What Genre Do Mr. Magoo, Star Wars, and Twelfth Night All Fit into? The Grawe Riddle.

When I was in my freshman year of high school, I remember asking the teacher, "Why are Shakespeare's plays called comedies?" I got an answer that satisfied me for the time, but confuses me now because Grawe seems to be attempting to integrate the two completely separate definitions of comedy that I thought I knew. The first definition of comedy defined comedy as something that was funny and made people laugh, plain and simple. The second definition, the one I learned after asking the question above, was that a comedy was anything that ended happily, wasn't too gory, and usually ended in marriage, as do most of Shakespeare's comedies. I thought of these two definitions as separate entities. I'm sure under scrutiny these definitions could use refining, but I've never really had occasion until now to scrutinize them.
Grawe's definition of comedy sounds very different in words than either of the two mentioned above; it is defined as something that reassures us that "humans will survive". Why does he need something so broad? I'm still not quite sure, but one thing I do know is that his examples are examples that fit into either one or the other of my own definitions. For example, Mr. Magoo fits into my first definition; it is something that makes people laugh. On the other hand, Shakespeare's comedies like Midsummer Night's Dream fit into my second definition. None of his examples that I know fit my both of my definitions. I think that my definitions are better starting points for defining comedy. All comedies fit neatly into one definition or another and it excludes many other things that don't really seem like comedies. Grawe's definition is just too broad.
Who before coming into this class, would put Twelfth Night, Mr. Magoo, and Star Wars into the same genre? Not me. I would like to know how many genres Grawe thinks exists. Is it just one? It seems like it. For instance, I think that Star Wars fits into a drama genre far better than a comedy genre. Don't you agree? I mean unless you saw a parody, who came out of the theatre after watching Revenge of the Sith thinking, "Man that was hilarious! I laughed so hard I cried." Maybe a few people laughed at the bad acting in some of the Star Wars movies, but that was obviously not the intention. The books the movies are based upon, as well as the movie, is philosophically debated at many intellectual conferences (although to be fair some of these, although not all, are "just for fun"). Star Wars is dead serious, minus any actor's short comings in its representations. Grawe's definition seems fatally flawed this way.

Shakespeare and Slapstick

Shakespeare has a reputation for being difficult to read at first, and this is probably what comes to mind when we think of him. We know he wrote dramas, histories, tragedies, and comedies. As I will discuss in a later blog, what are deemed his comedies many not have struck us as all that hilarious the first time, especially when reading it, and this is where I want to draw a parallel.
Many teachers will tell you that "Shakespeare was meant to be seen and performed, rather than read in an academic setting". They will continue to tell you that without it being performed live something is missing. If you have ever seen a play, or multiple renditions of the same play, but read it first in an academic setting, you probably realize that (a) the play can be performed in many different ways according to interpretation and (b) it can be a lot funnier than you originally imagined while wading through Shakespeare's heavy dialogue in text format (heavy especially for modern readers who no longer use some of the same words and who no longer use some words or phrases the same way).
Slapstick may be similar in one way, namely that it seems to draw more laughs in its performed rather than textual format. This is probably not due to any jargon or heavy dialogue, although some of the works we have read are dated (much farther than Grawe allows comedy's theoretical shelf-life to be), but instead it is due to the format alone. We would have the same problems in Shakespeare even if he spoke in "plain English" instead of what some readers tend to assume is almost a different language (you have no idea how many times people tell me they cannot read Shakespeare's Middle English, an entirely different language, but not what he actually used which is the same English as ours). Slapstick works that we have read, for example much of Mark Twain's works, contain few words that we do not know, yet a number of us find slapstick much funnier in the visually performed format. Mark Twain himself performed his written works cross-country.
Why would he do this? Why wouldn't he just let people stay at home and read his works? The performance does something to increase the audience's enjoyment level. If you read a transcript of Chris Rock for example, and then saw him perform, which is funnier? You would probably laugh at the transcript, but would laugh harder at the actual performance. Now one could argue that some things were never meant to be read, but performed, and probably only the most visually imaginative people or actors could visualize the things that were meant to be performed. What about the things in both formats however? Can slapstick really be done on paper and have the same effect as a performance? Can slapstick be written solely for the textual medium and not the visual mediums as we know that many visual-medium-slapsticks are made solely for the visual medium ("to be performed, not read")?

Seriousness and Humor

Yesterday I bumped into an old teacher of mine who taught us Thomas Swift's Modest Proposal. Our conversation got me thinking about how I read the piece back then. It was mixed amid a curriculum of things like Inrik Ibsen's A Doll's House and The Illiad and The Oddesy. For some reason that semester we read all of those as well as Modest Proposal and we watched Mighty Python and the Holy Grail and listened to Pink Floyd Dark Side of the Moon while watching the Wizard of Oz. It was odd, yes. What was the theme? I don't know and neither does my old teacher. All I can remember is that the only things I ever found humorous in his class were his pathetic attempts to be humorous (which he knew were pathetic attempts--yes irony heaped on irony).
Why didn't I find Modest Proposal humorous however though? I started thinking about this. I was different back then, but I don't think that was the problem. I did realize that Modest Proposal was satire, so the reason I didn't find it humorous was not that I thought it was a real proposal. We started talking about the other teachers however and I realized what else I was studying at the time: World War II and the Holocaust.
What does this have to do with anything? Think. Humans really are capable of doing what Swift only jokes about. For instance, the Nazi's did make clothing accessories out of human skin. They also made things out of teeth. Without getting any more graphic, I will leave it by saying that generally they treated the Jews and other social outcasts like the American Indians treated buffalo. Yes, take a close look and there are even reports of cannibalism, although not widespread. The reality of something like this makes the humor melt away when the reality of it is in the forefront of our minds.
The problem with using humor for an argument is that there are some truly gruesome things that people try to combat with humor. Swift tries to combat poverty with his humorous argument. I think there is a problem with this however. It seems that when the serious problem (the real argument is being presented) either people will laugh it off or they will think so much about the serious issue that it ceases to be funny any longer.

"Mindless" comedy?

So it's a Friday night. You and all of your friends are going out. It's the weekend. You want to have some fun. The main idea is that the weekend is a time to get away from the everyday rigors of the real world, therefore what you do on the weekend must fit that principle. Really our American ideal of the weekend is very escapist. I'm sure we've all heard, "What do you want to do this weekend?" "Anything is fine except work." Most people adopt a slightly higher standard for their Friday nights. It's not just about anything besides work; it's about something fun; and by something fun most people seem to imply something not serious. I've heard some people say, "I want to watch something with no redeeming value what-so-ever" as a sort of ironic although truthful request for their Friday nights or any free time for that matter.
The funny-odd thing about this however is that when people think "not serious", "fun", "no redeeming value what-so-ever", many of them think about comedy. "Let's go see a comedy," I hear my friends say every Friday. No one wants to see that deep, next generation "A Beautiful Mind", or at least not every one. The funny-odd part about this however is that comedy does not always meet the above mentioned criteria, many times it doesn't. Many times there is a deeper social-political message to what we watch (or read for that matter). For instance, Charlie Chaplin's Modern Times is slapstick, but it is put in the background of a very grave and serious social-political problem. I think it has been mentioned in class also that Charlie Chaplain thought that this was a necessity; the comedy must be infused with a deeper more serious message to be its best.
A couple of works we have read have also been humor, but also quite serious: Thomas Swift's A Modest Proposal and The Nasby Papers on race. Swift just names off the most absurd things you could think of, like eating babies and maybe other low-lifes and making gloves out of their skin. Nasby makes his character-speaker sound like an idiot and that is funny. Each of them has a very serious topic and message however: the former about poverty and the latter about race relations. Why is it that people think humor can be made without a deeper message? Can it? Why does anyone expect it?

Is it really that funny?

Is it really that funny?

As a rule, I think that in order to be termed humorous, we have to laugh or snigger or make some kind of similar noise for the most part. It can differ in volume. The minimal amount of volume is that which can be heard by the laugher, a very low minimum indeed. I will even go so far as to say that possibly a smirk or a rolling of the eyes and an amused face will suffice (possibly without a noise). However when the “joke” results in this reaction without noise, the “joke” is passing from humorous to absolutely absurd, no longer in grips with reality to any extent, so disconnected as to not make sense in any far-fetched way.
Why do I state these things? Why do I think these are the bare minimum? Because some of the pieces that we are reading just aren’t humorous. They don’t meet these requirements. Many of them are overkill. The particular piece I want to talk about is Mrs. Hezekiah, the woman who cannot shut up or get to her point. This particular piece is of course a shaggy dog story. It goes no where logically. I don’t find it all that humorous. Actually I don’t find it funny at all. It’s kind of annoying.
This piece might actually be a case of “you had to be there”. It’s funny when you are there in person and an otherwise intelligent person rambles on and on and forgets her point. It’s about the delivery and reality. I feel like the Mrs. Hezekiah Bedott story is that same incident that we have all seen and heard only separated farther from the reader by the medium. The reality of it makes it funnier. However, by writing and not speaking this sort of joke, the reader feels separation. This woman is simply a woman who cannot get to the point. Whereas in real life, when someone does this it is usually funny for one reason with ancillary reasons: We know the person. Why does this matter? Have you heard the phrase “O there goes Sally again off talking about anything and everything”. This person is generally someone who is a little absent minded. Probably not the most intelligent person in your group. The funniness may have something to do with the superiority issues we have discussed in depth. And then in the other ancillary situation, an incredibly intelligent person goes off on a tangent because they are so passionate about something and then they miss the point they were trying to make. This I think is funnier. It is a momentary superiority in a way, I guess. These are the only situations I can see myself or my friends laughing at. The story of Bedott is just not funny on a few pages in a book.

Laughing at Ourselves

There are a few different rules of humor and I want to address one imparticular: the idea that the one being joked about has to be outside of the group. In one of the pieces we read, “The Sotweed Factor” this is certainly the case. Ebenezer Cook considers himself a Brit even if he does come to live in American for a time to gain his fortune (or at least attempt to). This is a little strange for reasons I will address later. Because he considers himself a Brit, he is therefore on the outside and America is “the other” being joked about.
Now the funny thing (not haha funny, but funny strange) is the way that Cook describes the Americans. The attributes that he ascribes to Americans, both directly and indirectly seem to imply him as an American in a few ways. He describes Americans as the antithesis of rudimentary people. They have adjusted to food and comforts subpar that of the Brits. He describes them as poor, outcasts who couldn’t make it big (and many times at all) in England, and so they have come here to try their luck. A modern day equivalent to England, at least business-wise, is New York. New Yorkers like to say, “If you can make it in New York, you can make it anywhere.” By this statement it also necessarily follows that if you can make it in another place you cannot necessarily make it in New York. It elevates New York above every other city. Cook himself however kind of fits into this category. If he could make it big in England, we get the impression he would have because of how much he likes England and detests Americans. Cook is trying to gain a fortune, which might lead us to believe that he is superior in some way. Another factor of funniness that we have discussed is superiority and inferiority. Cook does have some measure of superiority, even though he may or may not fit into his own general description of an American, thus making him fit into at least one “rule” or theory of humor. The reason why we might believe him to have some superiority is that he expects to be able to “make it big”, suggesting perhaps that he has made it on a smaller scale in England (although again, this is not necessarily true).
Now, even though Cook could be held to tentatively fit into the category of the British (although, yes this is suspect) or at least he thinks he is, he does qualify as “in the group”. However, the strange thing is this phenomenon called “laughing at ourselves”. When our class watched Eddie Izzard, we were laughing at ourselves. He makes fun of Americans numerous times (and I believe that his audience in the stand-up video is also American). He is making fun of his own audience, even though he is clearly outside of “the group”. I am proposing a possibility: Is it possible that since we are as Izzard calls us “Rome”, we are the hegemon, the empire, that we must (and willingly to some extent, although I think this has a lot to do with our free-speaking liberal with a little “l” culture) laugh at ourselves? Or is it merely our contradictory culture, a very Mills-ian one that not only allows, but promotes conflicting ideologies and philosophies in order that they combat and the best philosophy win and gain strength from the “fight”? Why do we laugh at Izzard?