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.
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