“The storytelling gift is innate: one has it or one doesn’t. But style is at least partly a learned thing: one refines it by looking and listening and reading and practice – by work.”
– Donna Tartt, American novelist
As a gesture to the legions of their self-proclaimed “funny” devotees, perhaps late-night comedians should dig deep into their “reject” piles and extend a collaborative olive branch to this endlessly loyal niche market. Why not? A few may actually connect. In this age where tolerance has become a rallying cry, maybe the time has finally arrived for unconditional acceptance of amateur comics, this massive untapped demographic. And what better way to acknowledge these wannabes than to sling away with a nightly barrage of truly horrid, painfully deliberate, pathetically dry cracks. All delivered, of course, with a purposeful wink and smile.
Trouble is, unlike in their politicians or working-class heroes, this same bunch that honestly believe themselves to be walking laugh meters tend to demand perfection in their comic idols. Anything shy and the channel is flipped. It’s not that these people (i.e. we) can’t differentiate between good humour and bad. It’s just that inborn biases essentially prevent them from weeding out their own bombs. They all believe they’re actually funny. And so it goes: one- two- and three-liners as well as anecdotes, physical animation and witless observations are shoveled into our ears at seemingly every social event. They’re foisted upon us, made to fit, custom ordered – much like a determined labourer hammering away a square peg into a round hole.
It doesn’t fit. No, sir. But yet, these Sunday drivers trudge on – they hold court with their depressive little shticks with the hopes (err, the expectations) that their fleeting quarter-hour will somehow transcend the natural order and delight. Million dollar odds, to be sure – which begs the question: Why? Do any perceived risks outweigh the ultimate jackpot, that barrel of laughs? Ah, yes, the conundrum. For these amateurs there are no risks, courtesy of the all-to-common false positive.
These bush-league career .198 hitters tend to overestimate their own comedic prowess, and misjudge audience reaction as favourable. False positives generally fall into one of three categories: the Bronx cheer, an involuntary sound emitting from an audience member or a genuine response from a fellow amateur.
The first – a sarcastic applause – leads to misinterpretation because the retort is taken at face value. A cheer is a cheer, the rationale goes, and any cheer confirms quality. The self-absorbed orator turns blind to the intended meaning behind the gesture, further opening the door to possible further humiliation. If any such Bronx cheer remains unexplained and the person is left to revel in the afterglow, chances improve that this truly reprehensible attempt at humour will be regurgitated.
The second form of false positive involves any accidental response. A low murmur, a barely audible sigh, a robust throat-clearing, or virtually any other natural bodily sound would suffice. A simple umm…, for instance, or the innocuous head nod/uneasy smile/raised eyebrow combo both carry the ill-fated possibility of later repetition. While these sounds are intended to divert attention from the bad joke, to many ill-trained “unfunnies,” they motivate.
But it is this third possibility that has the potential for being the most damaging. When ineptitude is positively reinforced by the responses of the equally inept, future repetition is most likely to occur. A sarcastic or unintentional remark can be easily explained afterwards, after all. A person may respond to a particularly lame joke with, for example, “Ha, ha, ha! Good one. … But seriously, let it go!” or “Wow, that’s great” … that is, if great means really lame! Message received, repetition averted. But if this same joke were to be greeted with genuine appreciation, then lord help us all.
Exponential repetition could prove cataclysmic. Displaying non-offensive humour in social settings can be a benefit. It attracts people, and remains a driving force behind fondly remembering a new face or tolerating an old. Unfortunately, invested ego often clouds good judgment. Stubbornness causes many amateurs to either tinker with an already lost joke and make things worse or, after the fact, even deflect blame. It’s not unusual to hear, following an awkward silence, a person saying – for instance – that “so-and-so told me, I let him know it sucked, and this only proves it.” Not acceptable.
Criminal defendants, if they are to successfully plea out, must admit to their crimes and accept responsibility. Only then can the healing begin. Those annointing themselves comical geniuses have no other recourse but to acknowledge their shortcomings, a task accomplished through common sense surveillance. Only then will the medicine kick in. Barring that, if it requires this medicine be injected via our late-night wisecracking comic idols, perhaps the time has mercifully arrived.
As a listener, just cover over any potentially misinterpreted facial expressions and run for the hills.
