In an interview with Larry Fitzmaurice of Vice.com (7/12/2017), Ricky Gervais has a lot to say about comedy and even people.
All the same?
Gervais says that his jokes do well internationally because,
I talk about big issues: war, religion, stupidity, intelligence, love, death. The people I talk about are world famous. There’s no difference in humor. We’re all the same underneath.
This point is disputable. Physical humor and scatological humor are both based in bodily function, and thus are common experiences that play well to international audiences. Look at the popularity of Mr. Bean. For a long time, Baywatch was the number one show internationally, because large breasted white women running in slow motion plays well in every country. This was followed by the variations of Idol (American, etc.), because singing and dance talent have also become – to some extent – standardized.
It’s kind of a chicken/egg debate: Does that international comedy you’re watching have scatological humor because that’s what passes for humor in that country, or are you able to watch it because they knew that would pass for humor globally – that’s probably how it got popular enough to hit your radar?
The question is, are people similar enough on the issues Gervais lists (war, religion, stupidity, intelligence, love, death) to laugh at his jokes? Maybe in Western culture. But it probably depends more on the joke, than the topic.
Humor takes thought
Counter to the common interpretation that laughs are unconscious, automatic – or at least knee-jerk – bodily responses to something universally funny, Gervais expresses a more enlightened view.
[W]hen it comes to what’s funny, comedy is an intellectual pursuit anyway.
So perhaps jokes are not universally funny, but instead we have to think about it, put it into a cultural context and then decide it’s funny. That sounds like a lot of work!
Actually, some scholars talk about mental shortcuts, pre-patterned or habitual responses. We circumvent the intellectual process by laughing at the same things we’ve always laughed at. We laugh because we recognize the structure of the joke, and the laugh should go here. Or we laugh because we are trying to impress the speaker.
But some of us are becoming more savvy consumers of humor. We don’t laugh as easily, especially when the topics are problematic. We can’t just laugh at fat people anymore, or the disabled, or people of color acting stupidly – the list is growing – unless it’s the right joke, that lets us laugh in the right way – so that we can laugh with them.
Clapter
Gervais also addresses Seth Meyers’ idea of “clapter,” responses that indicate agreement with the comic, but not necessarily humor. He says that’s not the response he’s going for:
I try to keep politics out of it. If you’re relying on people agreeing with you, then you’re losing something comically. I could spend an hour bashing Trump or Brexit, but I don’t think I should. What makes a difference is whether or not you’ve created a smart audience or a dumb audience. I could play to the wrong crowd in England just as easily as I could play the wrong crowd in America. I just try to do intelligent, thought-provoking comedy.
I didn’t like it in the 70s when comedians would come out and be racist—they were relying on like-minded people clapping because they’re racist too. I’ve played the right-wing, uneducated bore in a lot of my shows, and I don’t want to do that bit this time because I’ve realized half the world is actually like that.
He says something similar on Late Night with Seth Meyers (7/21/2017). This idea of intelligent, thought-provoking comedy is the driving force behind my project. It’s the idea that comedy at its best doesn’t just “make people laugh,” but encourages them to think.
The idea is that a comic can choose whether or not to play on knee-jerk, pre-patterned responses. Most comics consider such a reliance, by definition, “hacky,” but they don’t always get when they’re doing it. Sometimes they think they’re being “edgy” when they’re just invoking an automatic, recoil response from an audience. These types of humor would create a dumb audience.
On the other hand, if a comic can entice people to listen to an argument that they wouldn’t normally entertain, get them to laugh (for whatever reason) and at the same time actually make a valid point – an unexpected or witty connection or comparison, a savvy distinction or contrast, etc. – they can provoke thought. Maybe not always – hell, maybe not consistently – but sometimes, and all without sacrificing the audience’s goodwill and losing them. They’ve made the audience smarter.
On expectations
One thing open mic’ers lament is that we’re not “names,” speaking in a known comedy venue with our name in lights on the marquee. We strongly believe that having a recognizable name or at the very least, the name of the comedy club behind you lends a lot to the show – if nothing else, when people are familiar with you and your work, they can make an informed decision to opt in or out – and Gervais expresses this understanding:
There’s no real difference in terms of where I am in the world because they all come to see me, so they’re already my crowd.
Gervais is well aware that his previous popularity gives him a lot of room in which to work.
I always say that I know how lucky I am. I can get these people to come out to see me because The Office is shown in 90 countries—and Extras. They already know me. If it wasn’t for those shows, I wouldn’t have time in my life to build up a cult following to be this big in every country.
On the popularity of stand-up
In his last answer, Gervais talks about the rise of (and the academic in me says “cultural relevance of) stand-up:
There’s a perception that stand-up is becoming more popular again.
I see it, but it’s very different now, too. Traditionally, the stand-up scene was basically people getting their seven minutes wherever there was a couple of scouts from Letterman or The Simpsons. They wanted to get a writing job or their own sitcom. Now, there’s much more pride in just doing stand-up—there’s much more pride in it. Why do I want to get a little sitcom that might be canceled? I’m selling out in arenas here. There’s not much more pride in just being the biggest and best stand-up you can be.
I remember Jerry Seinfeld saying to me years ago, “Why are you doing films? Why are you doing TV? You’re a stand-up.” He didn’t understand that I like to do everything. Jerry thought stand-up, was the Holy Grail. I never saw that because it wasn’t in vogue, but now I do think he was right. There’s nothing more enjoyable than saying exactly what you think to 10,000 strangers every night. You do what you want. No one interferes. It’s the purest art form. It took me this long to appreciate it, and it took me this long to be good.
My first shows, I was pretty good—but now I think I’m really good. I’ve cracked it. I want to do another sitcom and another movie, but if I had to give something up, it probably would be everything else but stand-up. That’s why being a rock star is so appealing. When you’re an actor, you’re someone else every day—people love you when you’re someone else. You could be the biggest thing in a Marvel film, but no one cares about your next thing because you don’t have the rubber suit on. What they liked was the rubber suit. When you’re a rock star, you’re always you—on the stage, in the limo, throwing a TV out the window. It’s the same with a comedian. You’re not the same in real life as you are on the stage, but you know you are your person. Rock stars and comedians—they’re the superheroes. They’re already in their rubber suits.
Questions? Comments? Thoughts? Additions?
