On Napoleon Dynamite

            When I was in the 7^th grade my parents rented the film Napoleon Dynamite on a Friday night. That next Saturday morning, my mother told me to bring my bowl of Frosted Flakes into the living room so that I could watch the movie. 82 minutes later I had laughed harder than I could ever remember, and by the time I went back to school on Monday I had watched the movie two more times. My family had immediately fallen in love with the film and was so obsessed that I could already quote a good deal of it from memory. Over the next few weeks the movie really caught on. There was scarcely a conversation in the halls of Grayslake Middle School that was not punctuated with soon to be worn out quotes like “Your mom goes to college” and “Tina, you fat lard.” Indeed, Napoleon Dynamite swept across the entire country. A very short time after the film’s release, you could buy a “Vote for Pedro” shirt at Target.

            Everyone I knew was laughing at the adventures of Napoleon, Pedro, and Deb, but, strangely enough, no one could seem to point out why we were laughing. Napoleon Dynamite was not like anything I had ever experienced before. The film was certainly treated as a comedy, and my peers and I had responded to it as such, but I could not put my finger on any distinguishable jokes. What I eventually had to accept was that there weren’t any. Napoleon never delivered a punch line, but still managed to be one of the funniest characters of the last decade. The sheer absurdity of his actions –trying to feed a Llama ham, doing elaborate hand dances, asking a girl to a dance by giving her a grotesque portrait- were the basis of our laughter. The film was my first brush with absurdist comedy, and is one of the better examples of its effectiveness. It is for this reason that I defend the film against those who deride it as being simply “stupid.” Napoleon Dynamite is a supremely self aware film which is not crippled by its strange and irrational plot and characters, but rather is propelled by them.

My Dad's Laugh

There are few sounds more pervasive throughout my lifetime than my father's laugh. Often beyond his powers of restraint, my father’s laugh is high, bouncing, and unmistakable. Growing up, it was my goal in almost all of our interactions to draw it out. A laugh from my father was a wonderful form of affirmation for my smart-alecky efforts. His laugh, however, was hard for me to earn. I would get little chuckles regularly, but a big laugh was only merited by my very best jokes. A laugh from my father would raise the value, I thought, of anything he laughed at. An episode of Seinfeld became riveting entertainment when I found out that a specific phrase from it could tickle his funny-bone. To make my dad laugh was to really be funny.

            Then, when I was about eleven, we moved to a bigger house and my father offered to host his office’s Christmas party. I was forced to mingle for the first half hour in order to pacify the overstressed, hostess version of my mother. While mingling I witnessed something horrifying. My father was talking with one of his employees, and this employee was telling a joke. I cannot recall the exact joke that was told but it probably revolved around some clichéd topic like golf or a nagging wife. What I do remember clearly was not being amused in any way. The joke was an affront to my father, I thought. The man whose sense of humor I lived and died by did not deserve to hear such an unimaginative piece of joke telling.

            Then I heard it- my father was laughing. At first I was confused. Had I misheard the joke? Did I not understand? Was it a joke for adults? But then I noticed that my father’s laughter wasn’t quite right. There was a metallic quality to it. It was as if a classically trained pianist was playing a jazz standard. The notes were right, but they seemed too practiced- too thought out. My dad was faking it. I realized that his laughter was nothing more than a social tool. He was laughing at this man’s joke because it was easier than being a stick in the mud.

            To this day I try my hardest to make my father laugh. I’ve gotten better at it over the years, and it still makes me feel as good as it ever did. And to this day, my dad has never faked a laugh at one of my jokes. I think that’s because he knows that I won’t be hurt if he doesn’t laugh. I’ll still know that he loves me and will probably laugh next time. Plus, having to work for it makes it all the more satisfying when I do succeed.