Quote me as saying I was mis-quoted. -- Groucho Marx
People gravitate to comedy to escape the challenges of ordinary life. Face it: life can bruise a person, tire a person, wear a person out. Comedy seems like an antidote, or at least a welcome tonic. It goes down easily, doesn’t require much effort to consume, feels light on the body. Laughter, they say, is the best medicine.
I don’t really care for comedy.
What’s funnier? Wit is funnier than comedy. Humor is funnier. Life in all of its impossible-to-predict realities is funnier.
When we find ourselves in the strange situation of an untied shoelace dangerously pulling our attention away from driving in heavy rush hour traffic, we brush against the shoulder of what’s funny. It’s not the shoelace, and it’s certainly not the traffic. What’s funny is the humanity of that aching desire to tie that shoe even while it’s impossible to reach.
Some would say that’s precisely the province of the comedian. At its best comedy tries to cast a light on common, absurd human experiences that we all immediately recognize and try to navigate. We hope it isn’t describing our immediate experience, but when we see that it sometimes does, we enjoy the thrill of hiding in plain sight along with an audience. Comedy pretends to reveal ourselves and in so doing, make us laugh at ourselves.
Unfortunately, that’s like saying fast food burger chains are interested in good cooking. Their efforts may alleviate hunger just like a fine restaurant, but they offer nothing in terms of aesthetics or perception or connection to a deeper cultural context.
Who cares? Sometimes a person simply wants the entertainment equivalent of a cheeseburger and fries! Comedy is all about abandoning veggies and whole grains and indulging in an ice cream sundae, right?
That’s part of my problem with it. I like to laugh, but I find comedy to be a meal made entirely of french fries.
Wit is something similar but different. Where comedy is often about presenting scenarios designed to make us feel good for not having to experience embarrassments, wit has to do with juxtaposition of observations. Wit can make a person laugh, but it can illuminate the synecdoche of broader truths. To be clear, those truths don’t have to be grand observations of the human condition; truth can sometimes come from noticing the smallest details. Where comedy often trades in a process of convincing audiences to prove a comedian’s worth for simply having the nerve to observe and report certain absurdities, wit generally proves itself. Wit speaks for itself; comedy requires broader strokes. Comedy delivers lots of empty calories per bite. It gives an easy laugh but offers little nourishment overall.
I like french fries. I like to laugh, too. But considering the great existential comedy of simply living a life, the idea of reducing it to a series of disembodied japes strikes me as something of a binge. We may enjoy the laugh for a moment; we might try to recall a joke or two among friends. But then, not long afterwards, comedy leaves a person feeling hungry for something of substance, no matter how much a person may have ingested.