HUMOR SERIES: On Subversive Laughter-Jokers are Wild

Davidson_The_Court_Jester-1

 

Whether it’s an Episode of Saturday Night Live, a late night tv host monologue, a webisode, or humor website, one of the many uses of humor one is to prove a point. People who find themselves funny may often aspire to more elevated forms of comedy:

Satire, wit, or something that seems noble.

If not fully noble, then at least something useful for creating meaningful change.

And if not that, then a comic may just try for old fashion notoriety. But, plenty of people simply settle for infamy.

Cuss words, crude jokes, and whatnot. But, in an effort to avoid thorough banlality the aim might be satire.

In the dearth of well-formed, well-put, well-placed, and well-timed, first-rate satire, many hope their wild comedic jabs will do the trick. They don’t.

True and artful satire is really rare; just like true brilliance is rare.

sat•ire (sătˈīrˌ)

  • n.
    A literary work in which human vice or folly is attacked through irony, derision, or wit.
  • n.
    The branch of literature constituting such works. See Synonyms at caricature.
  • n.
    Irony, sarcasm, or caustic wit used to attack or expose folly, vice, or stupidity.

 

On Satire

Besides that, the difference between satirical prowess and just being mean is more of a fine line. One that rests in the subjective ear of the hearer. Vary the audience and you have a flop. Get it right and you can have an impeachment.

I asked my friend Doug to elucidate us on some of the finer points of comic relief.

If any one put this sort of thing on the map, it was Shakespeare.

(Not Billy Crystall, Whoopi Goldberg, and Robin Williams…which was a fund raising thing.)

Either way, I’m soon out of my depth.

• So, what’s the point of (Shakespearean) COMIC RELIEF?

• How does it work, or not work.

• Does it work now?

A modern audience of non-English majors might not get Elizabethan wordplay…a lot of the problem is that people begin with the general idea that this is serious literature and therefore one is not supposed to laugh.

Not true. Sometimes it gets lost in translation.

While many think of comic relief as a literary ploy to give the audience a break from the latest dramatic event (a murder, beheading, or suicide etc), there is more to it.

 

For starters, says Doug, take the Fool in “King Lear.”

Cambridge poet and scholar Malcolm Guite asserts that, “Shakespeare, with a true understanding of the cross, always puts his greatest wisdom in the mouths of his fools.”

 

Throughout the early parts of the play the little fellow offers repeated jabs at Lear’s stupidity in attempting to step down from his throne but retain his power.

 

The idea of “royal retirement” amuses the Fool. Like a standup comedian with no “off” switch, he shoots out one-liners until several different people threaten to have him beaten.

 

He’s funny. He’s even funny in the howling storm when Lear begins to lose his mind and Edgar pretends to lose his and we do indeed need a break. But the humorous bait conceals a serious barb, both for the characters and the audience. The fool sees what the wise men miss.

 

Drawing on the common usage of court jester in that day, Shakespeare can deliver a message of great import.

Shakespeare here draws on the origins of the trade. Wealthy people in the medieval world sometimes kept mentally impaired people around because their antics amused their betters.

 

They could say or do anything and get away with it, basically, on the insanity defense.

 

Eventually a few very clever people figured out that such a role would allow them to engage in serious political critique without the usual inconveniences of getting exiled or sent to the Tower of London.

 

The Fool is such a double-dealer, offering a needed message disguised as “mere” comic relief.

Just as it happens today, comedy and the use of humor serves many purposes. Entertainment may be the first one, but a lot more may happen in the process.

In excavating the sites of Elizabethan theaters, archaeologists have found the shattered remains of pottery boxes into which theater patrons would drop their admission fee.

 

At the end of the night the company would smash the container – like a kid breaking his piggy-bank – and divvy up the night’s take. (This, by the way, is the origin of the term “box office.”)

 

This little factoid is a reminder that Shakespeare did not so much write for the ages as for the commercial stage. As a professional playwright he had to produce shows that people would pay to see.

 

His diverse audience wanted action, politics, poetry, and, yes, humor. But with each of these elements he did more than met the eye. His “comic relief” is like drinking sea water: It briefly relieves our thirst for wholeness only in order to make us crave the real thing even more.

It would seem that comic relief still has its place. Jokers ARE wild.

But, whether a comic gives the challenge due diligence is another question.

What’s been your favorite bit of satire, recently?

I hope you’re enjoying this series.

ox

-Lisa

Here are the other related articles.

1. (humor at birth)

2. (Humor studies: Step 1-Tickle Rats)

3. (On comedic distance-funny to whom?)

 

For the latest info on my humor related projects sign up here.

The Science and Spirituality of Humor [SERIES]: Is Humor a HUMAN thing?

Read the 1st post of the humor series here. Screen Shot 2014-09-25 at 10.46.13 AM

Is humor human?

Do animals laugh and why should we care?

One of the first things that comes up when you start to study what people find funny, and why they do, is the issue of purpose.

“What’s it all for?”

And when you start asking those questions invariably you need to see if humor is a uniquely human quality or if other creatures have some of it too and why might they.

Some animals experience emotions in ways humans do. Anger, pleasure, fear, and sorrow are a few commonalities.

For instance, pachyderms express grief at the death of a member of their parade. House cats don’t give a crap about the death of anyone (usually), but they are certainly spiteful on par with the cunning and potency of humans.

So why not the emotion of humor…?

It turns out that science has tried to measure that. The results, in my opinion, are mixed and even a bit unsavory. But, I’ll get to that in a minute.

Noises of Play

Plebeian anecdotes of laughing dogs or snickering nonhuman primates circulate and seem to indicate that something akin to genuine laughter or maybe some sort of sense of humor could be at work. Yes?

For a number of years scientists have discerned what seems to be jolly noises coming from chimps at play. These sounds mimic the intonations of young children at play and keg parties.

And then there’s the business of rodents.

Rats, actually.

I told you it would get unsavory.

Laughter in the Lab

Apparently, scientists can get grant money to tickle rats.

You heard me right.

See, if they just use the phrase “heterospecific hand play” on their proposal, a grant check comes in the mail.

The phrase sounds sophisticated and science-y, and no one in the grant issuing department considers it perverted.

With grant money in hand, scientists use their other hand and go about tickling rats of different ages, in different settings, at different times, and sometimes (I’m guessing) on the couch near a cozy fire in the fireplace and atmospheric candlelight as Barry White music plays softly in the background. It’s all very clinical.

The Results
Older (married?) rats don’t seem to respond, but juvenile rats, foolish to the wiles of scientists, make high frequency chirping sounds as they encounter “heterospecific hand play”.

The sounds are somewhat comparable to staccato laughing of human children at play. Human children playing but also gnawing at garbage in a dumpster, perhaps. Or, perhaps the panicked sounds of high anxiety.

The strange result is that the young rats then seek out the human that tickled him or her for plenty more of the same. (This convinces the scientists that the impressionable rats are enjoying the interaction and not developing strange and unhealthy co-dependency issues sourced in dubious psychologically damaging tickle abuse.)

In fact, the rats grow closer to their ticklers socially, and perhaps hope for an engagement ring one day.

I’d also like to note that so far I’m finding no such experiments are conducted where rats are allowed to tickle scientists and whether the rats or the scientists laugh because of it. This seems like a gross oversight. It would also be interesting to know if the scientists found the rats attractive in different outfits and vice versa. Or, maybe not.

I don’t know whether to be proud of the these discoveries or terribly embarrassed for the scientists.

The Purpose of Humor

What laughter–or its nonhuman equivalent–appears to do in the animal world is to build social bridges through appropriate positive interactions.

Positive, mutual, social responses build bonds, trust, and cooperation. Everyone wins.

Rats, dogs, and chimps are all highly social creatures, and maybe this is needed for things to go well.

The exception is the occasional instance where rats eat their young.

 

• This seems to indicate that some tickling just isn’t funny, or that kids can be a real pain sometimes.

Humor and Spirituality

I’m proposing that humor remains invaluable to human flourishing, not just for healthy social bonding, but ultimately for the vital element of identity, and this is the territory of spirituality. We’ll get into the reasons of why more deeply as we continue.


 

Like those laughing animals, humans are social too. When they are not socially healthy, bad things happen: murder, sexual assault, arson, random violence, and strange behavior on Facebook.

But, unlike animals, scientific experiments show that humans have three main reasons for laughing besides a tickling episode, according to work by psychologist Diana Szameitat. Here are the other three:

1. Laughing in joy.

2. Taunting laughter. Laughing at someone in contempt.

3. Schadenfreude laughter. Laughing at another person who encounters something unfortunate, like falling down. The Germans have just the precise word for it too, which is not surprising.

I think there are several more, but that’s for future posts.

 

Funny Things are Seriously Complex

Humor and laughter comprise a whole system of complex emotions for humans, compared to animals.

And as anyone who’s been tickled for too long knows, sometimes humor includes mixed emotions like discomfort, fear, apprehension, or wanting to slap a scientist for creepy “heterospecific hand play”.

We’ll learn much more about the complexity of humor as we go. In future posts I’ll also cover the dubious reputation of humor among early philosophers, the fascinating aspect of humorous sarcasm and mockery, plus the latest compelling humor research theory that explains both the good and bad reasons why we find things funny.

Anything for a laugh.


 

To sum up, humor is both uniquely human and shared among certain other creatures in a lesser way.

Read the next one in the series here.

 Are you enjoying this series? I’d love to know.

Thanks for reading!

-Lisa

On Public Showering: The Accidental Peep Show

399448096_e44472b485_zI’m jumping ahead on Funny Fridays, today.

This true story happened a few weeks ago, and it just occurred to me that it makes an amusing tale…so here goes. Why not?

If you follow this blog, you know that I got a new part-time job this summer at a winery. I manage the Tasting Room once or twice a week. It’s been a hectic summer and I worked a bunch of my weekends solid, including missing 9 Sundays of church in a row–A first in nearly two decades. More on that another time.

 This is part cautionary tale and part embarrassing antic.

BACKSTORY:
So, I’m commuting 52 miles each way and working a bunch of days back-to-back and it dawns on me, finally, to ask my relatives if I can crash at their home which is only 12 minutes away. Instead of getting home at 11:30-midnight and fitfully sleeping for 5-6 hours and driving back again 52 miles for a hour meeting, this will make everything far better.

They graciously agree, but in the process of making plans, I forget that they will actually be away during that time. But, it’s no matter to them, they extend the offer and I’m grateful for it.

ARRIVAL:

It’s dark and I use my phone as a flashlight to enter their house and the cat is none too pleased. After hissing and keeping her ears back, I greet her.

“Hi, puppy. What’s wrong?” She doesn’t think it’s funny and she disappears for the rest of my stay.

SHOWER SCENE:

I’m achy, stinky, and ready for a shower and bed, so I head upstairs. I’m brushing my teeth and getting my things prepared when I realize a bit of horror…

The window is a big one, and just a sheer curtain separates me from the rest of the neighborhood.

Um, what?

I’m on a second story stage. All light is on me. I’m about to disrobe.

Have they not realized this is optical insanity?

I suppose plenty of people never realize that if one’s house is lit and it’s dark outside, one’s rooms are on display fully. Hum. Saying “one’s” make this seem very Victorian. That’s not the vibe I was going for.

Anyhow…At night, a lit bathroom it turns into like something you would find in a red light district.

Gulp.

If I went outside buck (or doe) naked, I would have more cover than this. I look like the main event, right now.

I imagine hearing slinky music start and then abruptly shaggy men near the street start grumbling and folding up their chairs.

Boo!

Where’s the regular?

We want silver fox!


Then, I blanch as I realize who might spend occasional weekends here, no doubt showering unaware. Oh God, why!

I fight off the urge to send a quick text and have a small vomit burp.

All I have to do is get a shower and get to bed. Stay focused.

ACTION PLAN:
There’s nothing to block the window. Finally, I decide to get undressed with the light off. Dark inside + dark outside = privacy, after all. That’s my plan.

Then, I think of the cat having a good laugh at my expense.

I’ll pretend I’m Hellen Keller. No she was deaf and blind. I think I’d just do a sponge bath if that were the case. No, I’m Mary Ingalls. I can hear Laura and Pa in the next room. The cat is whispering and making them laugh.

 

Perfect. Sort of.

Oh no, how will I navigate everything when I get out without getting water everywhere, or killing myself?

Wow, it’s dark in here! What a pain! Good, god, I’ll have to tell my daughter it’s a tricky business here.

After I step into the shower I reach out and flip the light back on.
(I can’t do the entire cleaning process blind. I don’t have the skills.)

All this thinking after a long day of work. It’s no match for me.

I deliberate behind the curtain…which I’m discovering is also rather sheer.

IS this all purposeful?

Do they have a web cam in here, or what?

Is this how they plan to save for retirement? Interesting.

Nightly Showers for Harrisburg’s viewing pleasure.

(Gracious tips are appreciated. Give them to the smirking cat.)

 

Gross! I’m in a freakin’ fish bowl here.

That notion will be hard to scrub from my brain as I try to sleep, won’t it now? I think.

I finish up, flip the light back off before I step out. Careful. Easy. I could twist an ankle.

This will be a fine mess if I fall and need an ambulance, yes? Curses.

[Day dream sequence: Queue harp music.]

 

Why is it dark in here, ‘mam?

 

-Well, I’m not fond of starring in peep shows and I fell. Oh, gosh. Can you turn the light back off?

 

Sorry no. We can’t see. Oh, look, a crowd is gathering down there. Where you yelling for help?

 

-No. I think they’re regulars.

 

Huh?

[End day dream sequence]

I towel off as best as I can and sneak for my room. Oh, brother. It’s facing the same way. Big window. Again.
Lucky me, a slightly less sheer curtain blocks it. I guess. A little.

NICE! Grrrr.

So, now I crouch down and get dressed. I flick the bedside lamp on. This will have to do.
Exhausted, I collapse into bed.

 

Modesty is something I need for me, not for other people, I suppose. At my age, I’ll attract gawkers, and hardly more. And maybe it’s doubtful anyone was watching. But, who knows…the whole experience was…memorable.

 

THE TAKEAWAY

If it’s lit in your house, and dark outside, be prepared to be a viewable object, like it or not.

It’s just simple optics.

Go ahead, grab a helper and do an experiment…keep your clothes on.

You’ll see what I mean. 

The indefinite place

fogI am in the indefinite place.

Caught between what is and what could be;

Or what is not and what will not be.

Between knowing and belonging.

Between A and B.

The corner–and there’s always one rounding somewhere ahead–isn’t just curve now, it’s in a soup of fog.

Not a kiln of refining fire, but the slow burn of a sauna and that makes you drip and wrings you out.

That wearies you until you can quench something fathoms deep.

Deeper than you know about.

A thirst unquantifiable.

In the indefinite place.

The Myth about Roots.

My dad told me that trees have roots that go down as far as the tree is tall. That was an impressive statement and it stuck with me for a long time.

It was, of course, untrue.

He didn’t know much about trees. He was, by his own admission, a “city boy”.

I don’t blame him; lots of people think tree roots go deep.

They don’t.

Any photo of a knocked down tree makes it clear.
See? Roots go out not down.
(The mistake about roots becomes pointedly obvious.)

fallen_tree

Tree roots reach out, not down.

Roots aren’t so much much like anchors hold the tree to the ground, but rather more like feet planted in the soil, in all directions, to create stability and nourishment. They can extend nearly as long as a tree is tall.

The California Redwoods seem even more impressive now, don’t they?

Forests are interconnected places where trees stretch out their roots and touch the other trees nearby, below the surface.

A web of root holds a forrest together as if the trees are playing a long game of forest footsie.


The takeaway:

Like the myth of tree roots, the roots of community don’t go down either–in ideal circumstances.  Instead, they go out, or the forest dies.


On Sunday, I’ll go back to church for the first time in 2 months. My work schedule has kept me away, but I’m happy to go back and remember everything I need to remember all over again:

• Who I am in God, in community, and in the scope of human history and the Church worldwide and over the course of eons.

Maybe I’ll learn something new about me, or about church (God’s people), or about what sacred ritual does for me.

I haven’t been separated from this weekly occurrence (for this long) in over 20 years. I’m wondering what it’ll be like to go back. (The next post -or a short series- will get into that.)

My thoughts are forming like questions:

• Will I sense the roots of others stretching out to meet me?

• Will my absence have been noticed at all?
(If a tree falls in a forest…er, um, never mind.)

• Will everything be the same or nothing, or will I be the only one who has changed?

• Will I realize how much I’ve missed it, or be surprised that it hasn’t mattered like I thought it would or should?

• Am I really part of a forest, or am I more like a lone tree on a hill?

Whatever happens, I want to be the tree that stretches out into the stream, into the living water, for nourishment and life.

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Jeremiah17:7-8
“Blessed is the [one] who trusts in the LORD And whose trust is the LORD. “For [s]he will be like a tree planted by the water, That extends its roots by a stream And will not fear when the heat comes; But its leaves will be green, And it will not be anxious in a year of drought Nor cease to yield fruit.