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(Mike Thompson, Detroit Free Press)
A few months ago there was a lot
of discussion about a survey of what people around the world think is
funny. If I remember correctly, Americans laugh at situations that make
people look foolish, Canadians laugh at satire and self-deprecating
humour, the British laugh at irony and clever wordplay, and the French (or was it
the Germans?) laugh at silly, non-sequitur humour.
Since the cancellation of Aaron Sorken's brilliant and charming Sports Night,
I've stopped watching 'situation comedies'. The reason? They're not
funny. They're mean-spirited, condescending, and maliciously derogatory
about others. Maybe it's my
Canadian breeding, but I don't find insulting other people amusing.
Making a fool of oneself, the way Canadians like Mike Myers, Jim
Carrey, Michael J. Fox, Martin Short etc. do, can be funny.
I've scoured the Internet for intelligence on the qualities that make
writing humorous, and concluded that there isn't much consensus, except
for the element of surprise. To be funny, something needs to be unexpected.
Example: Here is a joke that I think is funny.
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After Quasimodo's death, the bishop of the Cathedral of Notre Dame sent
word through the streets of Paris that a new bell ringer was needed.
The bishop decided that he would conduct the interviews personally and
went up into the belfry to begin the screening process. After observing
several applicants demonstrate their skills, he had decided to call it
a day. Just then, an armless man approached him and announced that
he was there to apply for the bell ringer's job. The bishop was
incredulous. "You have no arms!" "No matter," said the man. "Observe!" And he began striking
the bells with his face, producing a beautiful melody on the carillon. The bishop listened in astonishment; convinced he had finally
found a replacement for Quasimodo. But suddenly, rushing forward to
strike a bell, the armless man tripped and plunged headlong out of the
belfry window to his death in the street below.
The stunned bishop rushed to his side. When he reached the
street, a crowd had gathered around the fallen figure, drawn by the
beautiful music they had heard only moments before. As they silently
parted to let the bishop through, one of them asked,
"Bishop, who was this man?" "I don't know his name," the bishop sadly replied, "but his face rings a bell."
The following day, despite the sadness that weighed heavily
on his heart due to the unfortunate death of the armless campanologist,
the bishop continued his interviews for the bell ringer of Notre Dame.
The first man to approach him said, "Your Excellency, I am the brother of the poor armless wretch
that fell to his death from this very belfry yesterday. I pray that you
honour his life by allowing me to replace him in this duty." The bishop agreed to give the man an audition, and, as the
armless man's brother stooped to pick up a mallet to strike the first
bell, he groaned, clutched at his chest, twirled around, and died on
the spot. Two monks, hearing the bishop's cries of grief at this second tragedy, rushed up the stairs to his side. "What has happened? Who is this man?" the first monk asked breathlessly. "I don't know his name," sighed the distraught bishop, but........... he's a dead ringer for his brother."
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OK, you're not laughing. How about this, from Homes and Other Black Holes by the inimitable Dave Barry, who thinks exploding toilets are funny:
The
most important factor to consider in selecting a real estate broker is
an intangible quality called 'profesisonalism' by which I mean 'car
size'. You want to select the broker with the largest possible car,
because you're going to spend far more time in this car than in
whatever home you ultimately buy.
Next you should tell your broker what your Price Range is, so he or she
can laugh until his or her official company blazer is soaked with
drool. What your broker finds amusing, of course, is that there is
virtually nothing, outside of the Third World in your Price Range. I
don't care if your Price Range is a hillion jillion dollars, there will
be nothing available in it. This is a fundamental principle of real
estate.
At first you will probably insist on looking at something in your Price
Range anyway, which will result in the following comical dialogue:
YOU: This is it? They're asking $89,500 for a refrigerator carton?
BROKER: Yes, but I think they'll take $85,000.
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The Washington Post Magazine recently sent Below the Beltway
humorist Gene Weingarten to Paris to write about the cultural
differences that have led to tensions between the US and France. His
column came out yesterday, and it's here. It's long but give it time -- it's well worth the effort, and the best is at the end, after the set-up.
I analyzed this for some clues to good humour writing, since heaven knows this blog could use some. Weingarten does use stories
to engage the reader, which is supposedly an important humour technique.
He uses exaggeration, ironic understatement, clever wordplay
("Americans are 'consumers.' By and large, we buy, and are large."),
and witty imagery ("the enormous plastic Golden Arches ™ dangle above
it on a chain from the roof, like a big cartoon tushie"). Americans and
French ideosyncracies are entertained with equal balance, but there is
room for touching description (the women leaving gifts at Sartre's
grave) and underlying messages and lessons ("Though predominantly Roman
Catholic, the French demand secularism in
government and find Bush's very public trumpeting of his Christian
faith to be naked sanctimony.") even though they require temporary
departure from humour.
I could imagine Weingarten slaving over this article for days on end
(he was on hiatus from his weekly column for three weeks writing it),
painstakingly crafting every phrase, tweaking every sentence to perfect
comic effect. But of course he did not. This afternoon, live, he engaged in online banter with readers of yesterday's column. The transcript of the chat is here, and damned if it isn't just as funny as the column. And it's informative. And it
is provocative. How can anyone be so gifted to be able to type this out
verbatim, unrehearsed, in response to a question about political
awareness:
Virtually all the French people I dealt with, from handymen to news
dealers to 24-year-old students in the street, were amazingly well
informed about the world. Whereas in the United States polls suggest
more than half the people think Saddam Hussein launched 9/11.
Interestingly, the French seem to understand this about Americans, and
LIKE us for it. It explains how we can be nice, decent people and at
the same time support Bush: We just don't understand!
Yes, that's arrogance. But it's kind of sweet arrogance.
I'm humbled. I guess that's why I'm a Chief Knowledge Officer and not a
humour writer, or, in fact, a writer of any kind, by profession. So I
leave the last word to Weingarten, who in another off-the-cuff response
to a chat question is able to be at once funny, educational and
endearing. We should all be so lucky as to have this talent:
I would say virtually every story has some mistake in it. I am not sure
it is a mistake, exactly, but as soon as my wife read it in the
magazine, she pointed to the photo of Sophie Martins, whom I had
described as wearing a sleeveless top, and she said, "You idiot. That's
a tank top."
I said, "But it's sleeveless, isn't it?" And she looked at me like I was hopeless.
It's a gender thing, I guess, like a woman saying the Yankees have three "points."
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MADE IN CANADA
trust your
instincts 
