They were the oddest couple in Hollywood. Harvey Korman was a classically trained, serious actor who wanted everything perfect. Tim Conway was a chaotic force of nature who wanted everything to fall apart. Harvey often said, “Tim is the only person who can destroy me with a look.” Before every show, Harvey would plead: “Please, Tim, stick to the script tonight.” Tim would nod, promise to behave, and then step onto the stage and do the exact opposite. Harvey wasn’t just laughing in those sketches; he was watching his best friend create magic out of thin air. We don’t see duos like this anymore because nobody trusts anyone the way Harvey trusted Tim to catch him when he fell.
The scene begins in a simple, controlled way, with Harvey Korman playing a strict authority figure, delivering clear instructions and expecting an immediate response. Everything feels routine, structured, and fully under control. Tim Conway enters as a slow, overly polite character who listens carefully but repeatedly misunderstands what Harvey is asking. He pauses for long, uncomfortable moments before responding and answers in ways that slightly miss the point, creating growing confusion on stage. As the misunderstandings continue, Harvey struggles to maintain composure while the audience reacts more strongly. The scene gradually shifts from a scripted performance into genuine laughter, becoming a spontaneous live moment that perfectly captures the unique chemistry between Tim Conway and Harvey Korman.
When Tim Conway walked out on the stage of The Tonight Show Starring Johnny Carson, audiences knew something unpredictable was about to happen. What they didn’t know was that they were about to witness one of the most beloved, unscripted moments in late-night television history — a segment so chaotic, so perfectly timed, that even Johnny Carson himself would lose control.
THE NIGHT COMEDY SHATTERED ON LIVE TELEVISION — TIM CONWAY’S “OLDEST MAN” ROUTINE HIT HARVEY KORMAN SO HARD HE LITERALLY COULDN’T BREATHE. What began as a simple sketch turned into a meltdown so uncontrollable, so brutally funny, that Harvey dropped his head onto the desk, wheezing, “He’s trying to kill me,” while Conway kept pushing the slow-motion chaos further and further. One sleepy blink, one agonizingly slow reach for the ship’s wheel, and Harvey’s entire body collapsed into shaking laughter he couldn’t stop — dragging the cast, crew, and studio audience down with him. Cameras shook, actors gave up, and the scene disintegrated into pure, legendary pandemonium the world still talks about decades later. It wasn’t just comedy it was a demolition of self-control broadcast live.
The script for the “Airline” sketch was simple: Captain Tim Conway needed to announce engine trouble to his terrified passenger, Harvey Korman. But Tim had a different flight plan. Instead of reading his lines, he began mimicking a short-circuiting intercom using nothing but his own throat. Strange static buzzes, high-pitched squeals, and garbled nonsense poured out of him. Harvey, strapped in his seat, wasn’t shaking from the “turbulence”—he was shaking from the sheer agony of holding back a laugh. His eyes watered and his lip quivered as he tried to look scared, but Tim showed no mercy. He saw Harvey cracking, leaned closer to the mic, and delivered one final, unscripted sound that didn’t just break Harvey’s composure, it nearly forced the producers to cut the feed entirely…