Humour

What is humour?  What makes a joke funny?  Why is something funny to one person and not to another?

I don’t know.  I was hoping you’d tell me!

Now some people would have laughed at that.   And some people would have laughed at that too!

I went to see Eddy Izzard live at Shaftesbury Theatre a good few years ago now, and he used a similar technique to get a laugh which relied on a form of self-belittling, self-deprecation, admission of ignorance.  On this occasion the joke was a little off-beat, a little too “out there”, and so he followed it with an observation: “Note to self, remove unfunny comment”, and of course, the audience laughed, so he followed it with. “Note to self, maybe not.” And he got another laugh.

One comedian took this to a higher level by saying he could probably kill someone by timing his jokes in such a way that the audience wouldn’t have time to breathe in in-between laughs.  The audience laughed, and just as the laughter began to taper off, he said “Like this!”, and they started laughing again.  He waited, one finger raised, in silence, until the laughter started to wane.  His facial expression perked up, he raised his finger higher, and said “And this”, and the laughter started all over again. 

This proved to me that humour doesn’t have to be rude or threatening, racist or sexist.  Gone are the days of Mother-in-Law jokes or Irishman, Englishman, Scotsman jokes.  We’ve been told during the 80’s and 90’s that these subjects are taboo – the Political Correctness ideal has made laughing at someone’s gender or religious leanings a no-no, and those that do laugh either feel guilty about it, or revel in their prejudices. 

To me, the funniest humour is that Eddy Izzard/ Billy Connolly type self-observation, anecdotal, slightly humble delivery.  I can relate to it, I understand exactly how they felt.  Any uncomfortableness I feel is sympathetic, empathic – and so I can see the funny side of their experience because they’re laughing about it too.  I don’t poke fun at other people, I poke fun at myself.

For example:  In response to my question about whether a friend had anything planned for the weekend…

Julie : 10:00
Long weekend Monday off with Neil, Pub lunch 

You?

Colin: 10:01

No thanks, I'd just get in the way

Julie : 10:02

Ha that’s funny

And that brings me on to the art of the one liner, or the quick-thinking quip.

I was working in London many years ago, and was enjoying a cigarette break when a colleague stops by my table and asked if he could have a light.  I’ve not smoked for 17 years now, so I’m not sure if they’re still available now, but back then I had a thing for those little, brightly coloured Bic ones, so I passed it over to him.  “Oh, I have a jumper at home this colour!  Or is this a little lighter?”

I think I snorted coffee down my nose.  It also received several groans – which I think is an acknowledgement of funny in some cultures.  (At least I hope so, because most of my best jokes get that response).

Humour seems to be about being in the right place at the right time, and saying the right thing in the right context .  I can’t count how many times I’ve come back from a gig or the Comedy Club and faithfully replayed a set, and all I get back is a blank stare, or a half-hearted chuckle where it should have been 15 minutes of uncontrollable belly laughs.  Humour is objective and subjective, a complex weave of storytelling, dramaticism, timing and expression.  Change a single aspect of it and it’s no longer funny.

Jasper Carrot sums it up nicely with this anecdote.  “What do you put on your passport under occupation when you’re in the stand-up business?  Comedian?  I was stopped at the Security Line at Heathrow, the Customs Officer inspected my  passport, looked at me suspiciously  and said “Tell us a joke then!” “

It was much funnier when he told it.