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.