Mathematical laughter

I happened across a rather interesting take on how to compare comedians. You can find the article here. Basically, the article takes a quantifiable approach to comparing the recent standup specials from Louis CK and Dane Cook.

By calculating things like total instances of laughter, laughs per minute, time in between laughs, percentage of time audience spent laughing, etc. CK generally receives better marks by the end of the study.

 When comparing these two comics, audience reaction is not the thing people are usually talking about. In case you’re out of the comedy loop, Cook has been accused by the comedy community of stealing jokes from CK. It’s important to note that these accusations have never come from CK himself.

Naturally, the comedy intellectuals sided with CK and maintained street cred while Cook was co-starring with Jessica Alba in some cinematic abomination called “Good Luck Chuck.”

More to the point, can you analyze these two comics by how often the audience is laughing, or other factors similar to that? While it’s definitely an interesting way to look at things, I don’t think you can make a conclusive judgment off of just these raw numbers alone.

Call me a purist, call me artsy, call me a snob; there is more to laughter than how often and audience does it. The article concedes this, mostly just to reinforce the idea that even in the categories that Cook faired better in didn’t actually make him a better comic than CK.

Along with the graphs and text, the article contains a video of one of the more pathetic five minutes in standup comedy. The video is from Cook’s special “Rough Around The Edges.” This was when Cook could consistently sell out hockey arenas around the country.

I can’t tell what is more embarrassing: the crowd or the comic. Let’s start with the comic.

This clip is a fantastic example of why comedians lost respect for Cook. He goes on his typical four minute rants that don’t really have any punch lines, just details that make people think it’s funny because it’s true, but really it’s just funny because their drunk and they heard something familiar.

The crowd sounds like they don’t know when to laugh, so they just laugh the entire time, and then scream when he says something with a different inflection. This is what comics refer to as a “dumb” crowd.

Now, I try not to be a comedy snob. If you’re making people laugh, you must be doing something right. But, there is just something so wrong about watching Cook get a standing ovation for kneeling on stage, while I watch comics that have been working diligently on their craft for years and not get the kind of breaks someone like Cook has.

Here’s what I’m not going to do. I will not be using the phrase “sell-out” to describe Cook. People want to say that he’s just in it for the money, and that’s why he takes roles in terrible romantic comedies. The fact of the matter is that you don’t know how long success is going to last, it could be gone tomorrow and if the opportunity arises, you need to strike while the iron is hot.

Getting back on point, comedy is not a numbers game. If we were to use these calculations like and judge some of comedy’s legends, Bill Hicks would be an open mic’r. Frequency of laughter does not accurately depict how effective a comedian is being.

Too far

Jews are cheap. Asians can’t drive. Black people are criminals. Women should be barefoot and pregnant. Priests touch little boys. 9/11 was hilarious; so was the holocaust.

No, this isn’t the set list for the next Daniel Tosh special. This is just a small sample of the kinds of topics that can get a comic in trouble with a crowd. Make the joke just as clever as it is shocking and offensive, and you’ve got yourself a winner. Make the joke generic and mean-spirited, and you’ve got yourself what many comedians call a “groaner.”

A “groaner” is what happens when people think a joke has gone “too far.”

That’s a phrase I feel like I’ve been hearing my entire life. “Too far.” Just typing it makes me feel like a pompous dick.  There is nothing worse than when someone proclaims something as “too far” when in a group of friends. The moment it’s uttered a barrier is put up in the middle of the room with a big sign on top that says “things thou shall not say.”

I suppose you have to understand how comics behave when surrounded by other comics. It’s almost like this unspoken competition to see who can get the rest of the group to react strongest to whatever obnoxious thing they’re doing or saying.

When a comic performs a joke about a touchy subject, they’re taking a risk. They know they’ll be entering onto some people’s sacred ground and micturating on their rug. Pee (that’s what micturate means) on the wrong rug, and an audience can turn on you. And I don’t mean you have to have a Michael Richards style racial temper tantrum to make people hate you.

The best example of this that I’ve seen first-hand was when I opened for one of my favorite comics Michael Malone (you will now buy his fantastic new album here). Malone loves to work with the crowd and set himself up for some hilarious improvised moments.

I was sitting in the back with the other opening act that night. The crowd at Goonie’s Comedy Club was almost full; about 110 people. Some well-intentioned club employee decided to seat a bachelorette party front and center. To a comic, a bachelorette party means that there will be somewhere between four and eight people in the crowd that want all the attention on them. They have been drinking. They have been screaming. They have purchased penis-shaped paraphernalia.

And now, they are supposed to sit quietly and enjoy a show. That’s like giving a kid with ADD a fist full of pixie sticks five minutes before the end of recess. They’re just set up to fail.

Fortunately, this party of three was behaving about as well as you can expect a bachelorette party to. Malone had about twenty minutes left in his headlining set before he finally decided to ask the bride-to-be when the big day was. The conversation was generally uneventful until Malone asked her what her fiancé did for a living. She responded with “you’re just gonna make fun of me.” She said it in a way that would reinforce the dumb blonde girl vibe she was putting out. The pink boa and penis-whistle weren’t doing her any favors either.

Malone, just asking for trouble, continues to press her on the occupation of her future-husband. Sheepishly, she says he’s a “manager.” Malone, like a pro, keeps pushing until she gets her to say that he manages a Kwik Stop gas station. Malone’s brain begins to overflow with jokes so quickly that you start to see punch lines in the whites of his eyes.

 In a drawn-out smartass tone, Malone asks her “so when you told your friends and family that you were getting married… no one… said anything?”

Blondie is the only one in the room not wetting herself.

“All I’m saying is that your friends clearly don’t have your best interests in mind.”

Even her two bride’s maids are wiping tears from their eyes at this point.

The bachelorette remains silent and glaring for the remaining 15 minutes of the show. She was probably just practicing for married life. The show ends with Malone’s “sex whip” joke, and with 109 people walking away with sore cheeks. Now, as far as I know, Malone has no material on the typical racy subjects that force comics to tip-toe a sensitive line. But, he took someone somewhere they didn’t want to go. He went --here we go-- too far.

Whether it’s not being okay with a joke about Japanese earthquake victims, or your husband’s dead-end job, people have  boundaries. I can’t expect everyone to be copasetic with every joke, no matter how vile or immature. My advice to people that listen to jokes, is to take a step back and think harder about why you put up that barrier between you and laughter. Is the judgmental “I just bit into a lemon” look on your face really worth the energy if the alternative is a smile and a chuckle? More times than not I would say the answer is no.

My advice to people that tell jokes is to take as many risks as your little heart desires. If you’re at the same point in your “career” as I am, the worst thing that could possibly happen is a room full of people that won’t remember your name roll their eyes at your joke about Michael J. Fox. Just remember, the only way you’re going to have success with it is if it’s funny, and not just abrasive. Louis CK can get away saying the “N” word because he’s the funniest guy on the planet, not because he has some special privilege you don’t have.

There is humor in absolutely every aspect of life, and if an example of something you can’t find anything funny about just popped into your head, then you’re not looking hard enough. And if that great joke you have about lupus just isn’t working, then you’re not doing it right.

I’ll step off my soap box now. Quick fact before I go. I referenced urination three times in this post. Too far?

The Tim Harmston Edition

            Tim Harmston is a name you’ll want to remember. Although he is originally from Wisconsin, Tim got his start in the Minneapolis comedy scene. Tim won the Twin Cities Funniest Person in 2003, within a year of his first time being on stage. He has since appeared on Comedy Central’s “Live at Gotham” and most recently appeared on “Late Show with David Letterman.” I’ve had the pleasure of performing at a few of the same open mics as Tim, and he’s one of the funniest comics I know.

            For this post, I asked Tim to talk more about why he does comedy. It sounds so simple, but I think it’s interesting to find out what draws people back on stage time and time again.

--When people ask, the first thing I tell them is that I do comedy because I'm basically a screwup. Not that being a screwup is a prerequisite for being a comedian, but it sure helps. Let's face it: If I were good at academics or had some predominant skill that allowed me to advance into a professional, respectable occupation (i.e. “big boy” job), a career in comedy wouldn't have even crossed my mind.

But there I was, 30 years old, staring at a dead end job, without motivation to pursue the American Dream (i.e. 9 to 5 job, wife, alcoholism). That's when comedy appeared, like a Sunday morning cable access faith healer, preying on my weak, destitute soul with its promises of healing and good fortune. It remains to be seen if any of comedy's promises will be kept, but it won't bother me if they aren't because I don't have anywhere else to turn.

That's the business end, the practical, bill-paying explanation of why I do comedy. The internal, emotional reason that I do comedy probably can't be explained. Okay, well, maybe it can, but I don’t like trying to. It's like when a person gets diagnosed with a terminal disease. Some people will let their friends and family know; some people will keep it a secret, not wanting to trouble anyone with such grave news. I'm kind of like the latter—I don't want to trouble anyone with the dark details. But here's a muddled attempt. I'm guessing I struggle to explain why I really do comedy because I might have to admit that I have an ego. That's hard to accept since I was raised to not have one. Maybe the acceptance of the laughter is an implicit validation of my ego. Or, maybe it just feels good to make people laugh. The real answer probably lies somewhere in between.--

I love Tim’s words here because this is an extremely relatable way to talk about comedy for me personally. Tim talks about comedy in a similar way that people have heard Louis CK and Marc Maron in that they describe comedy as something to turn to. It’s something that is there for them when they need it.

He also brings up that doing comedy was what he did to get out of rut that he was in. There are many people that will take their dead-end job, and live paycheck to paycheck until they die or if they’re lucky something better falls into their lap. Other people do something dramatic. Some people buy a car, some people get a divorce, some people get on stage and talk about poop. Now, as far as I know, Tim doesn’t have any poop material, but you get the idea.

The final point he makes is a terrific encapsulation of what gets comics addicted to the stage. Comics can often be described as self-loathing narcissist, and to come to terms with the fact that the addiction very well could have to do with the ego boost we get when we hear laughter. Like Tim, I’d rather not admit that I have an ego, but the sensation you get rolling down your spine when you get a huge laugh very well could be your brain’s way of telling you “you’re awesome, you’re the king, you’re the funniest dude on the planet.” And there’s no way that sensation isn’t addicting.

The Josh Gondelman Edition

I hope you guys are as excited as I was to read this. Josh Gondelman is a stand-up comic that got his start in Boston, and has since moved to New York. I had the pleasure of hosting a weekend of shows with him at Goonie’s Comedy Club in Rochester. Like every good comic, Gondelman has a unique delivery and way of seeing the world. His history in creative writing shines through in his performance, and crowds seem to fall in love with his honesty and wit.

The fact that he is a writer makes him perfect for this blog, as I hope to look into several forms of comedy, including the written form.

Just to clarify, I asked Josh to write about whatever he wants in the realm of comedy. Here is what Josh has to say about what comedy is.

--Last weekend I had the opportunity to open for Steven Wright at a 1,350-seat theater in western Massachusetts. My set (a twelve minute stint contracted mostly to provide an intermission for the audience to buy more drinks) went well. There was laughter and applause, and then I got paid some money. The true joy of the evening, though, was getting to sit backstage and watch a true master ply his craft.

Steven Wright’s comedy is often described with adjectives like “surreal” and “deadpan,” but to me, the key element of his comedy is its lyricism. Wright speaks with a subdued, rhythmic cadence, and his diction is precise and elegant. His jokes range from silly: “My grandfather gave me five dollars and told me not to tell my mother. I said it was going to cost him more than that,” to bleak: “I got a paper cut writing my suicide note… that’s a start.” Taken together, they form an abstract but emotionally resonant self-portrait.

“Art is a lie that tells the truth,” as Picasso once said. Using that rubric, there are few better examples of art than the comedy of Steven Wright. While his jokes present outlandish scenarios, they carry real pathos. One extended bit describes taking a girl on a date to lie on top of a planetarium to look at the stars above. It doesn’t matter whether that actually happened. Wright sketches the scenario out with a minimal amount of syllables chosen for a maximal impact. They’re crafted to be funny, but in such an artful way that the laughter at times feels incidental.

My girlfriend and I sat fifteen feet from the stage, riveted by Wright’s quiet, murmuring intensity. The waves of his words rolled and crashed against the audience who laughed, cheered, and applauded by turns. At one point, Wright gave a dry chuckle and a tight, wry semi-smile as he remarked to the crowd: “You think this is a show.” They reacted with explosive laughter. And that, to me, is comedy.

Then the next night I performed for eight people at an urban nightclub called Symmetry in downtown Hartford. The last comic closed the show by dry-humping a female audience member. And sometimes, that’s comedy too--

                Josh brings up several interesting points here, but the one that sticks out to me the most is his reference to Steven Wright’s “lyricism.” Paralleling comedy to poetry is an idea that I feel people within the comedy community take as a universal truth, outside that community there is more skepticism.

                To me, there is poetry in every comics act to some extent. Some are more difficult to see than others. When I see George Carlin rumble through a rant about how humans have no rights, I hear someone making a poetic, powerful statement and still getting laughs. But there are comics that many people would see and enjoy, but would be classified as “just funny.” And, as a comic, there are much worse things than people saying you’re funny, but if you’re going to call Bill Hicks an artist, then you better call the guy dry-humping an audience member an artist too.

                A huge thanks to Josh for writing this up, and I hope you guys enjoyed it as much as I did. Next week we’ll be hear from Tim Harmston, perhaps my favorite Minneapolis comic, and why he continues getting on stage and why comics want to be comics. Till then, keep laughing.