Other Than That, Mrs. Lincoln, How Did You Enjoy the Show?

Hurricane Sandy, the Challenger explosion, 9/11, Tiger Woods' infidelity...Why is it in the aftermath of a tragic event or a public figure's (particularly a celebrity's) misfortune we make jokes?  Trevor J. Blank tries to explain.

The Last Laugh: folk humor, celebrity culture, and mass-mediated disasters in the digital age by Trevor J. Blank (University of Wisconsin Press, 2013)

We all know the punchlines - the pressed red button, the imbedded golf club, the rumored pedophilia.  They're tasteless, inappropriate, and cringe-inducing, but we laugh anyway.  Trevor J. Blank, an assistant professor of communications at SUNY/Potsdam, explains that it's all a part of being human, of creating a form of folklore.  These awful jokes seep into our collective consciousness, allowing us to cope with horrific events, show our anger, and express schadenfreude while modulating our fear, disappointment, hostility, and disgust.

Although peppered with many examples of these jokes, this very academic book is recommended only for those who are interested in cultural anthropology, psychology, or human communication.  

You Won't Find These Titles in Your Library...

Reading on our smartphones and tablets in public have taken some of the fun, social aspect, and opportunities to craft the perfect pick-up line.  However, sometimes - just sometimes - it's probably better not to broadcast to the world what you're perusing.  Here, comedian Scott Rogowsky reimagines the experience of reading an actual book on the subway with hilarious results.  Click here and enjoy. (NSFW) 

For Your Listening Pleasure....

There's nothing like an expert to explain "the funny."  Listen to Larry David, Amy Poehler, and Randy Newman discuss what they know best in this interview from The New Yorker Festival. Thank you, NPR.

A Bag of Dicks and a Few Chicks

Get ready for some information overload!  

The Comedians:  Drunks, Thieves, Scoundrels, and the History of American Comedy by Kliph Nesteroff (Grove Press, 2015)
Comedy is not pretty, and self-described "comedy nerd" Kliph Nesteroff wants to make sure that you don't miss one ugly inch.  His exhaustive and fascinating tome (400+ pages, with footnotes and index), comes at you rapid fire, leaving you feeling like you watched a Laugh-In marathon.  There is just so much here, and yet there is something vitally missing (more on that later).

Starting with the early 20th century, Neteroff shows us the roots of stand-up comedy, beginning with Frank Fay, a vaudeville comic (later actor) who eschewed pratfalls and slapstick,and instead stood in front of an audience and told straightforward jokes. (But that's not where the term "stand-up comedian" originated...and I ain't tellin'.)  He moves on to the likes of Bob Hope, Milton Berle, Groucho Marx, et al, and rather than fawn over their comic genius, Neteroff prefers to show how each comic screwed the others, or were screwed by others.  From stealing jokes to stealing the spotlight, one comes away feeling that they will never look at these adored luminaries in the same way, or will feel a little twinge of guilt when they laugh at their jokes. 

Now, here's the missing stuff:  

My first beef is semantical.  The first half of the subtitle is quite accurate.  However, I would have preferred that Nesteroff called the book "a history" rather than "the history," as it does not cover anything before the 20th century, and I'm sure funny stuff was going on in the country prior to 1900 (except when the Puritans landed on Plymouth Rock.  They were real buzzkills.).  Even better, he should have called it "a history of stand-up comedy."

My other beef is where are the women?  With the exception of a few paragraphs devoted to Pearl Williams (an early "dirty comic"), Joan Rivers, Jean Carroll, Moms Mabley, and Lily Tomlin, plus some discussion of Mitzi Shore, the evil queen of The Comedy Store, women are essentially missing.  The contribution of the likes of Lucille Ball, Carol Burnett, Phyllis Diller, Sarah Silverman, Sophie Tucker, et al, are pretty much non-existent.  Women, if anything in this book, are just names.   Aren't women part of the history of American comedy, too?  They're certainly part a huge part of its future.

Despite its flaws, this is a must-read.

"Start Up Your Stand Up" with Stevie GB

Per Jerry Seinfeld, "According to most studies, people's number one fear is public speaking.  Number two is death.  Death is number two.  Does that sound right?  This means to the average person, if you go to a funeral, you're better off in the casket than doing the eulogy."

Doing stand-up comedy is, in my opinion, the scariest kind of public speaking.  Unlike making a speech before your peers, stand-up requires you to put yourself out there before a room full of anonymous strangers.  Because the feedback is instant, you'll know in a matter of seconds whether they like what you're saying.  It also requires you to make this bunch of strangers like you just as quickly.  Probably the best way to get started, as the sneaker ads say, is to "just do it."  In other words, get up there, and get up there, and keep getting up there.  But if you're not that gutsy, you may be able to find a class at your local comedy club where you can learn and practice in a safe, supportive atmosphere.  If that's not an option for you, there is help.

Comedian Steve Giantuco, known professionally as "Stevie GB, the World's Funniest Accountant," has created a YouTube series, "Start Up Your Stand-Up."  Among the lessons you'll learn are how to get started, how to handle bombing, how to get press, etc.  After doing stand-up on Long Island for more than 20 years, and opening for the likes of Louie Anderson, Rob Schneider, Bobby Collins, Caroline Rhea, and Lewis Black, he knows what he's talking about.  You'll find his short, informative videos here bit.ly/1LQ3eBt. 

Some Thoughts on Garry Shandling

For years now, whenever the family gathers for a photo or my husband tries to photograph me (a story for another day), I invariably ask someone, "How's my hair?"  I'm not a particularly vain person, knowing that the breeding ground for cowlicks that I call "hair" will always be askew.  I couldn't recall when that question became part of my photo routine until I heard the news about Garry Shandling's death.  It came from him.  I wasn't asking it about me, but rather, I was imitating the fictional "Garry" of the "It's Garry Shandling's Show."  In almost every episode, he'd ask that question out of anxiety, as if having every strand in place would mean that the rest of his life would be just as neat.

I didn't know much about Garry Shandling before the Showtime series, but from the minute I heard the theme song, I was in love.  That catchy, goofy, self-aware wink at the audience was all it took to hook me -- that, and my strange crush on Michael Tucci, as his neighbor "Pete Schumacher."  It was one of my "appointment" TV shows (what they now call "Must-See TV"), and my husband and I would watch, singing along with the song, swaying and boucing like two kids around a campfire. 

One of the most poignant and heartbreaking episodes was what we didn't know then to be the final appearance of Gilda Radner on TV.  We saw it as her comeback to comedy after ovarian cancer, little knowing that a short time later, she would be gone.  The scene involved her returning ta wagonload of books to Garry that he had lent her to read.  When he asked her why he hadn't seen her on TV for a while, she chirpily responded, "I had cancer.  What did you have?"

After that show ended, and Garry went to HBO with his "The Larry Sanders Show," I felt deprived.  My husband no longer worked in the cable TV trade and we had to drop our premium channels (First World Problems, yes, I know.)  This was in the days before one had other options, like waiting months for the DVDs or piggybacking on a relative's HBO GO account. Everyone was talking about it, and I had no frame of reference, except from occasional promotional clips when Garry appeared on (real) talk shows.

Many comics are hailed to be geniuses, but there are only a few who truly qualify.  Garry was one of them, doing on TV what others wish they thought of first.  He will be missed.

"How's my hair?"

This Is No Pity Party

We Killed: the rise of women in American comedy by Yael Kohen (Sarah Crichton Books, an imprint of Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2012).

Almost anybody who is, and was, anybody in the field has a say about the status of women in comedy in this anecdotal history.  While the choppy format is a bit annoying (a string of attributed vignettes), the stories and opinions from the 150 comics, writers, producers, actors, and critics, from Phyllis Diller to Chelsea Perretti, elicit anger and awe.  No one whines here or feels sorry for themselves. 

The book opens with a helpful "Cast of Characters," a list that identifies all the interviewees, both female and male, and their relationship to comedy.  Each chapter represents an era, starting with the 1960s and ending in 2011.  Interspersed among these chapters are sections that spotlight one outstanding person who changed the playing field:  Carol Burnett, Merrill Markoe, and Ellen DeGeneres.  While Elayne Boosler, Tina Fey, and Amy Poehler are discussed, but not interviewed, the most notable absence in these pages is that of Amy Schumer, whose thunderclap appearance on the scene happened just as this book was hitting the shelves.