzi, a Hollywood gossip columnist; Doris Swizzler, a cocktail-lounge regular who got drunk with husband Leonard, played by Dick Martin; and an inconsiderate flight attendant.
'I never took my work for granted, nor assumed I deserved more of the credit or spotlight or more pay than anyone else,' Buzzi told The Connecticut Post. 'I was just thrilled to drive down the hill to NBC every day as an employed actor with a job to do.'
Buzzi remained friends through the years with 'Laugh-In' co-stars Lily Tomlin and Jo Anne Worley.
Born Ruth Ann Buzzi on July 24, 1936, in Westerly, Rhode Island, she was the daughter of Angelo Buzzi, a nationally known stone sculptor. Her father and later her brother operated Buzzi Memorials, a gravestone and monument maker in Stonington, Connecticut, where she was head cheerleader in high school.
Buzzi enrolled at the Pasadena Playhouse at age 17. Two years later, she traveled with singer Rudy Vallee in a musical and comedy act during her summer break. That earned her an Actors' Equity union card before she graduated from the playhouse's College of Theatre Arts.
Buzzi moved to New York and was immediately hired for a lead role in an off-Broadway musical revue, the first of 19 such shows she performed in on the East Coast.
She got her national television break on 'The Garry Moore Show' in 1964, just after Carol Burnett was replaced by Dorothy Loudon on the series. She played Shakundala the Silent, a bumbling magician's assistant to Dom DeLuise's character Dominic the Great.
Buzzi was a regular on the CBS variety show 'The Entertainers' whose hosts included Burnett and Bob Newhart.
She was in the original Broadway cast of 'Sweet Charity' with Gwen Verdon in 1966.
Buzzi toured the country with her nightclub act, including appearances in Las Vegas.
She was a semi-regular on 'That Girl' as Marlo Thomas' friend. She co-starred with Jim Nabors as time-traveling androids on 'The Lost Saucer' in the mid-1970s.
Her other guest appearances included variety shows hosted by Burnett, Flip Wilson, Glen Campbell, Tony Orlando, Donny and Marie Osmond and Leslie Uggams.
She appeared in Ball's last comedy series 'Life With Lucy.'
Buzzi guested in music videos with 'Weird Al' Yankovic, the B-52's and the Presidents of the United States of America.
She did hundreds of guest voices in cartoon series including 'Pound Puppies,' 'Berenstain Bears,' 'The Smurfs' and 'The Angry Beavers.'
She was Emmy nominated for her six-year run as shopkeeper Ruthie on 'Sesame Street.'
Her movie credits included 'Freaky Friday,' 'Chu Chu and the Philly Flash,' 'The North Avenue Irregulars' and 'The Apple Dumpling Gang Rides Again.'
Buzzi was active on social media and had thousands of followers whom she rewarded with such one-liners as 'I have never faked a sarcasm' and 'Scientists say the universe is made up entirely of neurons, protons and electrons. They seem to have missed morons.'
She married actor Kent Perkins in 1978.
The couple moved from California to Texas in 2003 and bought a 640-acre ranch near Stephenville.
Buzzi retired from acting in 2021 and suffered a series of strokes the following year. Her husband told The Dallas Morning News in 2023 that she had dementia.
Hashtags

Try Our AI Features
Explore what Daily8 AI can do for you:
Comments
No comments yet...
Related Articles


Time Out
an hour ago
- Time Out
'Severance' fans can get free Lumon drinks at Erewhon with this secret password
Good news, innies and outies alike: Lumon Industries is buying you a juice. Well, technically Erewhon is—but only if you know the right words. Starting Friday, August 15, fans of Severance as well as fellow Emmy darling The Studio can stroll into select Erewhon locations in Los Angeles, whisper one of two show-inspired catchphrases and walk away with a complimentary cold-pressed organic juice. Consider it a rare workplace perk, no severance procedure required. The promotion celebrates a major Emmy moment for both shows. Severance, the eerie Apple TV+ drama about a company that surgically splits its employees' work and personal memories, racked up a jaw-dropping 27 nominations for season two, including Outstanding Drama Series and nine acting nods. Meanwhile, The Studio, Seth Rogen's Hollywood satire about a beleaguered movie studio and its insecure execs, landed 23 nominations, setting a record for the most acting category nods for a freshman comedy. So what's the magic phrase? For Severance, you'll need to say: 'The work is mysterious and important.' (Do say it with a touch of corporate gravitas.) For The Studio, it's: 'Thank you, Sal Saperstein.' Either one scores you a free juice—it's your call whether to pick the one you actually watch or just pretend you're in the know. The freebie is available at Erewhon's Beverly Hills, Grove, Studio City, Venice and Silver Lake outposts. No purchase necessary; you can just utter the password and bask in your freebie glory. Erewhon isn't spilling exactly which blend they're pouring, but if past collabs are any guide, expect something green, cold and approximately 500% more expensive than water.


Daily Mail
4 hours ago
- Daily Mail
The Biggest Loser's biggest scandals: Contestants on noughties weight loss show reveal how they didn't eat for 10 days, were left with blood in their urine, and 'collapsed' from burning 8,000 calories a day
Contestants from noughties weight loss show The Biggest Loser have opened up about some of the extreme measures they took to shed the pounds. The hit series, which ran for 18 seasons on NBC and USA, saw obese or overweight people from across the US dropping upwards of 100 or even 200 pounds over a matter of months. Now Netflix has released a new three-part documentary about the programme, featuring people who appeared on the Biggest Loser, as well as producers, the show's doctor, and trainer Bob Harper (although the other coach - Jillian Michaels - declined to take part). The show ran from 2004 to 2016 airing on NBC, before it was cancelled. It was then rebooted on the USA Network in 2020, before being cancelled after just one season. In its heyday, the programme went global, with versions appearing in countries around the world, earnings hundreds of millions of dollars. The branding was licensed for products including cookbooks, DVDs, and weight-loss camps. When its NBC run was cancelled in 2016, it came after controversy, with critics arguing that it prioritised a number on the scale rather than contestants' overall health and well-being. Netflix's new docuseries, titled Fit for TV: The Reality of the Biggest Loser, 'takes a look behind-the-scenes, exploring its cultural relevance and complicated legacy' - and as part of that, previous contestants spoke on camera about some of the dangerous habits they practised in a bid to lose the most weight, and scoop the $250,000 prize. Those practices included fasting for 10 days, and surviving on minimal calories while undergoing intense exercise regimes among others. According to Netflix: 'On their weight loss journeys, contestants were separated into teams and created workout and nutrition plans with trainers. 'The teams would compete in various challenges for prizes - like physical competitions or willpower tests - such as 'temptations,' in which contestants were tempted by high calorie food or drinks.' The contestant who lost the highest percentage relative to their starting weight won the series. Season one winner, Ryan Benson, admitted that he was doing 'super dangerous things', in the run-up to the final. Speaking about his experience on the show, he said: 'This was the first reality show where people make a physical change. That weight that we were losing was real. You can't fake that.' He added that as they got closer to the final, he 'lost all focus about getting healthy, and the focus became winning' - and he added that he sometimes feels he has 'PTSD' from taking part in the programme. 'The final episode was a live episode,' Ryan said. 'We are here live in Hollywood. They were doing it in the same studio where they filmed American Idol. During the final weigh in, i's just so nerve wracking.' He continued: 'It worked out great, because I won, but I was doing what most doctors would say were super unhealthy things. 'The last 10 days, I didn't put any food in my body. I was doing the master cleanse - drinking lemon juice and maple syrup and cayenne pepper - all these tricks that are super unhealthy, just to cut weight. 'At the final weigh in, we had to do a urine test. They said, "Ryan, there's blood in your urine, which obviously means you're so dehydrated".' He noted that the 'one thing' he 'really remembers' from the final is Jillian congratulating him on his win. 'She gives me a big hug, and she says, Ryan, you just made me a millionaire,' he revealed. This was far from the only concerning experience reported by previous contestants: two who appeared in the docuseries spoke about the staggering amount of calories they burned daily while on the 'ranch' - the secluded location where participants stayed during filming. Joelle Gwynn, who appeared in season seven of The Biggest Loser in 2009, said: 'The first week, we needed to burn a minimum of 6,000 calories a day.' Meanwhile Danny Cahill, who won the $250,000 prize for season eight after losing 239 pounds in just over six months, discussed his restrictive plan. He achieved staggering weight loss in the first week, dropping 24lb. This continued into week two, where he lost 12lb. In the third week, he lost four pounds - still well over the one to pounds that is considered healthy - but this was hugely disappointing to Danny. 'That was when I said, "woah, maybe I need to do something different here",' he recounted. 'And I started lowering my calories at that point. I was eating 800 calories and burning 6,000 to 8,000 a day. When I lowered the calories, I lost more. I got on the scale, and I lost 15lb that week. As it went on, I was like, "I need to stay here". He added: 'There is a push and pull on The Biggest Loser between losing the weight, the health aspect of it, the money, the prize. All this works in contrast to each other. 'My calorie count was lower than I think it should have been. Sometimes you're tempted to do things that you maybe shouldn't do.' Danny has regained the weight since appearing on the programme, and says that being the champion, then returning to his previous size was difficult. 'The shame you feel is a heavy weight to bear,' he admitted. Another controversy tackled in the docuseries was around claims that contestants were given drugs. In 2016, the New York Post reported that ex 'Losers' were allegedly given illicit medication to help them lose weight, quoting Joelle Gwynn. A source from the show told the Post the series was 'corrupt', and claimed that fitness trainer Bob Harper and his assistant were giving contestants ADHD medication Adderall (a stimulant). However Bob strongly denied - and continues to deny - the allegations. He responded at the time with a statement saying 'safety is paramount in my training regimen'. Speaking to the Daily Mail, he said: 'These allegations are absolutely false and are in direct conflict with my lifelong devotion to health and fitness. 'Safety is paramount in my training regimen and, while demanding, my approach has always focused on the overall well-being of contestants as they lose significant weight and educate themselves, for the first time, on living a healthy lifestyle.' In the docuseries, Joelle said that her quotes had been taken out of context. The Biggest Loser's MD, Dr Robert Huizenga, sued both Joelle and the NYP over the allegations that he went along with giving contestants illicit weight-loss drugs, but in 2019, a US District court found she had not defamed him. However, the documentary noted that the article in question was removed from the NY Post's website, and Dr Huizenga - alongside Bob Harper - vigorously deny the claims. No one associated with the show has ever faced any criminal charges for distributing the illegal substances the NY Post alleged. What did emerge is that during the 15th season, trainer Jillian Michaels had given her team caffeine supplements, something the production publicly acknowledged was a violation of its own rules. It should be noted that Dr Huizenga was vocally opposed to giving the contestants caffeine - and in fact banned it. The Biggest Loser's physician, Dr Robert Huizenga is pictured with season eight contestant Tracey Yukich Even in the absence of illicit substances, the extreme workouts themselves caused suffering to some of the contestants, with multiple scenes showing people collapsing - with one even vomiting - while pushing themselves. According to trainer Bob Harper, the producers felt that the intense workouts made good television, he reported them saying to him: 'We want them to puke, we want the madness of it all.' The most serious incident took place during season eight of The Biggest Loser, when contestant Tracey Yukich - who revealed she had taken part in the show because of infidelity in her marriage, which she blamed on her weight - was taken to hospital with a life-threatening condition after one of the challenges, which involved running on the beach. In order to qualify for the programme, participants had to complete the one-mile run. During the exercise, Tracey collapsed, becoming unresponsive. Speaking about it in the docuseries, she said: 'I knew I had died that day [...] my organs were literally shutting down [...] no one really realised how sick I was.' She was airlifted to hospital in a helicopter, where she was diagnosed with rhabdomyolysis, a condition where damaged muscle tissue breaks down into the bloodstream. While she did recover, and returned to the show, Dr Huizenga banned her from joining the workouts temporarily. That season's winner Danny also reflected on the incident in the docuseries, saying: 'We were all scared to death; it was horrific.' Another major controversy came in 2014, when Rachel Frederickson - who did not appear in the Netflix documentary - won season 15. Rachel, who weighed 260 pounds (18.5 stone, 117.9 kg) at the beginning of the series, weighed in at just 105 pounds (7.5 stone, 47.6 kg). Her BMI was reportedly just 18. The enormous weight loss, and her tiny frame (described by one journalist as 'emaciated') caused concern amongst viewers. When the camera panned to Jillian Michaels, she looked visibly shocked at Rachel's diminutive stature, and could be seen mouthing the words: 'Oh my God.' Writing about the response to her weight loss a year later, Rachel admitted that the comments on her size had been upsetting. She also revealed that she had gained around 20lbs (a stone and a half) since wrapping the programme. She added: 'When I stood on stage at the live finale, I had never felt stronger. I had accomplished everything I wanted to do. I was extremely proud of myself.' Rachel has maintained a low profile since the show ended, keeping her social media private, and not appearing in the docuseries. While many of the former contestants had negative feelings about the show (season two's Suzanne Mendonca said being on The Biggest Loser was the 'biggest mistake of [her] life', some did feel positive. Sisters Olivia Ward and Hannah Curlee, who scooped first and second place respectively in season 11, have managed to maintain their weight loss in the over 10 years since their series aired. Speaking in the documentary, they both agreed that taking part in The Biggest Loser was 'the best thing [they] ever did'.


The Guardian
6 hours ago
- The Guardian
Fit for TV: The Reality of The Biggest Loser review – how did television ever sink so low?
The mid-2000s were a peculiar time in television. After the dubious 90s innovations of Jerry Springer in the US were followed by the UK launch of Big Brother, it was clear that using the travails of so-called ordinary people as fuel for small-screen entertainment was an idea with legs. There was a mini goldrush of sorts as programme makers realised that conflict, extremity and dysfunction would always sell – and that any human-interest subject could be shoehorned into some version of reality TV. In Britain, ITV's The Jeremy Kyle Show began casting its malign spell in 2005. In the US, something similarly queasy (and enduring) had arrived a year earlier in the shape of NBC's weight loss bootcamp-meets-bearpit, The Biggest Loser, which took contestants living with obesity then belittled them with humiliating tasks such as moving food from one place to another using only their teeth. It deployed fitness coaches to scream abuse in their faces, and weighed them in front of a studio audience. For the series winner, there was, in addition to a newly slimline body, a large cash prize. The first former contestant we meet in this three-part documentary about the show is season eight winner Danny Cahill. Danny does not look like someone who has lost large amounts of weight. This is an intimation of trouble ahead. Could it be that losing weight over a recklessly short period of time is not a sustainable way of combating obesity? Might it even be dangerous? Quite possibly. We're told that a high percentage of former contestants who later took part in a New York Times study put much of their weight back on after the show. And the study suggested the programme's hothouse methods caused people's metabolisms to slow, making them less able to process food quickly. How about aftercare? The Biggest Loser simply didn't bother with it, as the producers openly admit. In the context of the stories in Fit for TV, that feels unforgivable. For season one winner Ryan Benson, weight loss quickly became a means to an end. 'I lost all focus on getting healthy,' he says. 'It was about winning.' Shortly after the final episode, blood was found in his urine. It was around that time that he was congratulated (after a fashion) by one of the show's two fitness trainers, the permanently snarling Jillian Michaels. 'Ryan, you just made me a millionaire,' she apparently said. Michaels declined to be interviewed for this series, which is a shame from a journalistic point of view but a relief in every other way. The show's other gym beast, Bob Harper, does front up. He is fairly forthright in his defence of the show, claiming that many people were helped – although his habit of lifting his small dog on to his lap when difficult subjects arise feels revealing. He also manages, in four throwaway words, to make a watertight case against the show. 'Everyone knows it's diet,' he says, when discussing sustainable weight loss strategies. What offhand disdain for viewers and participants is contained in that short sentence. Everyone here is being taken for a mug. Because when it comes to the creation of TV, what use is a diet? Watching people not eating doughnuts and burgers is no fun. Can't we push them until they vomit instead? The author and podcaster Aubrey Gordon, who has written and spoken extensively about weight-related issues, pinpoints the crucial problem. The Biggest Loser wanted to have its calorific cake and eat it. It encouraged participants to trust the process and then misled them at every turn. 'The show was trying to do deep emotional work,' she says. 'But it didn't want to have people who were credentialed to do it.' And so, she suggests that the trainers became pseudo-therapists as well as drill sergeants. They were both carrot and stick. Ultimately, the documentary claims that they simply couldn't be trusted, as evinced in their giving contestants caffeine pills to stimulate energy and suppress appetite, even as the programme's resident medic was telling them not to drink coffee. Perhaps fittingly, this documentary feels somewhat frantic in places – it's as jittery and frenetic as a caffeine-fuelled workout. It would probably have benefited from fewer voices, a little more analysis and a clearer narrative through-line. However, the stories it tells are powerful enough to stick in the memory, as warnings from recent history. As the age of truly nasty reality TV passes (for now), documentaries about these kinds of shows are starting to feel like their own microgenre, with their own tropes. As with earlier series about Jerry Springer (on Netflix) and Jeremy Kyle (on Channel 4), there is a limited, grudging mea culpa or two. There is also plenty of buck-passing. There are obvious villains and equally obvious victims. And somewhere at the back of it all is a sense that, even at this point, it's all in the game. For now, TV's appetite for extremity has taken a back seat to its willingness to acknowledge duty of care. This may not always be the case. Fit for TV: The Reality of the Biggest Loser is on Netflix.