Almost There

It is difficult to believe the semester is already over, but you will find me hard pressed to complain that summer is almost here. However, before I get to enjoy any off-time, I must complete a considerable amount of coursework, part of that being this blog. And so, without further delay, here is the my last blog entry of the year.

A FINAL REFLECTION:

Above all, I have decided that anyone who attempts an all-inclusive definition of comedy is crazy. We have looked over so many different forms, styles, and types of humor, that to create a single explanation for them is pretty much impossible. What I say humor is will in no way align with what another says, and when “experts” start weighing in, the whole project becomes infinitely overcomplicated. For a long time now, I have come to believe our personal perspective on what is funny is too much a part of who we are, and thus, we are unable to disregard it when trying to craft an objective definition. It is a mire theorists seem to get stuck in when working out their own theories. In the end, all I want to say is we should stop worrying about constructing the end-all explanation of the funny, and rather, live by Supreme Court Justice Potter Stewart’s simple wisdom of, “I know it when I see it…” (Of course, he was talking about obscenity & pornography, but it is still a nice sentiment in regards to comedy).

Now, I already know the immediate objection is that for a class designed to analyze humor, we cannot simply state we know what is funny and move on. There needs to be some type of theory to start the discussion, and it is our job as critically thinking individuals to look past the “what” and into the “how” of a matter. I guess I want my above advice to serve as more of a friendly reminder that despite all the theorizing and contemplating in the world, there will never be a single definition which completely covers a concept as elusive as comedy. Rather than seeing this as detracting from our study, we would do better to be glad that there is no final word on what is humorous, since without a complete definition, there is room for all kinds of interpretation. Truly, the more studies I encounter, the more I come to like the subjects that do not have rigid systems for classification. (This is probably the major incentive behind my choice of majors given Literary Studies is all about asserting and supporting personal interpretations).

The last detail I want to leave with is the mention that after a whole semester of judiciously assessing a comedian’s delivery, style, and material, the practice has become habit. Now, I find myself consciously noting technicalities where I use to unconsciously enjoy the show. Although I may not be able to recite Freud’s definition, or remember every posit from Bergson’s theory, I can guarantee you that I will never watch stand-up in the same way again.

Trying to Transcend Public Perceptions

All the stand-up presentations this past week were great, and the nice thing for me has been that I am relatively unfamiliar with the comedians people have covered so far. Of course, the big names I have heard of, but after thinking about it, I realize I have not actually looked closely at their work or really watched any of their headlining performances.

What I remember most from the presentations is the mention about the “rocky” start Dave Chappelle apparently had, getting booed offstage during his first attempt at stand-up. Whenever I hear stories like that, I always wonder how a person recovers. Chappelle’s case is especially interesting, because not only did he recover, but he somehow also managed to become an enormous success in spite of it. I believe it was mentioned that he drew on that experience as motivation to do better in future performances. Certainly, his forward thinking mentality paid off. Sometimes, success stories like this we have a bad tendency to file away in our minds as “cliché,” but when you stop to actually think about how much courage it would take to go back out on stage after such a miserable first experience, you start to genuinely respect (and appreciate) the steal resolve many of these comedians have.

Another quirky feature I have notice among these stand-up performers, is the constant struggle they have in not only trying to convey a certain persona, but also, in sometimes trying to leave that persona behind them. So much thought goes into a stand-up act, and most of the characteristics a comedian exhibits on stage are intentional ones designed to create a specific image; however, what is one to do when he no longer wants that image he so carefully crafted? Specifically, I am thinking of the case of Eddie Izzard, who despite having an arguably strong acting career now, may have had more offers/opportunities had he not become famous for his foray as an “action transvestite.” In general, here I think a lot of the problem is one all performers face—the plague of typecasting. Yes, it is great to achieve fame, but if one utilizes a persona to get there, it seems almost impossible that he will ever escape. Still, the operative word in that statement is “almost,” because, although it takes a tremendous amount of time and constant work, there is always that outside chance people will start to recognize a comedian as more than just the one, popular persona they get to see in their stand-up.

In many respects, Izzard is well on his way to finally breaking through his early transvestite persona, his roles in movies, (and as the presentation pointed to), T.V. series like The Riches, helping to dispel the theory that he is only funny when dressed as a woman. The key for him has been constantly finding work, staring in roles that are far removed from the persona that made him famous. If you apply that logic more broadly, you start to see it is true for anyone trying to escape a persona, for the more roles they take on, the less likely they are to be associated with a single, distinct character.

Effective Humor

We are coming towards the end of the semester, and so far in the course, we have looked at lots of humor/rhetoric pieces. Still, with each piece we read, I always wonder about much of an impression they leave on their readers (both when they were first published and in modern times). Last week, we saw pieces from political humorists desiring to expose the truth about the superficial world of politics, and how politicos are obsessed with achieving a positive image (but never in the real work that creates one, instead, opting to manipulate the press into creating one for them). I surmise it is a safe assumption to presume most people already think politics is a world of image-laden people, and certainly, the pieces we looked at showed this, but what now? As a reader, do you feel like doing something to change it, or do you just take the story as a funny reminder of what you already knew? This all points to a larger question I often ponder when encountering humor, namely, can humor be effective?

When looking at humor in my other literature classes, this question has come up before. There are good cases on both sides. Some say it is not effective, because when people laugh, they disregard the seriousness of the author’s argument, but the converse is also true, since opponents will point out that laughter does not always mean something is funny, because oftentimes, people laugh to relieve their discomfort or mask their true feelings in a situation. Therefore, even though a reader is laughing, the piece might have more of an effect on them then anyone imagines.

As far as my own beliefs go, I feel that the more you know about the author, the more likely you are to be effected by the message in their humorous piece. For example, in one of my classes, a Native American author we read (Diane Burns), wrote the rather humorous poem, “Sure You Can Ask Me A Personal Question.” (Before reading the rest of this post, try reading it once over, and see what you think about it). Now, after we had read it, someone in our class gave a presentation on her life, and showed us this poem:

Our people
slit open the badger
to see the tomorrows
in its blood.
Now
look at me
and see what our
tomorrows hold

It is not funny, but it is very revealing about its author. The humor of the first poem is not as laughable when you consider the frustration the second one shows (since in it, we can more easily see the anger Native Americans have with the treatment they’ve received throughout the years). Looking at this poem in conjunction with the other facts of her tumultuous life (sadly ending at age 50 from drugs and alcohol), pushed our class to decide that the first one was meant more as “bitingly sarcastic” humor than as “ha ha” funny. Knowing this, we began to see the humor as a means of relaying a bigger hurt rather than some mere joke or observation.

Needless to say, the overall effect was momentous, and the message of her poem struck me as much more powerful than any humor piece has so far. However, had I never learnt anything about her, I probably would not of considered her humor in such a serious light, and might still be merely laughing at something that deserves more.

Burns, Diane. "Sure You Can Ask Me A Personal Question." 18 April 2009. http://cc.ysu.edu/~asleskov/sure,_you_can_ask_me.htm.

Ferguson, Sarah. "Obituary: Diane Burns, Native American Lower East Side Poet." The Villager. February 2007. 18 April 2009. http://www.thevillager.com/villager_198/dianeburnsnative.html.

George Carlin Revisted

The George Carlin presentation on Wednesday was very insightful. The part that intrigued me most was the second clip from Carlin’s show, Life is Worth Losing. Having seen the intro and the other segment we watched in class (the one about the “pyramid” with suicidal people and the disgust Carlin has for consumerism), I was interested to see if maybe those parts where categorical of the whole show. Now, I believe the tone of the parts we saw previously in class is indeed the tone that Carlin’s carries throughout the performance. It is that pessimistic, angry old man attitude where nothing is good, and humanity will hopefully erase itself from the face of the planet. (Hence the name of the show, and also, why Carlin fits the “villain” persona so well, just like the presentation described).

Now, the above is somewhat old news, because the crankiness is a feature of Carlin’s I (and others) have already discussed at length. What was new this time around was the way I approached watching the clip. I already knew what to expect—a wizened, angry Carlin—and because of that, I did not have the same shock that I did when first watching Life is Worth Losing. Not being shocked, I started to focus on why I was shocked (and received the material so badly) the first time around. The main reason I’ve decided on is that despite the prevailing belief that after comedians like Chris Rock and Eddie Murphy, nothing is shocking anymore, the reality is that shock come in more ways than marginal language, sexual jokes, or racial comments. For me, the new type of shock for value is a deep level of morbid thinking about humanity or the future. However, this is not any old joke about some morbid scenario (because, for me, some of those are funny), but rather, it is morbid thought supported by the comics whole-hearted and sincere belief in that thought. Essentially, the shock is coming from the joke no longer being a joke, but it being a serious desire masked as humor so as to make it more palatable.

I suppose I am back to where I started, since the first time I looked at Carlin’s most recent material, I decided it was not funny because it was not delivered as a joke. His contempt comes through his material too well, and really sets a negative tone to the performance. Then again, that might be why people still find him funny (just look at the performance’s sold out crowd for evidence of that).

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Anyway, apart from all that, Wednesday’s presentation was enjoyable, and it makes me look forward to seeing everyone else’s.

That's What She Said

Two weeks ago, I wrote a response to Christopher Hitchens’ article, “Why Women Aren’t Funny.” This week, while looking through the headlines on CNN, I coincidently came across a female’s view on the same issue.

Elizabeth Landau’s article, “Why Funny Guys Get the Babes,” essentially reiterates much of what Mr. Hitchens already stated, but the study she uses for support, I found interesting. Northumbria University’s Kristofor McCarty conducted an experiment which asked 45 heterosexual women (ages 18-30), to rate various self-descriptions of men based on qualities such as “likeliness of friendship, likeliness of long-term relationship, honesty and intelligence.” The results?

Women said the men with the funniest descriptions were significantly more likely to be candidates for long-term relationships, as well as friends. Participants also rated the more amusing men as more intelligent and honest.

The article goes on to provide the reason for these results stating the benefits of having a good sense of humor (reduces stress, makes others feel better, leads to happiness and good health, signifies a more intelligent person) are why women look for that quality in men, since clearly, they are extremely positive things to have in a long-term relationship. After reading these two articles, information like this is becoming more and more obvious to me, and I am starting to agree that men really do need humor to genetically survive (and are therefore, more proficient in it).

The only controversy I step into with these articles are summations like, “Time constraints prevented McCarty from exploring this question, but he said research suggests that men don't care much about women's sense of humor.” In fact, according to McCarty, “A man wants a woman who laughs at his jokes and is not too bothered if his girl isn't funny at all.” McCarty’s words are disheartening for me. It is as if women’s humor is a non-issue, and will never be something for sincere consideration. It is almost if all these studies are saying, “It’s good if she’s funny, but if not, it does not matter, because all she needs to be able to do is laugh at her boyfriend’s jokes.” I wonder how enjoyable would it be to date a woman who could not make any jokes of her own. Would you console yourself with the knowledge that at least she laughs at yours? Still, if you are the one who has to keep providing the humor in a relationship, I would argue you are only dating yourself, because there is nothing more boring than joking with someone who cannot joke back.

To have all these articles and studies relegate women to the audience because they believe women do not need humor for their genetic survival is hard reasoning to accept wholeheartedly. In the end, it is a bit of a nearsighted opinion, because ultimately, men may not seek out women specifically for their funniness, but if you compare a woman with a sense of humor to one who lacks it, it really is no contest. Maybe the debate needs to be less about who is better at creating humor, and more about the fact that humor is a desirable (and necessary) quality in a companion, regardless of their gender.

Landau, Elizabeth. "Why Funny Guys Get the Babes." www.cnn.com. 2 April 2009. CNN. 9 April 2009. http://www.cnn.com/2009/HEALTH/04/02/women.funny.men....

What Happens?

When discussing Zora Neale Hurston’s “Turpentine Love,” a question arose about Jim Merchant, and we were asked to consider what makes him such a peculiar man. My answer comes from the first sentence where Hurston writes, “Jim Merchant is always in good humor—even with his wife” (245). Culture today plays heavily on the idea of the worsening marriage, teaching that the longer two people are married, the more likely they are to become resentful to each other. Jim Merchant is peculiar in that this cultural thought has yet to intrude on his marriage, and after many years of matrimony, he still manages to have good humor with his wife. Of course, her being unable to speak [“She has had all her teeth pulled out” (245).] might be the ultimate reason for Mr. Merchant’s long-lasting humor.

The most complicated vignette of Hurston’s we read has to be “Pants and Cal’line.” The open ending leaves a reader with many possible scenarios to finish the story with, and no matter how you want to end it, there are all sorts of implications to draw out. Does she only scare her cheating husband, or does she finally put a definitive end to his cheating? Does she go for the mistress instead, opting to leave the husband alone? We learn early on that she was prone to do “things to the women, surely. But most any townsman would have said that she did them because she liked the novel situation and the queer things she could bring out of it” (246). Is taking an axe to her husband’s mistress merely a novel situation for her?

When I first read the story, all I thought was the simple, “something bad is going to happen,” and did not give it much more consideration than that. However, thinking more about it now, I am starting to reconsider my original notion. Early in the semester, the various pieces of theory warned against humor which involves violence that is too realistic, since when we know someone becomes seriously hurt, much of the comedic effect is lost. Considering how taking an axe to another person is an extremely grizzly form of murder, does the piece lose something if you believe that is how it ends?

The townspeople are what save it for me, because when seeing her pass with the axe, they are set to “giggling and betting” (247). Their flippant attitude of betting on Cal’line’s actions makes me believe what she ultimately does is not too horrible. How can you sit on a porch and place money on whether or not a wife is going to brutally slay her husband and his girlfriend? Being privileged to previous episodes of the Potts’ problems, it is as if they know something the audience cannot possibly consider in their surmising of what happens. Still, this whole incident is presumably the first time Mitchell Potts tried to assert his “manly” authority in the household, so even though the townspeople laugh as if the axe is just another harmless fit of Cal’line’s, they might be wrong. There is a first time for everything, and this might become the first time Mitchell will not be able to cheat again.

Hurston, Zora Neale. “Pants and Cal'line.” Redressing the Balance: American Women's Literary Humor from Colonial Times to the 1980s. Ed. Nancy Walker and Zita Dresner. Jackson: University Press of Mississippi, 1988. 246-247.

---. “Turpentine Love.” Redressing the Balance: American Women's Literary Humor from Colonial Times to the 1980s. Ed. Nancy Walker and Zita Dresner. Jackson: University Press of Mississippi, 1988. 245.

Parker's Poetry

Poetry has always been a challenge for me. The best way I can describe our relationship is that it is one of those “love-hate” dichotomies where I love how short it is, but hate that I do not “get it.” One fact I am willing to concede is that over my high school (and yes, college too) careers, I have been exposed to poetry that I may not have understood at first, but later found such deep, multi-layered messages, that in the end, I cannot do anything but appreciate the beauty in those short lines. Granted, the appreciation did not come entirely from myself, and it was only after someone else held my hand and walked me through it that I started to pick up the underlying (or overarching) themes. Maybe one day I will reach complete poetic autonomy and not need someone to help in my decipherment, but until that day, I am content with acknowledging my simple victory in the fact that I no longer cringe at the mention of having to read it (and on a good day, sometimes even look forward to the challenge).

Where am I going with all this? The poetry following Dorothy Parker’s prose piece was completely unexpected. By far, her poems might be my favorite pieces so far in the course. One strain I particularly enjoy about her pieces is how they play with what an audience expects from a woman author (who usually gets stereotyped as being a hopeless romantic, always rooting for “true love”). “Unusual Coincidence” and “General Review of the Sex Situation,” both humorously point out the faultiness in love, and how it does not always prevail given the realities of life. From here, the conversation can easily diverge into all sorts of avenues, going anywhere from gender expectations of monogamy to what is “true love,” to whether or not relationships really are maintained based on lies. Parker’s poetry is simply brilliant, and wonderfully demonstrates my personal definition of perfect poetry:

1. They are accessible to anyone: I can read it for myself and understand what is happening; I do not need an authority or outside explanation to comprehend what the piece is speaking about or what is happening.

and

2. They are not devoid of a deeper meaning: On top of being straightforward, there are still deeper implications and commentary coming out of what her poems’ state, and as such, prove that a poem does not have to be purposefully obscure if it wants to have a profound message or open up meaningful dialogue.

There are other qualities I look for in poetry (humor being a big “plus” on my list), however, the above are the two main criteria I approach a poem with, and if it can successfully fulfill them, I almost always come out adoring it. Poetry and I have come a long way in our relationship—I no longer irrationally hate everything about it, and it every now and then throws me an enjoyable piece I cannot help but love.

Gossip: Fact of Life or Fiction to Laugh At?

Building off last week’s discussion, Monday’s class looked closer at some of the universal topics of humor, (specifically, gossip). As if there was any doubt in a reader’s mind on the viability of gossip’s universality in humor writing, one need simply consider the publication range of the various readings from the course. First, there is Ben Franklin’s "Silence Dogood Letters" from 1722, then Frances Miriam Berry Whitcher’s short story, “Aunt Maguire Continues Her Account of the Sewing Society,” from The Widow Bedott Papers of 1856, and now, Edith Wharton’s “Xingu” of 1916. Moreover, if one really wants to take it to the extreme, (and as others who are in the same Medieval Lit class would already know), the anonymously authored poem, “A Talk of Ten Wives on Their Husbands’ Wares,” is a rather humorous (though, not intentionally so) gossip piece about gossip that dates all the way back to the mid fifteenth century.

Clearly, the humor of gossip transcends time, but the implication of this I feel creates an unforeseen problem, especially considering that women are usually the ones gossip writings utilize for their delivery. In many ways, it makes women as gossipers more of a fact of life than a fiction to laugh at. For a topic to be universal enough to last throughout the years, that means there must be some constant truth to it that people can identify with. If gossip is one of these universal topics, then what is its truth? Do people still laugh at stories about it because they can identify with the scenario of a group of women who are in a book club only to talk about each other? Do they see the qualities of a gossip story’s hyperbolized characters in women they know? Do mainly women laugh, because they are guilty of some of the same behavior? If all around there are real examples, then how much of a stereotype are these stories playing with?

Along that same strain of though, I guess I also question, if the image of the “gossipy woman” is able to survive this long, how much of it is an erroneous stereotype, and how much of it is an unfortunate truth? I recognize that simply because an image survives in a culture, that does not mean it is always true (just look at society’s treatment of Native Americans), but, if people are still able to laugh at these stories, in them, there must be some genuine observation of the people they mock. To think that in this case, the observation is that women will always have a “cattiness” in their dealings with one another, is disheartening to say the least. Nevertheless, is it possible to argue the opposite? Can anyone assuredly say she never had a moment of less than honest intentions when speaking with another? For now, I resolve my argument with the belief that these stories are not insinuating each and every interaction between women is a disingenuous one. Also, given these stories are mainly by women authors, perhaps the use of women in their work has more to do with the old adage, “write what you know,” rather than some statement about who is more guilty of gossiping behavior. Therefore, as a reader, I need to be able to think for myself beyond what the text may imply, as certainly, women are not the only ones who gossip.

I Like His Sense of Humor

The question Professor McIntire-Strasburg posed to us on Wednesday still circulates in my mind. What can one offer when faced with the general quandary of why male comics are more successful than female ones? The answer is as hard to pin down as a complete definition of comedy. For every supposition, there exists notable counterarguments and exceptions. In class, I proposed that the answer might lie in our upbringing, culture’s constant discouragement of unladylike behavior (often the essence of stand-up) stunting girls’ comedic ability. I could use the rest of this entry to explain reasons behind the theory, or counter objections to it, but really, we have already spent a great deal of class discussion doing that. To avoid redundancy, I scoured the internet for a different take on this sticky question, and the following serves as an interesting reversal of what one would typically think.

In the article, “Why Women Aren’t Funny,” Christopher Hitchens offers an interesting proposition about male supremacy over female comedians. He writes:

Why are men, taken on average and as a whole, funnier than women? Well, for one thing, they had damn well better be. The chief task in life that a man has to perform is that of impressing the opposite sex, and Mother Nature (as we laughingly call her) is not so kind to men. In fact, she equips many fellows with very little armament for the struggle. An average man has just one, outside chance: he had better be able to make the lady laugh….Women have no corresponding need to appeal to men in this way. They already appeal to men, if you catch my drift.

What is novel (and nice) about this theory, is its shift from the negative, “women aren’t funny” to a more positive, “women aren’t funny because they don’t have to be.” In Hitchens thought, men are funny because there genetic survival depends on it, and when one depends on a skill for survival, they tend to develop it much more and far better than someone who does not. In some ways, I agree with Hitchens. In the situation he prefaces his article with, he points out that when asked why they like their significant other, most women claim it is because he has a sense of humor. In my own experience talking with friends and hearing others, what he states rings true: having an ability to make the other laugh tops a woman’s list of desirable qualities, and therefore, it is no wonder men prevail in the humor department.

The only drawback I see in Mr. Hitchen’s argument is that he is operating from a stereotyped view of men. Being a man, he obviously has more authority than I do on the subject, however, his declaration that women “already appeal to men,” is not a solid assumption. His claim supposes men are of only a “one-track” mindset, and have no other criteria in the women they choose. Certainly, a woman completely devoid of a sense of humor is not a pleasant companion, so to say women do not need it is presumptive. Then again, if one believes humor is not so high on the male list of desirable qualities, the argument regains its previous strength, since it claims that is the exact reason women do not need to develop their comedic abilities like men do. Although superficially what Hitchens proposes makes complete sense, in the end, his generalized view of men makes me question how viable his theory is.

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The article (especially for this course) is a worthy read, and very much recommended for anyone who likes to debate the issue of male vs. female comedy. Also, because I have only so much room in a given blog post, I could not go into every detail Hitchens raises in his writing, but he does elaborate further on the above point. What he concludes really made me start thinking about how I see male comedians in comparison to female ones, and though I did not always agree with what he said, I am glad I got to read a different (and male) answer to the question initially asked of the class on Wednesday.

Hitchens, Christopger. "Why Women Aren't Funny." www.vanityfair.com. January 2007. Vanity Fair. 26 March 2009. http://www.vanityfair.com/culture/features/2007/01/hitchens200701?currentPage=1.

Timing is Everything

Reflecting on the stand-up comedians we have watched this past week in class, I wanted to look specifically at questions of timing, and how a comic’s speed makes (or breaks) their act.

Starting with a simple observation, I noticed that those who had a rather slow delivery usually were not as funny. The slowness came from a variety of methods, from simply speaking at a slow pace, to intentional pauses or moments of silence, presumably done to enhance the joke’s effect. In reality, what these devices created was not a heightened humor, but a feeling of hesitation in the performance, making the comedian seem unsure of their direction or the joke itself. The audience, noticing this, no longer blindly perceives humor, but starts questioning what they hear, often becoming critical of the material. It is not a favorable condition for a stand-up act, since its success comes from audience approval—the more laid back or receptive the audience, the more likely success becomes.

What initially led me to the above observation is the contrast between the slow performers and their fast-paced counterparts. Those (like Ellen Cleghorne and Wanda Sykes) moved, both in their pacing between jokes, and in their actions on stage. Also, neither institutes pausing or waits before starting the next joke, and thus, they effectively ride the laughter of the first one, translating it into the probable success of the next. Whereas the others appeared unsure of whether or not the routine would garner laughs, these two always moved ahead, their confidence spreading to the audience. The result is an audience that is a relaxed and receptive group, easily persuaded into laughter. (I could not help but feel that the class, as well as those on the DVD, seemed to have a more positive reaction to these faster comics. Watching the others sometimes dragged, and the humor would often die in the gaps between jokes).

Although faster comedy may be more successful, that does not mean slow delivery is always a stand-up death sentence. Sometimes, a pause can accentuate humor’s effect. For example, what I remember most from Bill Burr’s performance was his carefully timed water bottle pause after delivering a statement about Hitler. The line was completely random, and his refusal to offer a quick explanation emphasized just how out of place it was. In this instance, the timing was what sealed the success of the joke, since it occurred at just the right moment, and was again continued at the perfect time, not left to linger so long that the laughter would die. When considering Burr’s piece in comparison to that of Margaret Cho’s, the success of his timing becomes even more evident. Cho’s posing became a detractor from her humor, either lasting too long or coming at oddly unnecessary moments. In essence, Cho’s timing makes her performance so awkwardly paced, the audience becomes disoriented at the lack of rhythm. Clearly, the old phrase, “timing is everything,” is an adage that strongly applies to the success of stand-up.

Full Monty Commodity

Today, I will return to the question posed in class:

Why is stripping empowering for men (like those in Full Monty), but not so for women?

To derive a basis for comparison, I first want to isolate exactly what are the specific causes and consequences of stripping that lead to empowerment. From here, I will apply my theories to the initial question, expectantly coming to a definitive conclusion for why stripping creates a gender specific power shift:

Concerning causes, choice is the most empowering feature. Those who do the deed, and do so through their sole decision, are essentially in control by having power over the situation. Those who have to do it because of outside pressure or outstanding circumstances lose much of the power that accompanies having a choice. Ultimately, the power of choice is all about control, with having it (or lacking it) becoming the main indication of how much empowerment one gains from a situation.

Now comes the problem with choice. Regardless of free will debates and for the sake of argument here, I proposition that “to strip or not to strip” is always the individual’s choice. In light of that, the dominating factor becomes outside circumstances which often force people into desperate situations. Full Monty perfectly illustrates this point as Gaz and the guys’ unemployment creates the monetary problems which spiral into other pressures that eventually lead them to their stripping solution. Ultimately, if it were not for these extenuating circumstances, they would never even have considered its viability. However, this still leaves a huge problem in answering the initial question. I suspect most (if not nearly all) of the women who strip do so for the same reasons as Gaz, namely, outside pressures they want to alleviate by making the quick money which comes from stripping. Therefore, with the choice issue being identical for both men and women, it leaves me to conclude that empowerment through choice works only for those who strip solely because they want to. As a result, choice clearly is not the mitigating factor of gender specific stripping empowerment, and for an answer to the initial question, I need to look elsewhere.

Turning to a new cause/consequence, money also plays a large part in the stripping scenario. At the general level of commodity analysis, the supply and demand dynamic causes a constant shifting in the power between consumer and producer. Consumer “wants” drive market production, with what they set their desires on becoming the commodity of value. Yet, what happens when those “wants” are not for a material object but an action? Do those who provide the action become the object? Does objectifying people have anything to do with empowerment? Do you really need to ask yourself the answer to the last question?

Obviously, the results complicate exponentially as the human element becomes part of the stripping equation. The difficulty in this analysis is that the commodity has moved out of the realm of material goods, and into a gray area of human action. To understand this better, consider the specific roles in the different stripping scenarios. When women are on stage, men come because that is what they want to see. This scenario places the woman stripper solely in the category of human object whose actions/body are the item(s) for sale. Now, in the reverse situation, a peculiarity arises. Going back to the point Professor McIntire-Strasburg made in class, I would agree that for most women, it is more about being a part of the group then it is about seeing the show. What this does is make the product (men stripping) no longer the sole reason for attendance, considerably diminishing the commodity factor in the male action. In the end, herein lies the answer. A strip performance devoid of objectivity empowers the stripper since they both maintain their personal status as well as reap the benefits (money) of their action. Conversely, a stripper who is only an object of another’s gratification becomes the “means” in the situation, and when people become solely a means to another’s end, they lose the power.

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This post is long enough, but really, I could go on forever about this topic. For an odd reason, the power dynamic that plays in professions society marginalizes always interests me, and I find myself endlessly considering the questions on both sides of the argument. So, do you agree? Is commodity what causes the power shift, or is there something else? Is it fair to claim that men are the only ones who see strippers as objects? What about those women who do not care about the group? Really, anything you have to say about this I would love to hear.

Clever Calendar Girls

In class, we have discussed extensively societal expectations and gender roles. Continuing in that vein, I wanted to look closer at the movie Calendar Girls, and examine not only the conflicts that arise from those expectations, but also, how the movie plays with them.

A major issue of the movie is the fallout from the success of Chris’ project. Her son, obviously not pleased that his mother is the leader and feature in a nude calendar, constantly rebels from the situation. Unlike her son, Chris’ husband accepts it well, telling her how he wanted her to have everything she achieved. The only quips he may have with the whole affair he unwittingly tells a disguised reporter. Even in this moment, everything he says he relates jokingly, or in the air of a conversation solely between two men, not in any way intended for a newspaper story.

What I like about the reaction of the husband is how it plays with audience expectations. So many movies focus on the split they assume will inevitably come when the wife and husband switch implied roles, the woman becoming more successful or profitable than the man. What’s more, the prevailing feeling is that the man must automatically be unhappy because he is no longer in the position of family prestige. In this movie, the husband is not typical, and tells Chris he never wanted anything different then what happened. In reality, the underhanded means of an unscrupulous reporter (arguably reflective of society) is the one ultimately responsible for all the conflict, exaggerating and distorting the husband’s feelings about the role reversal. This is a spin on what one expects, for the husband does not undergo some change of heart or learn to cope with her success, (or even try to fight it), but is actually comfortable with it from the start.

Also, many times, film has the man instigating the conflict, because it again assumes pressure to be the provider will finally cause in him to be the first to unhappily snap at the other. In Calendar Girls, all these assumptions are disregarded, and instead, here is a man who reminds the other man in his life (his son) to be proud of what his mother has accomplished. What is also interesting is how the movie further plays with the expectation, placing Chris as the one responsible for worsening the conflict in her marriage. Her husband’s jokes which end up on the front-page of their newspaper, he was tricked into giving. Upon seeing the story, Chris leaves for Hollywood without even speaking to him (and had she done so, would have easily resolved the entire issue). Society assumes women are communicators who always want to talk about the problem where as men would rather move on or ignore it. In this scene, here is Chris, the woman, being the anti-communicator, leaving the country without a word to her husband. In this way, where her husband before went against societal expectations by being unthreatened by her success, Chris too shuns the norm, not talking or making attempts to communicate what bothers her.

A brief ending comment: Perhaps the thing I like best about all of this societal expectation reversal is the fact that Chris’ husband is a florist (and I believe Annie’s was too). Floral arrangements and flowers are typically a women’s hobby, and I thought it was interesting that the movie made it their husbands’ line of work.

Bergson’s Universal Theory

My midterm paper had me looking closely at Henri Bergson’s definition of comedy and applying it to stand-up, specifically, Eddie Izzard’s Dress to Kill. Now, Izzard provided me with nearly two hours of material, the result being I had ample amounts of examples to fit into Bergson’s theory. Here, I want to continue working with Bergson, but narrow my material to a short, written work (after all, if it is a viable comedic theory, it needs to be able to apply to written as well as performed humor). The following is a look at Ann Stephens’ “Letter 14” (from her story, High Life in New York by Jonathan Slick, Esq.), focusing on how it fits into three specific propositions of Bergson’s comedic definition.

1. Bergson proposes that comedy must be of accidental causes (121). “Letter 14’s” comedy does exactly this, since it arises from a complete misunderstanding. At the climax of the story’s confusion, the shopkeeper exclaims, “Did you [Slick] really take that pair of French corsets for a side-saddle, sir? Oh, dear, I shall die a larfin!” (Stephens 59). And with the shopkeeper, the audience also laughs when Slick finally realizes his accidental error in judgment. What’s more, the joke becomes compounded when Slick says, “I felt dreadfully though, to think that I’d been a talking about a gal’s under-riggin, to as woman so long…” (Stephens 59). Clearly, Slick’s complete naivety about the subject creates the humor, his final realization of the truth coming too late to stop the impending laughs.

2. Bergson also proposes that comedy is of natural causes (122). Considering poor country lad Slick knows less about women’s clothing than saddles, it makes sense he would automatically find a corset to look more like a riding contraption. For him, it is only natural he would ask where the martingale is, describing it as “the straps that come down in front to throw the chest out, and give the neck a harnsome bend…” (Stephens 56). Now the comedy returns to Bergson’s accidental cause, for unbeknownst to Slick, he suggests in seriousness to the shopkeeper that the garment do to a woman what tack does to a horse.

3. The last of Bergson’s propositions which will be looked at here, is that the comedian is unaware of the comedy he creates (123). As the above two examples prove, Slick has no idea he is looking at a corset, thinking it is a saddle instead. The audience knows what Slick is missing, but his not knowing is critical to the piece’s comedic effect. Essentially, Slick’s unawareness is the joke, and as a result, he fits this last posit of Bergson’s perfectly.

After looking at these three prominent parts of Bergson’s theory, one clearly sees that his definition can successfully apply to comedy that is written as well as to that which is performed. Oftentimes, (and especially in literary studies which focuses primarily on textual references), people forget that theories need to have universality, or the ability to span across different media. The fact is, diverse application is an imperative of any theory, because as already stated, if it is to be a viable, it needs to work almost anywhere.

Bergson, Henri. “From Laughter: An Essay on the Meaning of the Comic.” The Philosophy of Laughter and Humor. Ed. John Morreall. Albany: State University of New York Press, 1987. 117-126.

Stephens, Ann. “Letter 14.” Redressing the Balance: American Women's Literary Humor from Colonial Times to the 1980s. Ed. Nancy Walker and Zita Dresner. Jackson: University Press of Mississippi, 1988. 52-61.

Burr vs. Carlin

Wednesday’s viewing of Bill Burr’s performance, Why Do I Do This?, alighted in me some questions of comparison between him and George Carlin. So much of these two’s material centered on the same issues (like consumption, obesity, and consumerism), yet, only one of them did I find funny. It forces me to wonder why was I so affronted by Carlin, but not so by Burr? What was it that made me take Carlin seriously, judging his act to be completely devoid of comedy? How come only Burr’s strikes me as a humorous performance?

To begin answering my questions, it will help to compose a list of differences. First, the delivery of each man is notably different. Whether it be a persona or not, the reality is that there is a decidedly unshakable “grouchy-old-man” impression plaguing Carlin’s material. Instead of working in his favor, this irritability hampers the comedy, the perceived anger and resentment causing what should be comedic to become entirely serious. Burr on the other hand, conveys an opposite feeling in his act. Again, whether the act is a persona or not is immaterial, for only the feeling the audience gets is what matters. Burr’s entire act has an air of good-humor, nothing the man says intending to be considered in seriousness. It helps that Burr will occasionally smile, because little actions like that are what ultimately create the overall effect of lightheartedness, and make an audience more attune to the fact that the performance is meant as comedy. As a result, Burr’s act becomes one that amuses while Carlin’s turns into a time for his rants. Noticing this, the audience becomes more inclined to accept Burr as comedic and Carlin as not.

Another sizeable difference is the two men’s relationship with the audience. Burr has many tactics which all work to build an understanding between him and those who his material’s success inevitably depends. He does this by taking care to mention that although what he thinks may not be normal, they are still thoughts everyone at some time or another has as well. His scenarios revolve around “you where thinking it but would never say it, but now I’m saying it” humor, and thus, establish a direct connection between him and those viewing. Conversely, Carlin fails to take any measures to do what Burr does, forgoing audience rapport in favor of grandstanding. (Exactly how he does this I have written on before, so won’t go further into here). In the end, Burr’s successful audience connection allows his act to be perceivably more humorous than Carlin’s.

Further observations on delivery, or a detailed analysis of each joke could yield more insights on my initial question, however, the result will remain the same, Burr’s act conveying comedy while Carlin’s slips into an unfavorable tirade.

More Than Just Comedy?

Because we end up trying to apply it to almost everything we read or see in class now, I have been thinking more about Paul Grawe’s definition of comedy, and wondering if it really is a definition only of comedy. Most of my problem lies in the fact that the criteria he gives to classify comedy can extend to other types as well. Specifically, I thought of much of the Science Fiction works I have read, and how in each, Grawe’s definition could apply. For example, Cormac McCarthy’s novel, The Road, successfully fulfills the criteria, but as anyone who has read the book knows, it is a story completely devoid of the comedic. Not only does it lack comedy, but also, it is extremely dark in nature, many of the events it describes being horribly disturbing. However, it has what Grawe wants: a faith that despite the apocalyptic setting there will be continuance, hope of humanity’s survival, and repeated symbols and events (patterning). Another great SciFi story, Margaret Atwood’s Oryx and Crake, also has all three of Grawe’s criteria. The list indefinitely continues, as another story, Paul O. Williams’ Ends of the Circle, also meets the requirements. In fact, one could probably go through most (if not all) of the stories arising out of Science Fiction and find the ways in which they fit Grawe’s assertions of comedy. Why the apparent overlap?

Looking at how he begins his definition of comedy provides an answer. Grawe writes, “Comedy's basic message is that the human race will survive, that it is destined to carry on” (17). This belief that comedy’s major distinction is affirming human survival is much too broad to attribute as its basic defining factor. In reality, human survival is a desire that permeates all types of literature, film, and performance (especially, Science Fiction, hence the ability to find Grawe’s criteria in almost every story). Grawe wants to define comedy by a theme which far surpasses its borders, and in this sense, his definition fails.

Another of his suppositions—patterning and how that patterning derives the piece’s meaning—is also something that travels beyond comedy’s margins. On this subject, Grawe makes an interesting statement, obviously recognizing this fact and wanting to elevate his argument above it. He says, “All literature and, I believe, all art has patterning. What makes comedy different from any other genre is the meaning of its pattern. That meaning or assertion is that the human race will make it through, will survive” (29). Well, he comes close to effectively evading my criticism, but the last part of his statement ruins the attempt. In essence, Grawe tries to claim comedy’s patterning differs because the meaning it creates is one of human survival, but this returns the argument to a fact which has already been established as existing in more than just comedy. In the end, all of Grawe’s argument centers on this idea of purporting humanity’s continuance, which is fine except, by claiming it as comedy’s fundamental feature, no longer is comedy separate from almost anything else.

Grawe, Paul H. Comedy in Space, Time, and the Imagination. ?: Burnham Inc., 1983.

The More Things Change...

Returning to some of the points covered in class Wednesday, I wanted to look closer at two of the eerie similarities between society today, and the one of the future as portrayed in Idiocracy.

The first thing we already briefly talked about, but there were some further points of interest I’d like to discuss concerning the dynamics involved in public speaking and crowd response. In the movie, when Joe Bauers finally makes his address to the country as the new president, they cheered excitedly, clapping at his rather optimistic insights and hopeful words. Watching the President make his address to Congress right before the movie immediately drew parallels in my mind. His speech was interrupted by the crowd’s clapping so many times, it became rather frustrating to watch. After awhile, I notice that any statement with a strong inflection behind it became their cue. I wondered, how much of his speech’s success comes from what he says, and how much comes from how he says it? During President Camacho’s speech, substance mattered not, it was all about delivery and how much the audience liked that delivery. I would venture that a speech from a President today would meet a little more scrutiny, but after watching Congress (which really should be one of the most skeptical audiences around) hand out so many standing ovations during the course of one speech, I wonder if they are really listening to what is being said.

The second thing that raises some concerns is the unfortunately similar way Idiocracy looks to one man to fix all of the people’s problems, much like America is doing now. Furthermore, the insanely truncated timeline in which people want the problem resolved is much like today’s insistence on quick fixing and magical cures. By the time humanity is in a predicament like that of Idiocracy, they are too dumb to know how to solve problems or devise realistic time constraints for doing so. Granted, I do not believe that Idiocracy’s scenario is completely true of the country now, but sometimes I get the feeling we are heading in that direction. I have seen so many interviews with economists and politicians who freely admit they do not know how the economy or the housing market can be fixed. Obviously, it is a complicated problem with no simple solution. Now, that the election is over, the country is looking at the man they chose, the President, to find the answer to all these problems. In many ways, it is exactly the same scenario as Idiocracy, because here is a population who cannot solve the problem, looking to one man to do it for them.

◊

As an aside, I do want to acknowledge that not everyone in the country is at this point where they expect one man to fix everything. Many are still realistic enough to know there is no quick resolution and no one person possesses the ability to correct a whole country’s problem. Hopefully, people will retain this ability to think logically, and humanity will never plummet to that unfortunate level of existence pictured in the movie.

One Question + Two Possible Reasons = Three Stooges

When watching the various episodes of The Three Stooges (both for homework and in class), I found that I rarely laughed at any moment, and nothing truly struck me as humorous. Of course, I wondered what the cause of this was. How could I not be laughing at what many consider one of the classic examples of comedy?

First, I thought it was because most of the antics where so repetitious and expected, that it was difficult to find anything novel or surprising. It leads to a predictability which wears on a viewer, causing feelings of boredom and dislike. Still, after ruminating on this thought for some time, I realized there was a glaring problem with my theory. If predictability wears on a viewer, then why do series (whether they are books, television shows, or radio programs) become so popular? (Just think, there are people who literally plan their schedules around a favorite weekly show, or who wait in line at midnight for the release of a book.) These things thrive on predictability, following set formulas and utilizing staple characters. In all reality, their structure is exactly like any Stooges’ episode, but for some peculiar reason, they have a much stronger sway on today’s audience. The only answer I can offer lies in looking at content. Modern productions of comedy are extremely elaborate with subplots, guest stars, multiple conflicts, contemporary issues…, and as a result, they can draw on many sources to invoke humor. Conversely, The Three Stooges is rather simplistic, relying solely on the slapstick of Larry, Curly, and Moe in order to create and maintain the comedic effect. If that type of humor is not funny to the audience, then there is nothing else to turn to. However, I do need to be careful in this assessment, and want to take the time to recognize that slapstick is its own brand of comedy, and trying to compare it to other forms is not entirely fair. The larger point here is that as far as predictability goes, it is not always the reason why something is unsuccessful.

My second round of thoughts turned to the impractical violence which permeates every Stooge piece. I say impractical, because out of the necessity of maintaining the humor, no one must be seriously hurt, but, there comes a point when the obvious lack of pain causes the whole piece to creep into the realm of the unrealistic, and likewise, unbelievable. Consider for example, the many times the three strike each other, often going as far as using something as dangerous as a hatchet to hit with. Never is one of them critically wounded (because, undoubtedly, that would not be humorous). However, everyone knows that hitting someone with a hatchet will obviously cause a great deal of bodily harm. For that reason, when watching the antics on the screen, there is a problematic disconnect in the mind of the audience. Of course, this statement opens the door on a whole set of problems, raising questions about a gratuitous society too desensitized to appreciate anything less than in-your-face gore. Maybe, because I am so attuned to this century’s emphasis on realistic violence, I am unable to appreciate the humor of lighthearted slapstick, and therein lies the cause of my non-laughter (and in a rather round-a-bout way, I have finally come to answer my own question).

My 2 Cents (But I Doubt Mr. Carlin Would Care)

On Monday, the class was “privileged” to an obviously older (though, not sure if he be wiser) George Carlin. Having only scanned some of this week’s various posts, there seems to be a consensus that most were not all too impressed with his routine from Life is Worth Losing. Although, at present, this is as far as my observation can go. (Because I wanted to come to my own conclusions before looking at those of others, I refrained from reading further into any of the specific reasons behind the general unpopularity.) Still, this does not prevent me from venturing to surmise that despite what can be said of the piece’s later material, the opening was rather well liked (and even if one did not like it, they certainly have to respect the astuteness and wit which went into composing, memorizing, and delivering such an amusingly rhythmic word-game). All this leads to the inevitable question I intend to explore in the following passages, namely, why was Carlin’s later critique of American culture (and the consumerism of it in particular) not as well received as his opening?

The main reason why people were not dying from laughter at Carlin’s later material was that it was not delivered in a comedic manner. Somewhere between the opening and the actual piece, the usual disconnect which exists between the comedian, the material, and his persona, disappears, leaving the audience with only an old, bitter man standing in front of his gravestone, ranting about everything he finds contemptible. Moreover, the biting sarcasm with which he harps on malls, pointless purchasing, and the excessive size of products, he says earnestly, causing everything to become very real in the person of George Carlin, an air of seriousness replacing what should have been one of humor. This directly contrasts his opening remarks which consist entirely of ridiculous buzzwords strung together into coherent, but not congruous, statements. Like the later piece, the message of this one was also about some of the less warranted aspects of consumerism, yet the atmosphere was unmistakably different (and definitely not threatening). Though both convey in many ways the same message, the tone makes clear why an audience may be more receptive to one and not the other.

Also hurting his cause was Carlin’s deliberate separation of himself from the audience (and thus, those he is ridiculing). Granted, he prefaces his rant with the assertion that he loves America, but the sarcasm of the next statement cancels out any chance of building some audience rapport. From here, he moves into nothing but plain attacks on American culture. I say attacks, because he makes no effort to mention any of his own faults, or include himself in the group he criticizes. By not doing this, he becomes the elevated outsider, looking down on the rest, mocking what he sees to be their faults, not his. His stage turns into a soapbox, and he becomes the self-decided, better person preaching to the wretched masses. Of course, this is a poor relationship to have with those who ultimately determine the success of your material.

So far in the course, this work of Carlin’s is the first time I can think of where the comedian has not in some way tried to establish a connection between himself and his audience (whether it be recognition of his faults/shared humanity, claiming membership to the group being mocked, or even acknowledging that he is an outsider of that group/other groups). Obviously, failure to do this results in a rather unfavorable reaction from the viewership, leaving people “rubbed the wrong way,” because they feel they are not witnessing comedy, but instead, are victims of a cruel joke.

Carlin, George. “Life is Worth Losing.” http://video.google.com. 27 August 2006. Google Video. 18 February 2009. http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=-706867....

Modern Theory and Ole Time Lizards

In the chapters on comedic theory, Paul Grawe proposes a new definition of comedy. He asserts the basic message of comedy is “that the human race will survive, that it is destined to carry on” (17). This outlook makes comedy an affirmation of the human spirit, concerned with showing the ability of humanity to persevere, even in the face of adversity. From this single message, Grawes expands into three fundamental principles. The first is that “comedy is a representation of life, not the representation of an action….It is a regular feature of comedy that we have a shrewd estimate of a future beyond the final curtain…” (17-18). Here, comedy need only be a depiction of living, with no need for a completed end (hence, it allows for a belief in something more happening even after the action stops). Next, is the idea that “comedy's assertion is a faith, not a fact” (18). This means it has the capability to look at an impending doom, and still “maintain in faith that the human race has not come to an end yet, that there are still chapters and chapters to write” (18). Again, here is another statement of comedy’s desire to show life continuing. Finally, is the idea of patterning, and that comedy attains meaning by it, since “patterning forces us to recognize the assertion” (18). To put it another way, by repeatedly stating the joke, the comedian makes the audience take in his point.

Why the summary? By sifting through Grawe’s examples, and stripping his definition down to its crux, I hoped to outline a straightforward set of criteria by which to judge the comedic merits of George Washington Harris’ short story, “Parson John Bullen’s Lizards.” Why this story? So far, this is my favorite piece, and after reading these chapters on a relatively recent theory of comedy, I thought it would be interesting to see if my old, beloved story can hold up against some modern scrutiny.

PRINCIPLE 1: Comedy as a representation of life…
Pertaining specifically to the idea that comedy creates a belief in a future, or that life goes on after the action has long since stopped, one simple moment in Harris’ story demonstrates exactly that. After the entire narration, there are those few, splendid words, “Let’s go take a drink” (241). It is not hard at all to assume that this story’s characters will now go to the bar (and maybe even relate more tales like this one). Just because this story ended, that does not mean Sut Lovingood stopped, and with those simple words, Harris ingeniously proposes to his audiences that there is a future beyond his story’s close.

PRINCIPLE 2: Comedy’s assertion is a faith, not a fact...
What impending doom threatens Sut and his fellow townspeople? According to Parson Bullen, it’s “the ole Hell-sarpents” that “would sarve em if they didn’t repent” (238). Of course, through Sut’s prank on the Parson, Harris’ story maintains that the “Hell-sarpents” have not yet brought about humanity’s end, and in fact, they are a foolish threat to existence. Also, Sut’s prank exposes the ridiculousness in some of the catastrophes people predict, further serving as a reminder that despite it all, the human race continues.

PRINCIPLE 3: The presence of patterning…
Honestly, this part is not outright obvious, but it is still there. In the opening moments of the story, the reader does not begin the narrative, but rather, is looking over a wanted poster describing exactly what Sut did to Parson Bullen (although, no mention of the lizards yet). The poster is the first in the sequence, with the actual camp-meeting where Sut committed the offense, following shortly thereafter. At the sermon, the joke starts again from the beginning, but essentially, it is still a repeat, given the audience has already read about the outcome of Sut’s little prank.

So, the above shows Harris’ story has all three principles, but what about comedy’s basic message of human survival? The fact that lowly Sut outsmarted the supposedly better Bullen, escaped an angry mob, has yet to be caught, and still is able to relate the entire event to a friend (and us), certainly seems to be Harris’ way of saying there are many more chapters left in the story of humanity, “Hell-sarpents” notwithstanding.

Grawe, Paul H. Comedy in Space, Time, and the Imagination. ?: Burnham Inc., 1983.

Harris, George Washington. “Parson John Bullen’s Lizards.” Roy Blount’s Book of Southern Humor. Ed. Roy Blount, Jr. New York: W. W. Norton & Company, Inc., 1994. 235-241.

So Which Is He?

Digressing for a moment to the first theory readings of this semester, there is Aristotle and his book, Nicomachean Ethics. In chapter eight of it, he offers, “People who carry humor to excess are considered vulgar buffoons. They try to be funny at all costs, and their aim is more to raise a laugh than to speak with propriety and to avoid giving pain to the butt of their jokes” (15). This is a fair observation, given the fact that anyone who tries to make others laugh regardless of the expense would most rightly be called a buffoon. Additionally, it is true that they are the one who will make a joke regardless of whom it hurts, or the damage it causes. In the end, that brand of humor is not funny, for it only attacks the subject, and when the audience realizes this, the shame of it all far outweighs the comedic effect.

Returning to the present, the question arises: What does the above piece of Aristotle’s wisdom say about the stand-up of Ralphie May? First reactions would want to categorize May as the buffoon, for he is a white man spouting equivocally racist criticism of African American culture. His mocking seems like nothing more than a comedian seeking cheap laughs. However, a second (more thought-out) reaction would see that May is not the Aristotelian buffoon many would presuppose.

The last part of Aristotle’s definition makes clear that the buffoon fails to “avoid giving pain to the butt of their jokes” (15). May obviously is cognizant of his joke’s aim, and he shows this is an interesting way. Before setting into the meat of his material, he makes a purposeful jab at himself, commenting on his failure to pass up free candy. This quick joke about his weight shows May’s recognition that everyone, not just those he is about to make fun of, have faults. To make fun of himself before making fun of another demonstrates his desire to avoid inflicting real damage on the butt of the joke. It is a deliberate move which works to lessen the potential hostile impact the rest of the piece’s focus may have.

Still, it is important to keep in mind that though May’s joke about his own shortcomings suggest his following words are not meant as serious racism, that does not mean everyone sees them that way. Certainly, the stereotypes he presents, and the behavior he mocks, can be a real part of someone, and they may not appreciate his less-than-flattering portrayal. The only remedy I can think of for a situation like this is to recognize that people oftentimes take themselves too seriously. That is why when comics like May come along, we need to remember that they are challenging us to see our own ridiculousness. Perhaps then, it is best to follow his example, and utilize that golden ability to laugh at yourself.

Morreall, John. The Philosophy of Laughter and Humor. Albany: State University of New York Press, 1987.

Expanding the Circle

Looking at the title of Frances Miriam Berry Whitcher’s short story pretty much says it all: “Aunt Maguire Continues Her Account of the Sewing Society,” is exactly what it says—a narrative from Aunt Maguire about the workings of the town sewing society. What isn’t in the title is the part about how this group of women cannot come to a consensus on anything, and how what they say and do runs completely contradictory to reality. Certainly, the humor of her piece speaks much about the way women (especially in groups) operate. What made it even more comedic is the hard truth behind her scenario. Much humor is based on outlandish exaggerations which are so far removed from the original object of interest, that there is almost like this “safety space,” or distance which helps to lessen the possible offensiveness the joke could have on the target. But, what can one do in the face of Whitcher’s story, a story in which the humor is practically the same as the truth?

The fact is, that as loathed as some are to admit it, Whitcher’s portrayal of the sewing society is honest, and not much can change that. There are so many possible examples of women I know (including myself) carrying on much in the same way Whitcher’s group does. So many times when after a full day of cleaning, hours cooking, and weeks of planning, there are the customary, “Oh, this is nothing,” and, “Everything is a mess!” Few times (if almost not at all) can I think of a man pulling the same behavior. If he takes the time to do something, and if it is done well, he will let everyone know. Of course, what all this says about men and women could take up volumes in a Sociology book. However, for here, best to go with a simpler explanation, acknowledging that it is just another one of those differences between the sexes humor always seems to notice, and utilize to the fullest.

Still, one aspect of Whitcher’s story that should not be attributed exclusively to women, is a group’s failure to agree. Group discord can be found everywhere, and to think only women cannot agree is completely foolish. Just look at government (a largely male-dominated group of people). Try running anything through the House or Senate, and good luck! It is a place where they vote to take a vote, and no matter if they all agree, everyone still wants to speak their piece. What’s more, even if it is a good bill, there will always be someone ready to stymie the process for whatever reason. Maybe they should all follow Miss Birsley’s wise words and realize, “Then why don’t you agree with us?...that’s the way to be unanimous” (75). Yes, the humor of gossip and sewing circles may be more gender exclusive, but arguing and disagreeing is an inherent part of group dynamics, no matter who is involved.

Whitcher, Frances Miriam Berry. “Aunt Maguire Continues Her Account of the Sewing Society.” Redressing the Balance: American Women's Literary Humor from Colonial Times to the 1980s. Ed. Nancy Walker and Zita Dresner. Jackson: University Press of Mississippi, 1988. 71-81.

British Invasion

The idea of an “action transvestite” is not like anything I have ever heard before. What it means, I have not the slightest idea. As far as explaining it to someone else, I would not know where to begin. Still, regardless of actually knowing what it means, these two concepts together seem to be enough to cause laughter. Why is this? Looking to one of humor theorist Murray Davis’s less wordy concepts will undoubtedly help shed some light on exactly why Izzard’s alter-ego invokes such a positive audience response. Davis states, “The humorizer may produce humor by continually juxtaposing phenomena until a pair appears whose attributes are incongruous” (29). Now it becomes clear. Izzard’s classification is funny because in it there are two phenomena whose attributes are not compatible. On the one hand, there is the “action” part which conjures up images of manly superheroes who are the assumed role models of all young boys. On the other, there is the “transvestite,” a man who no longer looks like a man given his choice of female attire. Of course, who cannot help but laugh at the use of these total opposites to classify the same character?

*****

Another peculiarity of Eddie Izzard’s stand up is the exclusive comedy found in his critique of American movies (with exclusive meaning one must be British or American in order to find humorous what he proposes). Being American, I take for granted the odd relationship which exists between the United States and the United Kingdom. No matter what European, Asian, African, or other country one’s ancestors are actually from, the pilgrims, colonies, and Revolutionary War are such a strongly ingrained and repeated part of American education, that those who grow up here, cannot help but feel some intimate connection with Britain. For that reason, even though these are two entirely different cultures, the people of them seem to come out belonging to the same group of understanding. It is an understanding which is vital to Izzard’s comedy. Well, how so?

Having enjoyed Izzard’s performance so much, I wanted to share the laughter with a friend of mine. I thought it was so funny, that I had no doubt he would feel the same. What I failed to take into consideration was that my friend is not American, but Eastern European. He watched it, smiled a bit, but by the end, only offered, “It’s alright.” At first, I could not think of a reason for his reserved reaction. Certainly, he understood everything, but why didn’t he find it as funny as I (and many in the class) did? To come to an answer, I started with the piece’s actual comedy. Clearly, as much as Izzard is provoking the British to laugh at the over-the-top violence and grandiose attitudes of American film, he is likewise providing cause for laughing at the understated pretentiousness prevalent in British cinema. From here, one can see why an Eastern European probably would not laugh. In order to find it funny, one needs to belong to one of these two groups, thereby having an understanding that such opposites in movie taste are funny because they are actually pointing out prevailing differences which have colored the interactions of these two countries since the beginning.

Surely, the above is a concept which can extend to other sets of countries who have had mutual, yet sometimes turbulent, relations. However, as for the exact theories covered in class, I do not know if my supposition fits neatly into any of them. There is the “us vs. them” quality, but I do not think that description is completely accurate, given it is more about finding humor in a shared history rather than trying to ridicule countries (or others) outside the two involved. Any thoughts?

Davis, Murray. “Wit’s Weapons: Incongruity and Ambiguity.” Laughing Matters. Ed. Marvin Diogenes. New York: Pearson Education, Inc., 2009. 13-36.

Izzard, Eddie. “Dress to Kill: British vs. American Movies” www.youtube.com. 2 June 2006. YouTube - Broadcast Yourself. 5 February 2009. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TjC3R6jOtUo.

Twain vs. Whitcher

When two authors set out to do the same thing, it is only natural to want to compare them. This is especially true when two very different authors are involved. On one side, there is Mark Twain, a man who is so well known, that he is an icon of American Literature. On the other, there is Frances Miriam Berry Whitcher, a woman who is a relative stranger to most readers (I had never even heard of her until this course). What is it that these two very different people did in common? Well, regardless of their notoriety, both created humorous narratives which belong to the same type of category—the “shaggy-dog” story. Still, the style and length of each is far different from the other, and thus leads to the ultimate in opinionated questions: Which makes for a better use of humor?

First up is Twain’s, “Jim Smiley and His Jumping Frog,” a tale where in a little over six pages, he tells of his quest to find out about one Mr. Leonidas W. Smiley. Of course, he never discovers anything about the man, instead receiving much pointless information about a Mr. Jim Smiley. With him, the reader learns of all of Mr. Smiley’s failed exploits in the world of gambling, many of which are nothing more than unfortunate luck (like his poor pup who encountered a dog with no hind legs). The stories final words are merely Twain’s muttering of a curse upon the head of this already cursed Mr. Smiley. This slight pun at the end is really the only outright humor, the rest depends entirely on the story’s merits as a lengthy, “shaggy-dog” tale.

Now there is Whitcher’s, “Hezekiah Bedott,” a story where a widow spends about two pages recounting (in an awful round-a-bout way) an observation her late husband wanted to share with her. Still, what is interesting about this piece is not the man’s final words, but rather, that in this mire of pointless details, Widow Bedott says some mightily ironic words of her own, stating:

I most forgot, I was gwine to tell you what he said to me that evenin’, and when a body begins to tell a thing I believe in finishin’ on’t some time or other. Some folks have a way of talkin’ round and round and round for evermore, and never comin’ to the pint. Now, there’s Miss Jinkins… (70)

Obviously, the Widow recognizes how frustrating “talkin’ round and round” can be, yet she blazes ahead failing to head her own advice. Her irony in this “shaggy-dog” story is like the joke within a joke, and though the story may be pointless, at least there are these brief moments of easy comedy.

Furthermore, by implementing the widow persona, Whitcher is able to jump right into her narration with no preamble or introduction. The audience willing accepts what follows to be just the ramblings of some dear old lady, and there needn’t be further explanation. It is the reason why Whitcher can create and complete her “shaggy-dog” story in such a truncated space, for a “shaggy-dog” is exactly what the listener expects from someone like Widow Bedott. Although she may not be as renowned as Twain, Whitcher’s style and story with its bits of injected ironic humor and widow persona far out-do the icon’s, leaving me feeling oddly satisfied by what should be a pointless yarn.

Whitcher, Frances Miriam Berry. “Hezekiah Bedott.” Redressing the Balance: American Women's Literary Humor from Colonial Times to the 1980s. Ed. Nancy Walker and Zita Dresner. Jackson: University Press of Mississippi, 1988. 69-71.

At Least Somebody Gets It

Foremost, I must give credit to the excerpt from Murray Davis’s What’s So Funny, for it is a complicated, yet insightful breakdown of how incongruity and ambiguity work in humor. The explanations it puts forth are certainly well researched and proposed. Now, with that matter settled, the next is less pleasant. As well done as it is, I still find some of the concepts impossible to follow, and as a result, extremely difficult to grasp. Often, it is the summations made entirely in generalities, which are responsible for my frustrated condition. Consider the following:

Since every congruous element can be incongruous somewhere else, humorists also ply their trade by interpolating an element congruous with the other elements of one system into another system where it is less congruous or even incongruous. (18)

What does all that even mean?! With all the “congruities” and “incongruities” packed in that single statement, how can one begin to decode it? Only after the tenth reading of this single sentence, can I offer a simpler version, guessing he means to say humorists create humor by transferring something which is appropriate in one system to another where it will undoubtedly be contrary to that particular system’s guidelines. Still, that is strictly my interpretation, and so, it may not be exactly what he suggesting. The phrasing is just so general, and filled with so much repeated terminology, that I fear I lose the meaning in the abundance of words. That is why what follows is simply my best attempt to make sense of Davis’s ideas, and hopefully with some success, connect his theories of incongruity back to “The Seven Words” of George Carlin.

Those forbidden seven words, never to be spoken on television, George Carlin rambles off with ease, saying them all at once, and quite quickly. He even goes so far as to point out the nice rhythmic quality his list has. The whole act sends his audience into hysterical laughter. It seems Mr. Carlin has just proved that, “A real incongruity that deviates from prediction will collapse an orderly expectation system, causing those who had viewed the objective world through this particular subjective frame to laugh” (Davis 16). In other words, the audience still viewing the world through the set scheme of “those words” not being permissible speech, is amused by Carlin’s deviation from that prediction.

Building on this is one of Davis’s shorter revelations, the premise that, “The more incongruities that explode a given expectation system, the funnier” (16). Carlin proves the truth of this statement as well. He points out the glaring irregularity that these supposedly horribly foul words are also sometimes acceptable in everyday conversation. He calls them “my part time filth. They’re only fifty percent dirty” (Carlin). To think the same word is both acceptable and unacceptable is another incongruity Carlin piles onto the system of propriety, and when the audience realizes this, they laugh all the harder for it. I may not always understand what Davis is talking about, but undoubtedly, Carlin does, and that is good enough for me.

Carlin, George. “The Seven Words You Can Never Say on T.V.” www.youtube.com. 28 June 2008. YouTube - Broadcast Yourself. 30 January 2009. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mmZfYyctiuo.

Davis, Murray. “Wit’s Weapons: Incongruity and Ambiguity.” Laughing Matters. Ed. Marvin Diogenes. New York: Pearson Education, Inc., 2009. 13-36.

Careful What You Preach

There are many things people in this world fear. Nearly everyone has heard of the major ones—Acrophobia (heights), Claustrophobia (confined spaces), Arachnophobia (spiders)—but along with those are ones no one would suspect—Consecotaleophobia (chopsticks), Cyanophobia (the color blue), Phobophobia (phobias)—and the list goes on, with each seeming more irrational than the one before. However, when it finally comes to Homilophobia, or the fear of sermons, one has to stop and wonder, “Why would anyone be afraid of a sermon?” Without an answer of my own, looking to George Washington Harris’ “Parson John Bullen’s Lizards,” may lend reason to this seemingly ridiculous fear.

Right at the beginning of Bullen’s sermon, the reader begins to see why one would experience some Homilophobia. According to Sut, “He [Bullen] tole ’em [the sinners] how the ole Hell-sarpents would sarve em if they didn’t repent; how cold they’d crawl over their naked bodies, and how like onto pitch they’d stick to ’em as they crawled…” (237-238). Certainly, what the preacher paints is an unpleasant picture, and gives anyone reason to fear him, his sermon, and wait awaits them. But then again, if one considers the actuality of his threat, it is simply ridiculous. To literally be attacked by lizards because of one’s sin does not seem the most logical, or likely, mode of punishment. Sut apparently agreed, for he released his “Hell-sarpents” upon the nasty Bullen, causing him to exclaim, “Brethren, brethren, take care of yourselves, the Hell-sarpents has got me!” (239). This is the defining moment, proving just how foolish preaching of fire and damnation is, since when the “Hell-sarpents” really do appear, the reader must laugh at the absurdity of the whole situation.

The irony in the story is simply wonderful. In its earliest moments, Bullen’s righteousness is enough to make one want to gag, with his “a preachin’ to me [Sut] so you coulda hearn him a mile, about startin sins gen’rally and my wickedness pussonly; and mentionin’ the name of my frien loud enough to be hearn to the meetin’-house” (236). That is why it is an especially satisfying moment when Bullen in earnest yells out, “They’ve got me!” obviously believing his time of judgment has come. Not until later does he realize it was not God, but Sut who sent the Hell-sarpents. Fortunately, now it is too late, and everyone knows what happened. Not only did the lowly Sut make a fool of the presumably better Parson Bullen, but he also proved how full of folly those who preach damnation are. For all their words against sinners, most of the time, they are nothing but sinners themselves.

The humor of this story comes from many things: the dialect, the slapstick, the not-quite-cussing-curses (like calling Bullen a “pot-bellied, scaley-hided, whisky-wastin, stinkin ole groun-hog”), but for me, the best part is the aforementioned irony of a presumably “orful sinner” like Sut getting the better of a righteous preacher like Bullen (237). Sometimes there is nothing more enjoyable then seeing lizards come crawling out the clothing of someone spitting and hollering about Hell-sarpents sticking to a sinner’s skin.

Culberston, Fredd. The Phobia List. 17 July 1995. Fredd’s Web Whereabouts. 23 January 2009. http://phobialist.com.

Harris, George Washington. “Parson John Bullen’s Lizards.” Roy Blount’s Book of Southern Humor. Ed. Roy Blount, Jr. New York: W. W. Norton & Company, Inc., 1994. 235-241.

It Can't Be All Bad, Can It?

Like art, humor is one of those elusive concepts—impossible to define, but easy to recognize. The same person who laughs at a line in Shakespeare, may find an episode of Friends just as funny. Obviously, what people find humorous is too broad and too varied for a single, neat definition. However, this does not mean a person must simply accept a vague statement like “humor is that which makes one laugh,” and be done with it. Though no one explanation may account for every aspect, there are still some theories which are excellent starting points for anyone wishing to better understand the mechanisms of humor.

First on the list of critical thinkers is Aristotle and his definition of comedy as “an imitation of people who are worse than the average.” (14). His brand of humor is what the text describes as “derisive,” because it is amusement at the inferiority of others (14). Moving to another, Thomas Hobbes’ states, “…the passion of laughter is nothing else but sudden glory arising from some sudden conception of some eminency in ourselves” (20). Though it is a bit different, it still drives at the same idea Aristotle presented: something is funny because it mocks the inferior, an action which accordingly means those who are laughing are presuming themselves superior. Different from the previous two, the last one to look at is Decartes who surmises that “there is always some little element of hatred, or at least of wonder” accompanying laughter (23). In this interpretation, laughter is never the product of pure delight, but rather is always the fusion of joy with surprise (wonder), or some type of mild hatred.

Undeniably, the plausibility of all these hypothesis have truth to them, successfully providing workable theories of humor. As Aristotle stated, much of what people find funny is behavior which comes from moments of low intelligence. It’s why a whole cartoon is dedicated to a coyote’s many ill-conceived plots at capturing a roadrunner. Also, Hobbes’ theory shows why people still laugh at “dumb blonde” jokes, evidently feeling themselves superior. Consequently, those jokes (as well racial or religious ones) also show Descartes to be true, proving there must be some level of hatred (said to be usually mild), for people to mock these things. Nevertheless, even though all three of these particular assumptions are well enough, there is still a glaring problem.

The inferiority of others, our own superiority, hatred—negativity permeates all three, coloring humor in a rather unpleasant light. That is why despite all their truth, for me, these theories (or at least two out of three) still fail. I can recognize and accept the reality that much of what is funny comes at a cost to others, but such is not always the case. The typical “knock knock” joke does not concern itself with issues of the superior and inferior or their hatred. Here is where Descartes’ component of wonder becomes important. If forced to choose, his theory would be the best, because one can argue that humor is just as much a product of the unexpected, and laughter comes when people are not ready for the answer they receive. Indeed, to examine wonder in its relation to humor is a more positive approach, and provides some peace for me who rather believe the fun of humor is not entirely based in spiteful reasons.

Morreall, John. The Philosophy of Laughter and Humor. Albany: State University of New York Press, 1987.