Irony: Traditional Verbal Irony

Irony has been studied since at least Classical Greece.  There are a few different types of irony, including dramatic irony, where the words or actions of the characters are clear to the audience, though unknown to the characters themselves. Particularly important for us is the concept of verbal irony.

Verbal Irony

The Oxford English Dictionary defines verbal irony as “A figure of speech in which the intended meaning is the opposite of that expressed by the words used”; thus we note in irony a discrepancy or gap between two (or more) possible meanings that vie for audience acceptance:

  1. the stated and
  2. the (potentially) intended.

Based off this definition, many scholars put irony and parody under the umbrella of Incongruity theory – because the stated cannot be taken at face value, there is a paradox.  However, fans of the Tension Relief theory argue that the stated creates tension, which the act of “getting it” releases.  And then, of course, fans of Superiority theory will argue that “getting it” makes us feel better than those who don’t. And maybe all of these can be true simultaneously.

Opposite meanings

It is the idea that the two meanings are “opposites” that causes problems.  If one meaning is opposite another, then the two meanings are usually thought to be mutually exclusive and therefore – if it is to serve a persuasive purpose – the intended meaning negates the stated meaning.

Political tools

We know that irony does not need to have any deep political import or satiric intent; however, some scholars, including those who study rhetoric (from Socrates and Quintilian through Wayne Booth, and beyond), focus on serious intention and thus characterize verbal irony, along with its cousins satire and parody, as political tools (see for instance Muecke and Booth).

Inserting outrage

It is in this vein that James Ettema and Theodore Glasser argue that for journalists, irony is merely a way to insert their outrage (easily visible to the discerning reader) into their reporting, while seeming to maintain the convention of objectivity.

However, outrage and criticism need not evoke humor.  As we can see, the conventions of humor – like the comic’s intention to make people laugh first and foremost, which John Limon argues means that in its absolute form, stand-up is never political – create problems for the application of this simple, oppositional model of verbal irony to stand-up comedy.

Wayne Booth’s Irony

Wayne Booth comes to the conclusion that there are four steps that an audience member must complete in lock-step with the ironist for irony to be received – for us to “get it”:

  1. They must reject the literal meaning
  2. They must try out alternative interpretations, none of which seem to fit
  3. They must make a decision as to the author’s intended meaning, and
  4. They must choose which meaning to accept.

The ironist thus has two rhetorical goals:

  1. To create a complete, coherent text, and
  2. To somehow signal to the audience (or a portion thereof) that the first text is untrue or the opposite of that which is intended and thus settle the contradiction (Freud).

Booth describes irony in terms of two binary relations: stable/unstable and local/infinite. In stable ironic texts, the alternative interpretation is clear to a “reasonable,” “qualified reader” (Gournelos, 2). Unstable irony, on the other hand, is less clear; clearly the literal meaning must be rejected, but multiple interpretations are possible. Local irony deals with specific events, places and times, whereas infinite irony deals with subjects that span space and time, such as life or the world in general.

For Booth, the best (most rhetorical, political or pragmatic) irony helps its reader to a stable conclusion the rhetor actually intends, while maintaining some plausible deniability of this intention, at least for a time.  This deniability is essential as it creates the space where such a critique can be made.

Claire Colebrook has further suggested that all language is ironic as it is potentially unstable.  [This is a concept I will discuss soon.]  It’s not just that we can take any statement as a joke – we can guffaw, or laugh it off – but that we can take any statement as ironical, as having a different meaning that the one stated. This is the benefit of studying humor, as it reveals the limits and possibilities of all communication.

However, deniability also creates new problems.  While irony can be employed to further satire, what we will call satiric irony, the satirist may also invite a reading as ironic, performing, in a sense, ironic satire.  [I’ll talk about each of these soon.]  Both of these readings pose problems for the bona fide political speaker.

Comments? Questions? Thoughts? Additions?

References:

Booth, Wayne C.  The Rhetoric of Irony.  Chicago, IL: University of Chicago, 1975.

Colebrook, Claire. Irony. New York: Routledge, 2004.

Ettema, James S. and Theodore L. Glasser. Custodians of Conscience: Investigative Journalism and Public Virtue.  New York: Columbia University Press, 1998.

Freud, Sigmund. Jokes and their Relation to the Unconscious. 1905. Trans. James Strachey. New York: W.W. Norton, 1963.

Gournelos, Ted. “Irony, Community, and the Intelligent Design Debate in South Park and The Simpsons.” Electronic Journal of Communication, 18 (2, 3 & 4), 2008: 1-18.

Mueke, D. C.  The Compass of Irony. London: Methuen and Company LTD., 1969.

Wilson, Nathan. Was That Supposed to be Funny? A Rhetorical Analysis of Politics, Problems and Contradictions in Contemporary Stand-Up Comedy. Dissertation in partial completion of the Ph.D. August, 2008.

I’m Joking/Just Kidding

A topic on my list of things to cover in this blog are statements of “just kidding” and “I’m joking.”  I started on this in my analysis of Mike Birbiglia’s Thank God for Jokes, but I’ve pulled it out here for ease of reference/hyperlink, and I’ll expand on it soon[-ish].

In the aforementioned special, Birbiglia says:

Like if you think about jokes…. you can’t tell jokes in life almost ever, like at work, or  school or the airport is a great example. I read a story where a guy sneezed on a plane, looks around and he goes, “I have ebola.”

Here’s why that’s not a good joke: they landed the plane. They landed the plane, and they’re met by the guys in hazmat suits, and his defense was “I’m joking!” Which is always this catchall defense when people say dumb things. Like, you can’t tell jokes at work, because at some point in history, some idiot showed up at work and was like, “Nice tits, Betsy!” And Betsy’s like, “What?!” And that guy’s like, “I’m joking!” And the boss is like, “Uuuuuuh, no more jokes!”  Jokes have been ruined by people who aren’t good at telling jokes. A joke should never end with, “I’m joking!” or “Git’r done!”

He later includes Fozzie Bear’s catchphrase, “Waka Waka,” in this mix. The message seems to be that if you have to defend it by labeling it a joke – which catchphrases can also do – then it either wasn’t, at base, a joke, or it really wasn’t funny. As I’ve pointed out, that seemed to be Bill Maher’s biggest problem with his N-word incident.

“I’m joking” and “just kidding” are often abused ways of “taking back” a statement, but nothing that is said or done can truly be taken back. It’s at most placed under erasure, which Jacques Derrida talks so much about [He borrows it from Martin Heidegger; REALLY looking forward to revisiting that author *sarcasm*]. In a nutshell, all you do is strike-through; in Birbiglia’s example, the coworker has (now) said (back then) “Nice tits, Betsy!” It’s still there, he just added a line about not meaning it, or meaning something different by it (if it were ironical).  The original statement can still be read underneath.

Tragedy Plus Time

In my analysis of Mike Birbiglia’s Thank God for Jokes, I included this blurb about how, in an off-hand way, Birbiglia mentions that “Comedy equals tragedy plus time.”  I thought I should break this section out for ease of future reference/hyperlink.

“Comedy equals tragedy plus time.” is a quote attributed by Goodreads and other sources to Mark Twain, who may have said “Humor is tragedy plus time.”

However, Quote Investigator attributes it to a 1957 Cosmopolitan interview with Steve Allen, and his full explanation is worth quoting:

When I explained to a friend recently that the subject matter of most comedy is tragic (drunkenness, overweight, financial problems, accidents, etc.) he said, “Do you mean to tell me that the dreadful events of the day are a fit subject for humorous comment? The answer is “No, but they will be pretty soon.”

Man jokes about the things that depress him, but he usually waits till a certain amount of time has passed. It must have been a tragedy when Judge Crater disappeared, but everybody jokes about it now. I guess you can make a mathematical formula out of it. Tragedy plus time equals comedy.

Mark A. Rayner, attributes a similar quote to Lenny Bruce, who supposedly said,

Satire is tragedy plus time. You give it enough time, the public, the reviewers will allow you to satirize it. Which is rather ridiculous, when you think about it.

Good stuff, but at it’s base, it seems like a rehash of Hobbes’ 1640 statement that laughter is “a sudden glory, arising from sudden conception of some eminency in ourselves, by comparison with the infirmity of others, or with our own formerly” (Chapter ix, § 13; Morreall, Humor). With distance from our own weakness, we can look back and laugh. That’s the tragedy plus time in a nutshell. It is this recognition of people’s ability to change and therefore laugh at our former ignorance or infirmity that really gives a boost to the applicability of Superiority theory.

Questions? Comments? Thoughts? Additions?

References:

Hobbes, Thomas. The Elements of Law, Natural and Politic: Part I, Human Nature, Part II, De Corpore Politico; with Three lives.  Ed. J.C.A. Gaskin.  New York: Oxford University, 1994.

Morreal, John.  “Verbal Humor Without Switching Scripts and Without Non-Bona Fide Communication.”  International Journal of Humor Research 17 (2004): 393-400.

Category Updates!

In trying to get more organized here (and as I’ve started to get enough material up), the time has come to start creating sub-categories! There are now six sub-categories of Humor Theory:

  • Theories About Audiences: These theories try to understand the audience’s role in humor.
  • Theories About Comics: These are theories about the person telling the jokes.
  • Theories About Funny: These theories try to tell us why something is funny.
  • Theories About Jokes: These are theories that discuss the structure and other qualities of jokes.
  • Theories About Laughter: These are theories about how and what happens when we laugh.
  • Theories About Spaces: These are theories about where and when the humor takes place.

There are also two new sub-categories of Cases:

  • Comics in the News: These are analyses of news reports on comics’ and the “controversies” that made them newsworthy. People are making statements about comedy by criticizing a comic’s act.
  • Comics Talking Shop: These are my analyses of when comics talk about the craft: joke work. how to write and perform comedy, what is humorous, etc. Comics are explicitly saying something about comedy.

Of course, there’s quite a bit of overlap: spatial theories often include a concept of comic, jokes and audience, audience theories are really about the relationship between comic and audience, theories about laughter are really about audiences, etc.  However, I try to avoid cross categorization if I can help it.

Hopefully, this will help and not confuse.  Of course, the main page is still just a solid scroll anyway…

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Carnival II: Real Action

In a previous post, I discussed a common, simple model of carnivalesque that was based off the idea of a Roman Catholic celebration of Carnival prior to Lent written about most famously by Russian literary critic Mikhail Bakhtin, in his analysis of French Renaissance writer François Rabelais. This simple notion of the carnivalesque was problematic as:

  • Carnival is relegated to specific times and spaces, therefore it will not produce any lasting effects.
  • Carnival is sanctioned by the powers that be, and therefore cannot subvert those powers.
  • If it does anything, Carnival releases tension, which prevents real political action from taking place.
  • Carnival reinforces the rules by calling attention to them.
  • Carnival inverts the power hierarchy, thus reinforcing the idea of a hierarchy.

Refuting the simple Carnival

Rather than Carnivals as harmless, James C. Scott (1990) argues:

  1. There is sufficient evidence to the effect that many powerful political figures frequently tried and failed to stop the festival or censure the activities permitted, and therefore Carnival is not always sanctioned; and
  2. There are several instances in which such festivals led to political rebellion on a grander scale, and therefore Carnival is not necessarily bounded nor guaranteed to perform its function as safety valve.

Rather than a dress rehearsal for the revolution, sometimes it is the revolution, or at least, an integral part.  The carnivalesque is not a tool of system maintenance by virtue of its lack of effectivity – that is a notion wrongly attributed to its simple incarnation.  Rather, it is a tool of activism because in its practical application it is dangerous, which is perhaps best displayed by the attempts to constrain it and thus render it inert.  This is, for me, the sense in which the humorous space is carnivalesque.

The effect of rules

The keys here are the rules. Or rather, the idea that there must be rules. Because stand-up comedy, like Carnival, is thought to hold up a funhouse mirror to society, it is sometimes thought to be a space without rules; in this space, anything can be said.  Despite the simple version, in theory, the decorum of the carnivalesque space permits not just the inversion, but outright violation of social and moral taboos.

However, in practice both humor and Carnival retain rules regarding specific patterns of language and action, and the powers that be seek to apply more.  There are all kinds of rules to stand-up: when the mic or show starts, the order in which each comic will go, how much time they get, obeying the light, how obscene or blue they can be, what are acceptable topics, etc. When governments, or club owners and managers, or journalists and social and cultural critics create boundaries for the carnivalesque space via rules, they display a belief in the volatility of the space.

Policing the rules

Some of these rules governing the space of humor serve to define what is and is not humor and to create a hierarchy of moral and professional acceptability within humor. For example, blue humor, obscenity and dick jokes are not considered “good” jokes.

Jokes, like all texts, are polysemic (Cecarrelli; Condit), having multiple possible meanings, and polyvalent, having multiple possible evaluations (Fiske).  Therefore, to define or describe a joke in a particular way (whether only in popular culture or legally) to a certain extent fixes and limits our potential interpretations to a few, primary interpretations, which may then be more easily policed and enforced.  In short, definitions are rhetorically constructed and provide boundaries for the space, allowing for its policing.

New rules

Obviously, we should not just accept whole cloth a set of rules and definitions derived from an historic model based on a Roman Catholic festival.  Instead, let us examine several specific attempts at setting rules for humor – including definitions, laws, etiquette and decorum – to see what they reveal about the power of humor. For instance:

Kathy Griffin’s photo displayed limits of decorum; a comic can’t pretend she’s beheaded the sitting president, even as art.

Bill Maher displayed that a white man can’t say the N-word, even and perhaps especially as a joke.

Iliza Shlesinger can’t tell other women what to joke about.

Jay Leno & Leslie Jones think you should be funny first, and political or true as an afterthought.

Mike Birbiglia thinks all humor is potentially offensive to someone, because all jokes have to be about something.

[Future posts will do more of this].  Via such definitional limitations, problematic forms of humor are marginalized, if not gotten rid of completely.

Questions? Comments? Thoughts? Additions?

References:

Bakhtin, Mikhail. Rabelais and His World.  Trans. H. Iswolsky.  Cambridge, MA: MIT, 1968.

—.  Problems of Dostoevsky’s Poetics.  Trans. C. Emerson.  Minneapolis: University of Minnesota, 1984.

Ceccarelli, Leah.  “Polysemy: Multiple Meanings in Rhetorical Criticism.”  Quarterly Journal of Speech 84 (1998): 395-415.

Condit, Celeste.  “The Rhetorical Limits of Polysemy.” Contemporary Rhetorical Theory: A Reader.  Eds. Lucaites, Condit and Caudill. New York: Guilford, 1999.  494-511.

Fiske, John.  Television Culture.  New York: Routledge, 1987.

Scott, James C. Domination and the Arts of Resistance: Hidden Transcripts.  New Haven, CT: Yale University, 1990.

Wilson, Nathan. Was That Supposed to be Funny?  A Rhetorical Analysis of Politics, Problems and Contradictions in Contemporary Stand-Up Comedy. Dissertation in partial completion of the Ph.D. August, 2008.

Carnival I: Simple Inversion

It’s fairly common, when talking about humor, to use the word carnivalesque (see for instance Fiske; Gilbert; Miller).  The concept was most famously used by Russian literary critic Mikhail Bakhtin, in his analysis of French Renaissance writer François Rabelais. However, what people usually think they mean when they use the term is a set of simple–and therefore problematic–generic characteristics.

The Carnival

In this “simple carnivalesque,” people believe that the festival of Carnival constitutes a space of play that allows–if not endorses–certain taboo behaviors which thus offsets the observance of Lent. Some say it is a pressure valve that makes space for Lent; we get it out of our system–this is typical of Relief theorists.

Thus we note an immediate problem: to evoke the Carnival is to evoke a particular space and time, pre-packaged with certain rules for its participants–rules that are based on social, moral and psychological precepts, such as decorum.

Inverted Decorum

Robert Hariman argues that, for the Roman orator Cicero, decorum was a system of rules for our actions. In adhering to the rules, we perform the morals of our class or caste, and these rules are enforced by social judgements (e.g. “good boys and girls don’t do that“, etc.). For Cicero, this requires an element of self-discipline.  A relevant example comes from the rules that govern bodily functions (urinating, defecating, sex, etc.):

to perform these functions—if only it be done in private—is nothing immoral; but to speak of them is indecent.  And so neither public performance of those acts nor vulgar mention of them is free from indecency (De officiis, 1.127).

For Hariman, this is a shift from describing what is moral (versus not) to prescribing moral behavior.

Whereas Huizinga’s play space is pre-moral, when viewed through the lens of Roman Catholic religious practice the rules of Carnival temporarily invert the moral hierarchy of decorum in order to achieve certain political effects.  This inversion seemingly allows those at the lower levels of society to play at being something else; both to treat nobles and even kings with scorn or contempt, and to engage in animalistic behaviors (lust, gluttony, drunkenness and other debauchery) that are generally considered uncivilized and unbecoming. Publicly urinating, defecating or having sex and/or talking about it is suddenly allowed.

Political power?

Some would therefore cast Carnival as serving a political function; in this space and time, we have the ability to not only imagine but perform a world in which the fundamental power structures governing our lives are completely opposite, thus pointing out that such systems are not unchangeable.  However, others have contested this view.

No effects

Ultimately, many critics argue that Carnival and by extension humor have no effect.  Rhetorical critics such as Joanne Gilbert suggest that Carnival is contained by spatial and temporal limits–the space and time of the individual celebration, like Bourbon Street, New Orleans during Mardi Gras, or other streets on the parade route during a parade.  During this time and in these spaces, new rules might apply (Note: the N.O.P.D. will tell you they don’t; all laws are still very much enforced).

Further, these spaces and times are predetermined and sanctioned by the governing institutions–we had to obtain permits and set boundaries (physical as well as the times that it begins and ends).  Because of this limiting and sanctioning process, Gilbert argues, there is little possibility for revolutionary political action; people will act in a manner predetermined by the authorities as acceptable, for a relatively short period of time and within a specified space, then everything will return to normal (see also Eagleton; Harold; Stam; and Stallybrass & White).

Lenny Bruce example

While not using the term carnivalesque, Gilbert also finds a similar argument for a lack of effects in the work of John Limon.  Limon finds the reception of Lenny Bruce’s act to depend on a state Limon calls “inrage,” particularly characterized by the audience’s response to the following joke by Bruce [that I’ve talked about before]:

If you’ve, er [pause]

Heard this bit before.  I want you to tell me.

Stop me if you’ve seen it.

I’m going to piss on you.

Limon finds this joke (which we know is a joke because it’s followed by an unprecedented seventeen seconds of laughter) to rely on a condition in which Bruce’s audience demands to be outraged; thus Bruce replies with obscenity.

However, because they asked for it (and expected to get it), the obscenity cannot be truly outrageous; thus the paradox: “they demand not to be outraged” by the outrageous (16). It would seem that the audience’s expectations have limited humor’s ability even to upset them.  Because of this, Limon notes that in the legal prosecution of Lenny Bruce the court was not acting on behalf of any audience, but on behalf of a theoretical society that may not actually exist–no one in the actual audience was upset.

This is the same as the space of Carnival, where the expectation of rule violation creates a contained space in which the rules are allowed and expected to be inverted, thus seemingly no real political work can be done.  But this is to equate outrage with political action, which is an oversimplification.

Pressure Valve

Once again, Relief theorists might propose that these inversions of behavior represented by a simple carnivalesque serve a system maintenance function, providing a release of tension that preempts the need for civic unrest, but this is not the ability for citizens to act in politically meaningful ways that some people who use the term carnivalesque propose.

Reinforcing the rules

Further, although hierarchies are inverted within the space and time of Carnival, they are ultimately endorsed. First off, Carnival calls attention to specific rules that may already have been points of tension–no one bothers to act on rules that they don’t notice.  And especially when we know that things will return to normal, all we’ve really done is heighten awareness of these rules.

The inversion of the existing hierarchy and standards of decorum, especially when cast as a “safety valve” for a portion of society prone to outright rebellion (e.g. those at the bottom of the social ladder), suggests not that the hierarchy and standards are unnecessary, but instead that they are essential. The inversion reinforces that we have these rules for a reason.

In fact, the temporary inversion only works in a relationship in which the existing hierarchy and rules of decorum are perceived as the norm; the reversal of the normal can only be seen as “letting off steam” to the extent that it is temporary, and that things will soon return to normal.

Inverting versus subverting

At base, the problem is that when you invert the rules, you set up a system in which we have these particular rules, or we have the opposite – but nothing else.  We have one hierarchy or its opposite, but there is still a hierarchy.  The structure remains intact.

This is a reaction to the rules, when what we need is a response. A true subversion of the rules would be to come up with completely different set of rules that change the whole system. And yes, that is a tall order.

We can see this logic of the simple carnival play out in some critic’s work, leading them to argue that humor doesn’t really do anything.  Here I’ll give the example of Joanne Gilbert.

Gilbert example

Gilbert argues that comics are empowered in that they are able to develop a unique voice and get paid for it. She also believes that comics are “politically operant,” able to act in the world.  However, the scope of their operations are severely limited.

For Gilbert, humor is always hostile (i.e. coming from Superiority theory, though in some moments, she reverts to the language of Relief theory).  More to the point, she believes that humor operates in a (simple) carnivalesque space.

The key passage to understanding Gilbert’s theory of what humor can do is, for me, this one:

Although [comics] do not allocate resources or single-handedly transform existing social structures, by performing a subversive discourse they depict and exert pressure upon existing social conditions.  Through humor, they call attention to cultural fissures and fault lines (177).

The use of the terms “subversive” and “exerts pressure” may distract from Gilbert’s main thesis, which is that the comic merely “calls attention” to pre-existing problems. Such a call only works in a system where problems are already known.

Because of Gilbert’s reliance on the simple form of carnivalesque characterized by inversion, she effectively argues that calling attention does not subvert the system, it only inverts it via negation; the true subversion would have to happen later, in a different space.  The structure remains unchanged.  Because, for Gilbert, humor must always be hostile (although it may sometimes also relieve tension), and because humor is partitioned off from political action by its carnivalesque space, it cannot bring us anything new; it cannot create a cultural fissure or fault line, it only draws attention to those already known – a lesser political function.  In short, it cannot be political action, but only, in Augusto Boal’s opinion, a “rehearsal for the revolution” (122). 

This is somewhat analogous to the more simplistic theories of irony and parody [I’ll get these up soon]; because the simple carnivalesque is merely a negation of the status quo, like simple irony and parody it cannot subvert the status quo – it cannot serve the function of Guy Debord’s détournement, the detour, diversion, hijacking, corruption or misappropriation of the spectacle [I’ll get this up soon too].

Summary

Thus we have the following:

  • Carnival is relegated to specific times and spaces, therefore it will not produce any lasting effects.
  • Carnival is sanctioned by the powers that be, and therefore cannot subvert those powers.
  • If it does anything, Carnival releases tension, which prevents real political action from taking place.
  • Carnival reinforces the rules by calling attention to them.
  • Carnival merely inverts the power hierarchy, thus reinforcing the idea of a hierarchy.

In this view of the simple carnivalesque, as in Huizinga, play is preparatory to social-political life; that is, we can learn through play without fearing the repercussions of failure, but also without hope of success.  However, if we reexamine the notion of Carnival, we may find hope; true Carnivals are not so simply cordoned off from political action.

Questions? Comments? Thoughts? Additions?

References:

Bakhtin, Mikhail. Rabelais and His World.  Trans. H. Iswolsky.  Cambridge, MA: MIT, 1968.

—.  Problems of Dostoevsky’s Poetics.  Trans. C. Emerson.  Minneapolis: University of Minnesota, 1984.

Boal, Augusto. Theater of the Oppressed.  New York: Theatre Communications Group, 1985.

Cicero, Marcus Tullius.  De officiis.  Trans. Walter Miller. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1913.

Debord, Guy.  The Society of the Spectacle.  Trans. Donald Nicholson-Smith.  New York: Zone, 1994.

Eagleton, Terry.  Walter Benjamin or Towards a Revolutionary Criticism.  London: Verso, 1981.

—.  The Ideology of the Aesthetic.Cambridge, MA: Basil Blackwell, 1990.

Fiske, John.  Television Culture.  New York: Routledge, 1987.

Gilbert, Joanne.  Performing Marginality: Humor, Gender and Cultural Critique. Detroit, MI: Wayne State University, 2004.

Hariman, Robert.  “Decorum, Power and the Courtly Style:” Quarterly Journal of Speech 78 (1992): 149-172.

Harold, Christine.  “Pranking Rhetoric: ‘Culture Jamming’ as Media Activism.” Critical Studies in Media Communication 21.3 (2004): 189-211.

Huizinga, Johan.  Homo Ludens: A Study of the Play Element in Culture.  New York: Harper-Row, 1970.

Limon, John.  Stand-Up Comedy in Theory, or, Abjection in America.  Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2000.

Miller, Toby.  The Well-Tempered Self: Citizenship, Culture and the Postmodern Subject.  Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins, 1993.

Stallybrass, P. and A. White. The Politics and Poetics of Transgression. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University, 1986.

Stam, Robert. Subversive Pleasures: Bakhtin, Cultural Criticism and Film. Johns Hopkins, 1989.

Wilson, Nathan. Was That Supposed to be Funny?  A Rhetorical Analysis of Politics, Problems and Contradictions in Contemporary Stand-Up Comedy. Dissertation in partial completion of the Ph.D. August, 2008.

Mike Birbiglia on Jokes

I’ve been a fan of Mike Birbiglia for a long time now, bought his merchandise, watched all his specials and both his movies (Sleepwalk with Me, 2012 and Don’t Think Twice, 2016). And while there are good and bad parts, his best bits – like his “Cracker please!” bit and the bit about positive stereotypes – are pure gold.

In his 2017 Netflix special, Thank God for Jokes, Mike Birbiglia tells a lot of jokes, but he also talks a lot about jokes. [Why am I discussing this? Check out Why Academics Should Listen to Comics.] So here’s a summary of his take on what jokes are.

Volatile and offensive

About a minute and forty seconds in, he says:

But jokes are something I think about all the time.  They’re a volatile type of speech. I mean, you just look at the news. The Charlie Hebdo incident two years ago where these ten satirists were killed for drawing a disrespectful cartoon of Mohamed who the killers believed to be the prophet of Allah, their lord and savior, which, by the way, he might be [Looks around nervously]…. The point is, is that these were comedy writers, like me, and they were murdered. And I was so shocked by this at the time, I remember talking to everybody about it, and my mother said to me, she said, “Well can’t these writers just write jokes that aren’t offensive?”

And I thought about it. And I said, “I’m not sure that’s possible, because all jokes are offensive to someone.” I’ll give you an example….

So jokes are volatile, which means unpredictable, and usually with bad connotations, perhaps because they are always offensive to someone.  His whole show can be read as a series of examples of this definition.

To be fair, it seems, when looking at his examples, that all jokes are only potentially offensive to someone. At the end of the show, he gives a laundry list of things he’s said, that when taken out of context, could be read as offensive.

A chunk that wasn’t on the list was a story about accommodating another airline passenger who has a nut allergy, where he says,

You know who doesn’t like this story are people with nut allergies. And you know who does like this story is everyone else. And, I feel genuinely conflicted about that, you know because there’s like almost a thousand people in this room together right now, and about 997 of us are like, “Ha ha! Nuts in the air!” And then three of us secretly are like, “That’s my life.” You know. And I don’t want to be that to you, but jokes have to be about something.

So here’s more the point of his statement: jokes have content and context, and the content can always be taken badly in a different context.

He also points out that you can be hit for the things you avoid. Part of the laundry list of things that supposedly might offend his audience were jokes he didn’t say: “Then he didn’t tell one joke about Muslims, because he loves ISIS!” [Nevermind that he did have a nonverbal joke about the Charlie Hebdo incident, which was, in a way, a joke about Muslims.]

Superiority and Relief

To put this in the larger conversation, we might say that jokes offend people when they feel they’re being ridiculed or corrected (in the sense of John C. Meyer’s model of the enforcement or differentiation functions), both of which are part and parcel to Superiority theory. While Birbiglia’s jokes aren’t aimed at anyone and they don’t seem mean-spirited in nature, they still might be read as a critique, particularly when he goes after an audience member for referring to a female cop.

However, the offensive can also refer to things that are taboo, things that we shouldn’t talk about and therefore we offend people when we do. This type of language is often attributed to Relief theory, it’s not an attack on their person, so much as an attack on their sensibilities.  This was the violation of which people accused Kathy Griffin.

Context matters

Birbiglia continues,

Which is why I’m cautious when I tell jokes on stage, because anything can be taken out of context, people’s careers are taken down instantly, and some people are killed. So I’m putting this is your hands. You can choose to leave here and quote me out of context, or you can choose not to, but I trust that you won’t.

While Birbiglia is primarily talking about Charlie Hebdo, we could apply this statement as much to Lenny Bruce, who went to trial for obscenity in San Francisco and New York, as to Kathy Griffin.

Historical note: By 1965, Bruce had been arrested nineteen times and convicted of obscenity once (later overturned).  Bruce’s legal battles and an inability to get gigs – even though he never paid any fines, never served any real jail time, and was, in the end, never convicted – eventually bankrupted him; he died before the final appeal was settled, though he was pardoned posthumously in 2003. It’s unclear if Griffin will suffer that much.

Birbiglia’s overarching point is that being a good neighbor means, in part, “listening to people and the context in which they intend their words.” Generally a good message for any type of communication.

Specific audiences are harder

Early on, Birbiglia says,

I’ve been a comedian for 15 years and what I’ve learned, is that you should never tell jokes to the people who the jokes are about.

He says that when performing for specific audiences, every relevant topic is potentially a mine field. He gives the example of a Christian college performance that didn’t go over well.

John C. Meyer might state that these audiences are too familiar with the incidents, and therefore too invested in the material to find the humor.

Crossing lines

After a joke about Janis the Muppet doing heroin, Birbiglia notes he “crossed a line.”

That’s what you always have to think about when you’re writing jokes, is sort of, “Where is the line?” And you don’t want to cross it, but you want to go near it. And, you know, it’s subjective, sort of, where the line is, and that’s where it becomes complicated.

Once again, Birbiglia seems to be referring in statements like this to Relief theory – approaching a line may be akin to approaching a taboo, which creates tension, which the joke can then relieve – unless it completely transgresses. Once the line is crossed, the tension boils over into action.

Opinions and inner thoughts

After telling his stories about dealing with late people, Birbiglia says,

But that’s just my side of the story…. That’s what I love about jokes, they’re just your side of the story. They’re your opinion, which isn’t to say they’re always just opinions, sometimes they’re an externalization of your inner thoughts, and often your inner thoughts are inappropriate.

Here we see some links to the idea of comics as truth-tellers; that we are ourselves on-stage, not some role or persona, as discussed by several comics in the documentary Dying Laughing. Their our bona fide opinions, our take on events, our inner (read as deep seated, and therefore more true) thoughts.

The mention of appropriateness seems another reference to Relief theory, as mentioned above.

Tragedy plus time

In an off-hand way, Birbiglia mentions that “Comedy equals tragedy plus time.”  This is a quote attributed by Goodreads and other sources to Mark Twain, who may have said “Humor is tragedy plus time.”

However, Quote Investigator attributes it to a 1957 Cosmopolitan interview with Steve Allen, and his full explanation is worth quoting:

When I explained to a friend recently that the subject matter of most comedy is tragic (drunkenness, overweight, financial problems, accidents, etc.) he said, “Do you mean to tell me that the dreadful events of the day are a fit subject for humorous comment? The answer is “No, but they will be pretty soon.”

Man jokes about the things that depress him, but he usually waits till a certain amount of time has passed. It must have been a tragedy when Judge Crater disappeared, but everybody jokes about it now. I guess you can make a mathematical formula out of it. Tragedy plus time equals comedy.

Mark A. Rayner, attributes a similar quote to Lenny Bruce, who supposedly said,

Satire is tragedy plus time. You give it enough time, the public, the reviewers will allow you to satirize it. Which is rather ridiculous, when you think about it.

Good stuff, but at it’s base, it seems like a rehash of Hobbes’ 1640 statement that laughter is “a sudden glory, arising from sudden conception of some eminency in ourselves, by comparison with the infirmity of others, or with our own formerly” (Chapter ix, § 13; Morreall, Humor). With distance from our own weakness, we can look back and laugh. That’s the tragedy plus time in a nutshell. It is this recognition of people’s ability to change and therefore laugh at our former ignorance or infirmity that really gives a boost to the applicability of Superiority theory.

I’m joking/Just kidding

A topic on my list of things to cover in this blog are statements of “just kidding” and “I’m joking.”  Birbiglia can get us started:

Like if you think about jokes…. you can’t tell jokes in life almost ever, like at work, or  school or the airport is a great example. I read a story where a guy sneezed on a plane, looks around and he goes, “I have ebola.”

Here’s why that’s not a good joke: they landed the plane. They landed the plane, and they’re met by the guys in hazmat suits, and his defense was “I’m joking!” Which is always this catchall defense when people say dumb things. Like, you can’t tell jokes at work, because at some point in history, some idiot showed up at work and was like, “Nice tits, Betsy!” And Betsy’s like, “What?!” And that guy’s like, “I’m joking!” And the boss is like, “Uuuuuuh, no more jokes!”  Jokes have been ruined by people who aren’t good at telling jokes. A joke should never end with, “I’m joking!” or “Git’r done!”

He later includes Fozzie Bear’s catchphrase, “Waka Waka,” in this mix. The message seems to be that if you have to defend it by labeling it a joke – which catchphrases can also do – then it either wasn’t, at base, a joke, or it really wasn’t funny. As I’ve pointed out, that seemed to be Bill Maher’s biggest problem with his N-word incident.

“I’m joking” and “just kidding” are often abused ways of “taking back” a statement, but nothing that is said or done can truly be taken back. It’s at most placed under erasure, which Jacques Derrida talks so much about [REALLY looking forward to revisiting that author *sarcasm*]. In a nutshell, all you do is strike-through; in Birbiglia’s example, the coworker has (now) said (back then) “Nice tits, Betsy!” It’s still there, he just added a line about not meaning it, or meaning something different by it (if it were ironical).  The original statement can still be read underneath.

The comic process

Birbiglia has a bit about a visit to his urologist, and how he’s not funny on-the-spot. He then says,

I feel like we’re led to believe this false cliche from romantic comedies that we’re all just whipping off jokes all the time. Like, we meet a girl in a coffee shop and we’re like, “What’s in your latte, cum?” And she’ll be like, “You’re hilarious! We should be married in ninety minutes!” But in real life, that guy gets arrested, or runs for president.

On the conversation with his urologist, Birbiglia notes, “I’ll take this conversation home and work on it, and that will be the bit.”

A lot of comics make statements like these, which for me are nice. Some comics are obviously hilarious in real life, for instance, Robin Williams, anyone from Whose Line Is It Anyway?, etc. Other comics have our moments, but most of our work is done in rewriting and editing.  Birbiglia places himself in this category.

Questions? Comments? Thoughts? Additions?

Do you agree with Birbiglia’s perspectives?  Did you see something different in his statements (even the ones I didn’t quote)?

References:

Hobbes, Thomas. The Elements of Law, Natural and Politic: Part I, Human Nature, Part II, De Corpore Politico; with Three lives.  Ed. J.C.A. Gaskin.  New York: Oxford University, 1994.

Morreal, John.  “Verbal Humor Without Switching Scripts and Without Non-Bona Fide Communication.”  International Journal of Humor Research 17 (2004): 393-400.

Why Academics Should Listen to Comics

Comics are critics

One of the premises of my work is that comics are social and cultural critics. Comics frequently operate in a critical mode, and they home in on a lot of social and cultural problems.  The difference, though, between comics and bona fide critics is that comics most often try to push their critiques to the funniest possible outcome, rather than the most social conscious outcome – but not always; some try to do both.

Comics study jokes

In any case, one thing comics – especially successful comics – are intensely interested in is the joke work: how to write them, tell them, what they are and why people laugh.  Moreover, their opinions about jokes might be just as good as the opinions of the social scientists and cultural critics that formally study them – a lot of the time, they’ve put in about an equal amount of time.

Academic bases

More formally [Warning: Academic jargon alert! Skip this paragraph if you want to stay sane!], at a certain level, it’s all just discourse, articulating different loci in an archive to reflect and deflect the discourse formation that is stand-up comedy. Whereas critics retroactively take apart jokes and determine their structure and content, comics use their tools to create that structure and content, and then they go further: they test it out on real-world audiences and collect data in real time.

Now, these tests are sporadic, haphazard, slap-dash affairs, highly susceptible to the whims of individual audiences and the subjective reflection of the comic – not a systematic and formal study of the performance of the joke.  Oftentimes, what they really have going for them is persistence. However, the end result of this process can be a successful live show.

Jumbled positions

Often times, the theories that come from comics are a hodgepodge of different critical theories that have been circulating for decades, if not centuries.  What I like to point out is when the theories of the comics overlap with the theories of the critics, and where they differ.

Successful application

And who’s to say the comic’s bizarre mix isn’t the “correct” one? After all, it got them to the stage they currently occupy, which is more than the armchair academic critic can say. True, for every successful comic, there are a host of others trying out the same premises, similar personas, etc.

These comics could fail for a number of reasons: the audience one night didn’t like the joke, so they dropped it; they failed to execute it properly on a series of nights and thought the problem was the joke, and dropped it; they didn’t try to rewrite the joke in a different way; the joke was wrong for their persona or that set; etc., etc., etc.

There are so many ways a good joke could fail! That’s why I find humor so interesting!

References:

Biesecker, Barbara.  “Michel Foucault and the Question of Rhetoric.”  Philosophy and Rhetoric 25 (1992): 350-64.

Foucault, Michel.  The Archaeology of Knowledge.  New York: Pantheon Books, 1972.

—.  “Space of Invention: Dissension, Freedom, and Thought in Foucault.”  Philosophy and Rhetoric 35.4 (2002): 328-344.

Victor Raskin’s Script Theory

Presuppositions, “common sense,” and scripts

In proposing Script Theory, a major model seen to support Incongruity theory, Linguist Victor Raskin notes that

[M]any jokes are based on the knowledge of a presupposition shared by the speaker and the hearer(s) (327).

Our understanding of the sentence … [its meaning], depends among others, on the two sources, the lexicon (language) and our knowledge of certain things about the world we live in. (329).

Thus the premise is that the speaker and listeners have presupposed, shared understanding. He compares our knowledge of the “lexicon” to a dictionary, and “our knowledge of certain things” to an encyclopedia, but we store both the meanings of words and “cognitive structures” in our minds.  Raskin labels the cognitive structures “common sense,” and later “scripts.”

“The scripts are … the “common sense” cognitive structures stored in the mind of the native speaker” (325)

The scripts are designed to describe certain standard routines, processes, [later, he includes “standard procedures, basic situations, (329)], etc., the way the native speaker views them and thus to provide semantic theory with a restricted and prestructured outlook into the extra-linguistic world. (325)

Overlap

As such, verbal humor

is the result of a partial overlap of two (or more) different and in a sense opposite scripts which are all compatible (fully or partially) with the text carrying this element (325).

Or later:

[M]uch of verbal humor depends on a partial or complete overlap of two or more scripts all of which are compatible with the joke carrying text (332).

The scripts must each make sense when applied to the text of the joke. Through examples he notes that the script shifts due to certain word use.  For instance, in the example,

The Junior String Quartet played Brahms last night. Brahms lost.

The word “played” is an indicator we can shift from the primary script, played music, to a secondary script, played sports against.  While the set-up possessed the necessary indicators (i.e. it was “compatible” with both scripts), the punch line brings it home to the audience.

He admits the jokes and scripts are simple, but he’s merely trying to illustrate a point.  In practice, both are much more complex, and the more complex the script, “quite often, the better is the joke” (334).

He further notes that the overlap can not be between just any two scripts, “The two overlapping scripts should be opposite in a certain sense” (333).

In his later work, Raskin proposes a set of possible categories:

  • Actual/non-actual
  • Normal/abnormal
  • Possible/impossible
  • Good/bad
  • Life/death
  • Obscene/non-obscene
  • Money/no money
  • High stature/low stature (1985, 113-114)

Such lists, he argues, are limited and culturally based, and there must be a cultural connection between the two scripts:

[O]ne cannot simply juxtapose two incongruous things and call it a joke, but rather one must find a clever way of making them make pseudo-sense together (Triezenberg, 537).

To be fair, when he says opposite, they don’t have to be diametrically opposed, merely incompatible, operating in different realms or registers. Playing music is a physical act, but the goal is harmony, playing sports is also a physical act, but the goal is often healthy competition.

Underlying Assumptions: Getting it

My problem with Script Theory is that it assumes certain elements of intentionality, which I’ve discussed before as the assumption that the comic’s only goal is to create humor.  Here, the assumption is that the comic wants to create humor in specific ways, and that there are a finite number of them.  Therefore, it’s the audience’s job to “get the joke.”

“Getting” the scripts

So to take Raskin’s “Brahms” joke:

The Junior String Quartet played Brahms last night. Brahms lost.

When we get the statement: “The Junior String Quartet played Brahms,” we have to supply the script that “All string quartets play music.” We also apply a script that “Brahms created music that can be played.” However, we also are supposed to get competing scripts that “People make up string quartets,” and “People can play both music and sports,” and “Brahms was also a person, who can also play sports.”  This is the application of a simple model of verbal irony, where there is tension between two possible intended meanings, one obvious, one implied.  The punch line shifts the meaning from one to the other, and the implied meaning is given priority – it is, for the purposes of the joke, the right one.

Supplemental scripts

One of my major points (that I continue to emphasize in this blog), is that this process can be more complex than a simple “fill-in-the-blank” that follows author intent.  Audiences can be active, they can supplement a text and create humor.

Ross Perot

For instance,  John C. Meyer, when giving examples for his Four Functions of Humor, talks about when failed 1992 independent presidential candidate Ross Perot, who was caricatured in political cartoons as having huge ears, quipped in a debate, “If there are some good plans out there, I’m all ears.”  Meyer argued that audience members familiar with the cartoons and Perot, could laugh with him at those caricatures, thus identifying with him.  However, Meyer also mentions that Perot denied knowing or noticing that what he said was funny.

So in this case, the primary script, that “‘I’m all ears’ means ‘I’m ready to listen'” was the only intended script.  The text was also compatible with a known secondary script, “Ross Perot has big ears,” but this script wasn’t intended, only inferred. The audience therefore, I argue, didn’t need to laugh with Perot at the caricature, they could laugh at Perot himself as embodying the caricature, and all the harder for him not seeing why that was funny.

Gabriel Iglesias

In a more recent and popular example, Gabriel Iglesias, in his 2007 special Hot and Fluffy, tells a joke where he was drunk at a bar on St. Patrick’s day, and he starts to do an accent (it’s more Scottish than Irish, but whatever), and fools other patrons, who ask him questions.

People go, “Are you here by yourself.” I go, “No, I’m not here by myself. Donkey!”

Now, if you’re not laughing, you need to get out more often, because that’s a funny joke. That’s hysterical, ask a ten-year-old, they’ll tell you [in a child’s voice] “That’s funny!”

Then he talks about the joke,

I did that joke one night in Memphis, Tennessee, and some guy thought he knew why it was funny, and he was waaay off, but he confronted me outside, all drunk

[In a drunk, nasally voice with a southern twang] “Hey you! Fluffy.”

I’m like, “What?”

“‘mere.” [A callback to a previous joke]

“No, you ‘mere.”

And he walks over and he’s like, “I have to tell you, your show was hysterical. I damn near wet myself when you said ‘Donkey!’ My friend, Roy, didn’t laugh, so I had to explain it to him. And he thinks I’m wrong, but I know I’m right.  Could you set the record straight?”

“Sure, what’d you tell your friend?”

“Ok, look here. I told him the reason why it was funnier than hell that you said ‘Donkey!’ was ’cause you’re Mexican. And you people ride ‘Donkeys!'”

What this situation reveals, is that even though Iglesias has a script in mind (for those not in the loop, it was a reference to the film Shrek) and it’s clearly indicated (e.g. he’s a large man, doing a poor Scottish accent, etc.) the audience member found a competing script that worked for him, applied it and thus found it funny. This script, however, wasn’t “shared by the speaker” or even necessarily, the other hearers.

Iglesias doesn’t correct the guy, and he has his reasons, but perhaps additionally there’s this: the guy laughed – hard!  He enjoyed the show. He was a fan.

And most importantly, who’s to say he was “wrong” about why it was funny to him? Yes, it’s mildly racist in that it’s an inaccurate and not widely held stereotype (i.e. it wasn’t “common sense”), but not funny?

The guy thought he was laughing with Iglesias, at the stereotype, just as Meyer thought people were laughing with Perot about the caricature. So he’s at least “that much” right.

Summary

Raskin’s Script Theory argues that jokes, especially complex jokes, create gaps that can be filled by competing scripts.  And Raskin knows there can be multiple scripts (more than two) that can get it done.

What these two examples show is that the speaker doesn’t control the script.  They can set it up as well as possible, but the audience still has to do the leg work, and as with the enthymeme, which the audience can make persuasive or not, the script they supply can make the joke funny or not.

Further, we might never be able to pin down which part – if any – of those scripts the author intended the audience “got.” Their laughter gives us no clue, as it seems uniform, and thus comics and critics assume everybody “got” the same thing.  But they might not have.

Questions? Comments? Thoughts? Additions?

References:

Aristotle, The Rhetoric

Meyer, John C.  “Humor as a Double-Edged Sword: Four Functions of Humor in Communication.”  Communication Theory 10.3 (2000): 310-331.

Raskin, Victor. “Semantic Mechanisms of Humor.” Proceedings of the Fifth Annual Meeting of the Berkeley Linguistics Society (1979), pp. 325-335.

Raskin, Victor. Semantic Mechanisms of Humor. Boston: D. Reidel (1985).

Triezenberg, Katrina E. “Humor in Literature.” In Primer of Humor Research, ed. Victor Raskin. New York: Mouton de Gruyte (2008).

Wilson, Nathan. Was That Supposed to be Funny?  A Rhetorical Analysis of Politics, Problems and Contradictions in Contemporary Stand-Up Comedy. Dissertation in partial completion of the Ph.D. August, 2008.

Wilson, Nathan. “Divisive Comedy: A Critical Examination of Audience Power.” Participations: Journal of Audience and Reception Studies, 8 (2), 2011: 276-29

Comic Intent II: Getting it

My problem with a number of different theories is that they assume certain elements of intentionality, which I’ve discussed before as assuming the comic’s only goal is to create humor.  Here, the assumption is that the comic wants to create humor in specific ways, and that there are a finite number of them.  It’s the audience’s job to “get the joke.”  This form of intentionality often has (at least) four sub-assumptions:

  1. That the comic wrote the joke a particular way, so
  2. The audience has to “get it” in exactly that way to laugh; thus,
  3. When they laugh, they are always laughing in the way the comic wanted, and
  4. We know what that intention was/is.

These are the assumptions of bona fide persuasion. Victor Raskin mentions the idea of bona fide communication early in his discussion of Script Theory, and says he rejects it, but the traces are still there.  These assumptions are based on the Classical Greek persuasive model of the syllogism and its equivalent, the enthymeme, and the concept of verbal irony [I’ll have more to say on this soon].

Syllogisms & Enthymemes

Aristotle proposed a way of breaking down an argument into three component parts:

  1. Major premise – Usually known, overarching truths, or we might say, “common sense” or scripts
  2. Minor premise – Particular truths about the situation or object discussed
  3. Conclusion – The logical result of the two premises

So the classical example (of a categorical, one type of syllogism) is:

  1. All men are mortal
  2. Socrates is a man
  3. Thus Socrates is mortal

If we accept that all men are mortal, and that Socrates is a man, then we must conclude that he is mortal.

The enthymeme can either be a syllogism where one or more premise is not necessarily true, but only probable (e.g. All men are mortal, and Socrates is probably a man, therefore…), or it can be a truncated syllogism, where one piece is missing (e.g. Socrates is a man and therefore mortal [–because we know, “All men are…”]).

Truncated enthymemes are thought to be more persuasive because the audience must do the leg work; they supply the missing piece, making the argument work for them (or fail to), and thus, in a sense, they convince themselves.

Political Potential

The problem, as I’ve argued elsewhere, is that if we allow that audience’s convince themselves, then they have a lot of the power in the exchange. They have the freedom to “get” things the author didn’t intend – in short, to supplement the text – and to “not get,” miss, or overlook things the author did.

Especially when jokes are complex – we could use big words like polysemic (having multiple possible meanings) and polyvalent (having multiple possible ways of evaluating them) – we might never be able to pin down which part–if any–of those the author intended the audience “got.” Their laughter gives us no clue, as it seems uniform, and thus comics and critics assume everybody “got” the same thing.  But they might not have; see my discussion of Victor Raskin’s Script Theory for just two examples.

Questions? Comments? Thoughts? Additions?

References:

Aristotle, The Rhetoric

Ceccarelli, Leah.  “Polysemy: Multiple Meanings in Rhetorical Criticism.”  Quarterly Journal of Speech 84 (1998): 395-415.

Fiske, John.  Television Culture.  New York: Routledge, 1987.

Raskin, Victor. “Semantic Mechanisms of Humor.” Proceedings of the Fifth Annual Meeting of the Berkeley Linguistics Society (1979): 325-335.

Raskin, Victor. Semantic Mechanisms of Humor. Boston: D. Reidel, 1985.

Wilson, Nathan. Was That Supposed to be Funny?  A Rhetorical Analysis of Politics, Problems and Contradictions in Contemporary Stand-Up Comedy. Dissertation in partial completion of the Ph.D. August, 2008.

Wilson, Nathan. “Divisive Comedy: A Critical Examination of Audience Power.” Participations: Journal of Audience and Reception Studies, 8 (2), 2011: 276-29