Wednesday, June 27, 2007

Nice Humor/Mean Humor

My brother Eugene recently had a guest post on The Motley Vision, "On Humor and the Literary Novel." A question was posed in the comments about why some "mean" jokes make us wince while other "mean" jokes make us laugh. In other words, why does just about every character on Everybody Loves Raymond make my skin crawl but Cox and House don't?

I've pondered this question for awhile, and here's my answer!

I think the difference lies in the intent of the joke (sarcastic diatribe, insult, pun, whatever). I don't mean the intent of the joke to the jokee but the intent of the joke to the audience.

In most of Everybody Loves Raymond, the jokes are made to make the jokee wince with embarrassment. More than that, the intent of the joke is to make the audience complicit in the jokee's embarrassment. The joke is the embarrassment.

Shakespeare, who did everything, employed this kind of joke (as well as all the other kinds). The treatment of Malvolio in Twelfth Night is precisely this type of humor. The joke lies in Malvolio's embarrassment. Which is why, I think, that particular part of Twelfth Night is rather problematic. However, that's just me. There's plenty of evidence (reality TV shows, Three Stooges, Roman games) that human beings enjoy watching other human beings suffer.

That being said, I also think a lot of people feel as I do and prefer the non-embarrassing joke. In Scrubs, for example, Cox belittles J.D. with his "Mary Janes" and "Buttercups," but the intent of the name-calling is not to embarrass J.D.--that is, not to embarrass J.D. before his audience (us). This works partly because J.D. is the narrator and therefore controls the audience's perspective. If he wants us to see him humiliated, there must be a reason. It works also because J.D. doesn't embarrass easily. Finally, it works because, if you've watched the show long enough, you know that Cox adores J.D. (and that Cox and J.D. are actually very similar; I didn't realize how much until the episode where Cox talks about seeing himself sitting on a throne while a conversation is going on--"He's J.D.!" I thought although J.D. is fundamentally kinder and less angry-guy).

This same principle is at work in House. In my post on Cox, Becker & House, I make the argument that everything House says is intrinsic to his personality. He doesn't belittle his interns to make the audience laugh; he belittles his interns because that's how House deals with life.

The point being that in both House and Scrubs, the jokes are not at the expense of the jokees. In fact, the jokes often backfire unto the jokers.

In a tangential kind of way, I think this same principle applies to sex jokes. I almost always wince when American comedians tell sex jokes. Said comedians are almost always aiming for result #1--make the audience wince or laugh with embarrassment. The jokes aren't even funny; they just make people laugh because the jokes are "daring."

In contrast, British comedies like Red Dwarf and Black Adder and Vicar are replete with earthy humor, but the humor is not used to embarrass the audience and rarely to embarrass the characters. Jokes about sex seemed to be used more for their useful metaphorical content than anything else. Consequently, I find them far less leering and salacious.

Or, as C.S. Lewis wrote in Screwtape Letters (see my post about C.S. Lewis' non-repressive nature), sexual humor gives rise to incongruities. There are people who tell sex jokes because they want to talk about sex (American comedians), and there are people who tell sex jokes because they want to use the incongruities (Monty Python and all those guys). So I have never seen any comedy with Ben Stiller, and likely never will, yet I think the beginning of Monty Python's Meaning of Life where the teacher gives an in-depth sexual education class to a bunch of TOTALLY BORED teenagers is absolutely hilarious and far less "dirty" (for lack of a better word).

FROLICS

Wednesday, June 20, 2007

Great Dogs

I'm not really into animal movies. See my post "Animals That Talk" about why. But I have a soft spot for two TV animals: Eddie from Frasier and Diefenbaker from Due South. In both cases, the dog is used to illustrate character and actually makes sense within the context of the show.

Eddie is Martin's dog. He is also one of the most expressive animals I've ever seen on the screen. I've developed quite a partiality for Frasier. What I like the most is that both Frasier's point of view and Martin's point of view occupy the same space. Although both the intellectual, snobby son and the down-to-earth cop father are played off each other, I never feel--as I do with Everybody Loves Raymond--that they are played at the expense of each other. No one is the bad guy.

Martin, played by John Mahoney, is a great character, and he has a great dog. The dog is used as a plot device and as a joke device. Again, the dog (it is actually two dogs over the 11 seasons) is very talented. He reminds me of The Thin Man dog: Asta.

Like Asta, Eddie and Diefenbaker are constantly on the set. I suppose dogs are easier to handle than kids, but I alway roll my eyes when television mothers have kids and then the kids MAGICALLY disappear for the next, oh, six or seven years. Of course, one isn't supposed to *gasp* mention Murphy Brown, but, well, Dan Quayle was right there, wasn't he? The kid showed up something like 12 times in ten years. Easy to be a single mom under those conditions.

Eddie and Diefenbaker, on the other hand, are constantly at hand. Eddie has to be walked. Diefenbacker rides around in the back of Ray's car. With Diefenbaker especially this is impressive since, unlike Eddie, he is often filmed outside. The directors never forget to include him in shots. I watched an episode recently where the car was driving away. It was likely driven by stunt men, and I figured, "They don't need to include Diefenbaker. They could just say that he was lying down." But no, just as the car turned the corner, Diefenbaker's head popped up. That is cool.

Diefenbaker is also used to illustrate character. He is a deaf wolf who was brought to the non-wilds of Chicago by his Canadian Mountie master, Fraser (played by Paul Gross). Fraser talks to Diefenbaker all the time, responding to Diefenbaker's presumed comments. There's an ongoing joke that Diefenbaker saved Fraser's life once and now he makes Fraser "pay and pay and pay."

Diefenbaker is not as cuddly as Eddie; after all, he's a wolf. But this also serves to elucidate the varying characters of the dogs' two masters. Martin is friendly, old-fashioned, protective of his dog and his sons (no matter how exasperated). Fraser, the Mountie, is kind but also somewhat reserved and aloof. At the end of the first season, there is a heart-rending scene where Fraser believes he must shoot Diefenbaker because Diefenbaker has become a menace to society. Paul Gross doesn't have Fraser cry or even rage. He does a series of confused double takes which are more painful to watch than any great emotion. So he loves Diefenbaker, but he isn't going to smother him in kisses.

And the dog--I don't think it is really a wolf although later the show implies that he is a mixed breed (maybe dog and wolf experts complained)--trots along with Ray and Fraser with interest but without any "all over you" ebulliance. Eventually, you start to believe Fraser's assessment of his own dog!

I also have to give kudos to Newbie's stuffed dog in Scrubs. There is one episode where J.D. keeps moving the dog to scare Elliot. For some reason, it makes me laugh like crazy.

For more great animal TV, check out Creature Comforts, the British version. It is hilarious! And very off-kilter.

TELEVISION

Wednesday, June 6, 2007

Fellowship and Keeping People Together

I am re-re-re-listening to The Fellowship of the Rings by J.R.R. Tolkien. It has always been my favorite of the three books although I have to agree with those reviewers who claim Tolkien didn't really know what he was up to in Fellowship. The book is uneven and has a "feeling his way" cadence to it.

However, without pretending that Tolkien actually knew what he was doing, I think the book works for the trilogy. First of all, it exposes the reader to the Shire, giving Frodo a concrete part of Middle-Earth to risk his life for. Secondly, it establishes a progression of danger/risk. The riders are much more dangerous when they are closer to Mordor (I never had any trouble, even as a kid, understanding why the riders are more fierce and harder to resist near Mordor; I never had any trouble understanding the power of the ring either and how its hold grows over time. Reviewers who quibble over these points mystify me. The ideas just aren't that complicated).

I confess, however, that I like Fellowship most after Frodo reaches Rivendell and the fellowship forms. I've always preferred that aspect of books or movies. My favorite part of The Fugitive is the on-going banter between Tommy Lee Jones and his crew. I don't really care about anything else. I don't know if this is a "gal" thing or not: if I am being particularly womanly because I like to watch people co-existing in a friendly, non-violent fashion. I don't think it is particularly womanly since I don't care for soulfulness; still, give-and-take comradeship is one reason I enjoy Star Trek: Next Generation, why I watch All Creatures Great & Small (although Robert Hardy has a great deal to do with the latter), and why I love the parish council scenes in Vicar of Dibley more than the other scenes. It also explains why I lose interest in a lot of movies/books/television shows once the gang starts hating each other.

I think my lack of interest has a lot to do with my theory that fictional death (of the individual, of the group, of the relationship) is basically a cop-out. To me, the hard part of writing (and life) isn't the ending, it's making the middle--the people-in-relationships stuff--work. Hence, I have no problem associating marriage with feminism. Construction versus deconstruction.

That's me talking as a writer. As a reader, it could be an investment issue, the reason X-Files works even though the leads don't get together until the very end. Leads not getting together is usually anathema to me; I find it so tiresome. But in X-Files, Dana and Mulder have a thriving (emotionally) intimate relationship from the very beginning. This is also true of early BallyK. The leads may not technically be together, but they act like they are, so what's the dif? And that thriving relationship gives the viewer something to invest in. The viewer, I contest, WANTS something to invest in.

Which brings me to the argument, "But life changes!" Relationships fall apart. Friends drift apart. Bodies crumble apart. This is all true and people do write/create based on what they know. However, I think there is a difference between "natural" change and "toying with the reader/viewer" change. Angel leaving Buffy was a natural change (and everybody else should have left too, really). Xander breaking up with Anya wasn't--that was "toying with the viewer." When the fellowship of Lord of the Rings breaks up, that is, unfortunately, a natural/inevitable change. The heroine of a mystery/romance series not being able to choose between two guys for trillion-some-odd novels IS NOT natural or inevitable; it's just stupid.* Frodo leaving Middle-Earth is a necessary and natural consequence of what he has endured. U.S. Marshals, the sequel to The Fugitive in which unnecessary people die, was just lazy.

So, I prefer to keep my heroes/groups/lovers together, but I'm willing, for the sake of good writing and transcendent endings, to split them up. But ONLY for the sake of good writing and transcendent endings. Otherwise, it's just nasty manipulation and there're better things for me to read and watch.

*A note on the (trillion) mystery/romance series. I really hate some of them although I don't start to hate them until about novel 3 or 4. They almost always include a single woman who lives in a small town where she is pursued by two men. One guy is sweet, kind, not-so-handsome but a wonderful human being. The other is danger guy. And the heroine can't make up her mind. And the guys stick around and wait. What self-respecting guy would STICK AROUND? and WAIT? By the time I hit book 4, I start to suspect that the writer is indulging in personal fantasy. GET OVER IT, I say. (I had the same reaction to Charlaine Harris' vampire series. I really enjoyed the first few books, but I lost interest eventually. Eric was the most interesting love interest Harris created for the heroine, but because, presumably, Harris couldn't make up her mind, the heroine couldn't make up her mind either. The new guy is just dull, so I gave up. If you like her books, though, rumors have it the series is being made into a television drama.)