What Is The Funny?

Here I am on another Saturday night, staring at a screen and wondering what to do with myself. I spent most of the day at a book sale for a community organization and have just finished two separate earlier reads that I had put aside for far too long. I have also willfully sacrificed some other books for Montreal’s Livre-Service book boxes (a perfect way to contribute to public reading and a method of discovering what else is out there to cudgel the brains). As I cleaned up, I discovered some writings I had left on a shelf and wondered about for quite some time: S.J. Perlman’s New Yorker writings were there, a torn back cover and an intact front cover with the title The Rising Gorge. I had only read two or three pieces in it before abandoning it as a well-intentioned work of comedy that did not make me laugh. And now, as I attempted to read something light – Angela Carter and Mohsin Hamid were the writers I had imbibed earlier – I found the same difficulties facing me. I simply did not find it funny.

Not to worry… There were other things out there that could make me giggle. From the public library, I discovered some classic comedy albums from Lord Buckley and The Goons. In fact, The Best of the Goons is now playing on the radio in the kitchen as I write this. Peter Sellers, Spike Milligan and Harry Seacombe are performing for a live audience and they are responding well to it. And I am asking myself, once more, why this is not funny to me. No matter what I do, I cannot make myself falling into the peals of laughter that the audiences shares as I tap away here. And I like British and Jewish comedy, before anyone suspects my interests and prejudices. They simply have not aged well and mean very little to me.

Age… We often hear that it is one of the great motivators of one generation’s contempt for the ones that came before and the ones soon to come. There are things that my mother and father enjoyed that I could never appreciate – most Hollywood westerns and musicals pre-1970 – and I also encountered what made them laugh. Here, there was some common ground. My dad loved Dave Allen at Large (I still remember watching certain episodes with him as a child and embracing this interesting Irish talent). He also owned one comedy record that changed my life: The Best of Bill Cosby (and yes, I thought of him when the scandal broke, as I did of the teacher who would use whole routines by Bill in his lessons). My mother, being a mom, did not mind the comedy I liked, as long as the language was not too dirty (Monty Python films got me into a lot of trouble several times). So, everything l liked started there, or through my own discoveries. This included SCTV, The Kids in the Hall, Saturday Night Live, A&E’s An Evening at the Improv, various sitcoms and the other comedy routines I heard on radios and in clandestine record collections in homes and, once again, from the library (the first Richard Pryor album I ever heard - Richard Pryor's Greatest Hits - came from the library). What I learned from these influences was that comedy should offend; it should show us the world in ways that we may not want to accept, yet know to be true. It should be judged on the truths and laughter, not on the comedians themselves.

So, where do I stand now, after such an interesting childhood of exposure to the best of comedy? I like Dave Chappelle, Jim Gaffigan, Anthony Jeselnik, Tig Notaro, and…yeah, why not…Louis C.K. It is always unfair to have to cherry pick your comics. Louis did something disgusting and was publicly shamed for it. But was he Bill-Cosby bad? Was he someone that we should shun and deny the chance to come back to the mic? I do not really know. As I said, I have been borrowing a lot of albums from the library that have not made me laugh. One in particular, however, is a standout: Woody Allen: the Stand-Up Years (1964 – 1968). Now, the great Woody has been allowed to continue with his film career as a director and writer, even occasionally guiding actors to Academy Award winning performances (always with the women, you may have noticed). And yet, he is a pariah for many comedy fans. The man turned his adopted daughter into his wife. He has even been accused of improper behaviour with another of his children. And yet…I listened to that earlier recording of his work with less shame than I would have if I saw a Cosby album on the racks (not really sure if they have been pulled). Should I feel ashamed to say that the routines still work? Should I admit that he was way ahead of the curve for his time (the liner notes state that Allen and Cosby would go for walks between shows to discuss their work; this might get me into trouble as well).

And well, I have changed the record, meaning that I just listened to Canada’s own Nikki Payne discussing her problems with her home and repairs to it. Ms. Payne is in a class of her own and deserves much more fame and attention than she receives. But what if, one fateful day, it is discovered that she is keeping stray dogs in her basement for organized kennel fights with her neighbours’ schnauzers? In the world we live in, anything is possible…

So, I will continue to laugh and to learn. I will also be a very harsh judge on what tickles my funny bone, whether it is fair or unfair.

Now, you must excuse me. I have a copy of The Best of Lord Buckley on the counter and I am about to give it a listen.

Laugh or cry?

Thank you for reading!

If you liked this, you can add your Insights, Comment, leave a Heart, Tip, Pledge, or Subscribe. I will appreciate any support you have shown for my work.

You can find more poems, stories, and articles by Kendall Defoe on my Vocal profile. I complain, argue, provoke and create...just like everybody else.

Give it a look...