Reflections

    

For my last blog post, I’d like to address what I’ve taken away from a class about laughter; a topic which is most certainly not funny. I think the biggest thing I’ve taken away is just that fact, though. I registered for this class expecting to have a fun time giggling my way through a semester while picking up interesting tidbits along the way, but what I found instead was that the world of laughter theory and analysis was a very serious one, with many great thinkers and scientists involved. This discovery has lent my ideal future profession some degree of legitimacy in my mind. If this many people have thought about laughter, and written about it, then it must be a topic of a somewhat high level of importance. Therefore a comedian must also serve a relatively important role in our society.

Beyond my own self affirmation, however, I have seen a need throughout the semester. This desperate desire to understand why we laugh reflects some level of human discomfort with laughter as a practice. It seems to me that the only explanation for such extensive effort put into the definition and reasoning behind laughter is that man has some fear of frivolity. I myself have written multiple essays this semester addressing this issue of frivolity. I think that the most important thing I could say I have learned this semester is that frivolity is nothing to be feared. Rather, it is something to be embraced, because the world is serious enough. So to whoever happens to stumble upon this blog I say this: go do something silly and meaningless. You’ll be glad you did.

Teller v. Listener

            Mel Brooks once said “Tragedy is when I cut my finger. Comedy is when you walk into an open sewer and die.” The quote brings up two important things for any aspiring comedian to be aware of. First, that comedy and tragedy are far more closely linked than one would think (in Shakespeare, for example, the matter can be entirely decided by whether the characters die or get married in the last act), and second that people, as a whole, are far less likely to laugh at themselves than they are to laugh at others. Once you think about this, it seems to be true, but in that truth there is something unsettling.

            If people are unable to laugh at themselves, then there is no hope for comedy to be anything more than an aggravated attack on another person. The very idea that comedy can go both ways in the joke teller-listener relationship often cushions the blow and makes the listener feel better about being kidded. This need to reassure the listener must be filled, so even if we are unwilling to laugh at ourselves, we must at least try to. A comedian getting roasted on Comedy Central may not actually enjoy the roasting process, but as long as he or she pretends to, then we can maintain the teller-listener balance. In a world where people are professionally biting, the common person needs a way to fight back and feel safe. This is because comedy, for all its apparent light-heartedness, is a harsh game, and sometimes the players need help off the bench.