S is for Slapstick

“To me, comedy is if you fall into an open sewer and die. To me, tragedy is if I cut my finger.”

--Mel Brooks (as the 2000 Year Old Man)

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Slapstick, many people believe, is the oldest form of comedy, and the closest to being universal. Slapstick is fast, violent humor. You know, everything from a pie in the face to (as Mr. Brooks says) falling in an open manhole.

I’m not going to fall into the trap of using a dictionary definition—it makes one sound like the valedictorian at a bad high school graduation. (“According to Websters, ‘puberty’ is that time when…”). You know what slapstick is: fast, physical comedy that borders on violence. Pratfalls, kicks in the pants. Pies in the face. That sort of thing.

Charlie Chaplin was a master of this sort of comedy, so were Laurel and Hardy and Harpo Marx. I’m not sure who would be the champion of slapstick today—perhaps Jim Carey? Good slapstick involves timing and physical control, not something today’s comics are known for.

Slapstick is, to some degree, a matter of taste. Those with sensitive natures wince at the violence of slapstick, even if it’s clear that no real damage has been done. As a gross generalization, men seem to have a greater appreciation of slapstick than do women (“The Great Three Stooges Debate”). I suppose women would say it’s because men have no imagination…

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Monty Python’s Flying Circus, comics more known for wordplay and bizarre flights of fancy than for slapstick, nevertheless created one of my favorite examinations of the slapstick comedy in a skit that I’ve always thought of as “The Comedy Lecture.”

The piece never appeared on their TV show (in fact, I suspect it was written by one or more of the cast during their college days) but it was performed during their live shows, and was filmed during their appearances at the Hollywood Bowl. It’s on Youtube here and is definitely worth five minutes of your time.

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Hey, did you know where the phrase “slapstick” comes from? It was a tool of early comedians: Two pieces of wood (such as barrel staves) tied together at one end. When slapped against a piece of furniture—or an actor—the slapstick made a “crack!” that punctuated a joke. Think of it as an ancient rimshot (with a little violence added).

Some folks say the slapstick was created by the comedia del arte. But those are the folks who think that the comedia del arte invented everything…

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It’s not easy to come across slapstick in written form. The closest I can come is probably “The Sick Note”—a song that I’ve often heard referred to as “Dear Boss.”

I first heard it performed by the Clancy Brothers (link here), but the authorship is claimed by a fellow by the name of Pat Cooksey.

Anyway, you might want to listen to the song first, or even read along.

Dear Boss I write this note to you to tell you of my plight
For at the time of writing I am not a pretty sight
My body is all black and blue, my face a deathly grey
And I write this note to say why Paddy's not at work today.

Whilst working on the fourteenth floor, some bricks I had to clear
To throw them down from such a height was not a good idea
The foreman wasn't very pleased, the bloody awkward sod
He said I had to cart them down the ladders in my hod.

Now clearing all these bricks by hand, it was so very slow
So I hoisted up a barrel and secured the rope below
But in my haste to do the job, I was too blind to see
That a barrel full of building bricks was heavier than me.

And so when I untied the rope, the barrel fell like lead
And clinging tightly to the rope I started up instead
I shot up like a rocket till to my dismay I found
That half way up I met the bloody barrel coming down.

Well the barrel broke my shoulder, as to the ground it sped
And when I reached the top I banged the pulley with my head
I clung on tightly, numb with shock, from this almighty blow
And the barrel spilled out half the bricks, fourteen floors below.

Now when these bricks had fallen from the barrel to the floor
I then outweighed the barrel and so started down once more
Still clinging tightly to the rope, my body racked with pain
When half way down, I met the bloody barrel once again.

The force of this collision, half way up the office block
Caused multiple abrasions and a nasty state of shock
Still clinging tightly to the rope I fell towards the ground
And I landed on the broken bricks the barrel scattered round.

I lay there groaning on the ground I thought I'd passed the worst
But the barrel hit the pulley wheel, and then the bottom burst
A shower of bricks rained down on me, I hadn't got a hope
As I lay there bleeding on the ground, I let go the bloody rope.

The barrel then being heavier then started down once more
And landed right across me as I lay upon the floor
It broke three ribs, and my left arm, and I can only say
That I hope you'll understand why Paddy's not at work today.

(The Mythbusters tested this song on one episode. It took some monkeying—it’s harder to break the bottom of a barrel than one might think—but the physics basically works!)

M as in Money

"There is nothing quite as wonderful as money.

There is nothing like the newly minted pound.

Everyone must hanker for the butchness of a banker,

It's accountancy that makes the world go round."

--Eric Idle


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There’s nothing particularly funny about money.

Well, except that the portraits are often pretty silly.

And the fact that a penny costs the government more than one cent is worth a grin.

And the idea that in order to make American currency harder to counterfeit they made it look exactly like Monopoly money is frankly hysterical.

IN GENERAL, money isn’t funny.

But the PURSUIT of money is one of the most consistently funny things in the world.

Cash is, after all, nothing more than the bookkeeping tokens of an elaborate bartering system. This way, you don’t have to ask your neighbor if he’s got change for a goat.

Since money is a medium of exchange, the pursuit of money (the root of all evil, as we know) can be a sublimated pursuit of power or sex—and those are pretty funny, too.
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A newly married couple has fallen upon hard times. The husband has fallen ill and needs expensive medicine. The wife, although good-hearted and beautiful, has no marketable skills, and her job as a waitress doesn’t bring in nearly enough money for the couple to live on.

So, after many tears and much anger, the wife determines that she will turn to streetwalking to earn the money the family needs for food and medicine.
The wife departs at 8 pm, and returns at 2 am. She rushes to her husband, who embraces her with tears in his eyes.

“Darling, I did it!” says the wife.

“You made money, then?” the husband asks.

“Yes,” says the wife. “I made three hundred and fifty dollars and twenty-five cents!”

The husband stares. “Twenty-five cents?” he demands. “Who gave you twenty-five cents?”

The wife smiles brightly: “EVERYBODY!” she says.

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There IS a fictional character who loves money, not for what it can buy, but for its own sake. That character is Walt Disney’s Scrooge McDuck, created by writer/artist Carl Barks in the middle of the last century. Looking for all the world like Donald Duck dressed for a road show production of A Christmas Carol, Scrooge is the richest duck in a world of anthropomorphic animals.

Now, I never found Scrooge to be the “richly comic character” described by his fans. But his exploits WERE pretty funny, especially as it became clear that Scrooge really didn’t care about WEALTH, he cared about MONEY…he kept huge stacks of the stuff, including his giant money bin. It was several stories tall, full of coins and paper money, and Scrooge would literally dive into, while chanting this litany:

“I like to dive around in my money like a porpoise, and burrow through it like a gopher…and toss it up and let it hit me on the head!”

At one point, someone tried to imitate Scrooge and dive headlong into the cash pile himself. The character ended up—not surprisingly—with a busted noggin. He demanded an explanation from Scrooge, who admitted: “It’s a trick.”

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A long time ago in Europe, there lived a wily peddler by the name of Igor. One day, Igor heard of a far away land where spices and herbs were unknown. Why, this place had didn’t even have onions!

Well, this was an opportunity too good to go to waste! Igor gathered all the funds he could, selling his possessions and borrowing from friends and family, and bought an entire wagonload of onions. He took his pack animal and made his way, over many weeks, to the faraway land.

Igor presented himself to the royal palace, and to the king of this drab kingdom. He said to the king, “I have with me a remarkable vegetable—it will improve the taste of almost any food, and although strong, can even be eaten by itself.”

Well, the king was as tired of dull food as everyone else in the kingdom, so Igor was granted access to the royal kitchens. Igor worked an entire day, making stews, salads, sandwiches and other dishes (not all of which began with “s”) with his onions. At the end of the day, he brought all the dishes before the king.

The king was no fool, of course. He insisted that others try the food first. First Igor himself ate a bit of each dish, then the servants, then the nobles, and then the Queen. Each declared the food delicious. (It was lucky that he didn’t give the food to the notoriously picky Prince Louis, or this joke might have a different ending.)

Finally, the king himself took a bite of a simple salad garnished with onion. A smile of joy spread over his face. “This is the most miraculous vegetable of all time! We will reward you!”

And indeed, after taking possession of the wagon-load of onions, the king cast about for the riches of the land. Ultimately, Igor was rewarded with a wagon-load of silver.

Igor returned to his home land in triumph. He repaid his debts, bought a beautiful home for himself and his family, and settled down to a privileged existence.

It wasn’t long before the news of Igor’s fortune reached the ears of another wily peddler named Fritz. Fritz thought there must be a way that he could get a piece of this action, and it occurred to him that, if onions were so valuable, garlic would be even more so. After all, it was smaller, could be carried dried, and didn’t make you cry when you cut it.

So Fritz gathered all the funds he could, selling his possessions and borrowing from friends and family. He bought ten sacks of garlic and made his way to the faraway land.

Like Igor before him, Fritz presented himself to the royal palace and to the king of the faraway kingdom. He said to the king, “I have brought a remarkable vegetable. It, too, improves the taste of almost any food!”

Fritz was granted access to the royal kitchens and prepared several dishes featuring garlic. At the end of the day, he brought the dishes before the king. Once again, the king insisted that others taste the food first, but eventually the king tried garlic. He almost wept in delight. “THIS, he said,” is the most remarkable vegetable of all time!”

So the king cast about for the riches of the land to give Fritz in return for his ten sacks of garlic. After much discussion, the peddler received the most valuable gift they could conceive of: Ten sacks of onions.

A Matter of Taste

I haven’t quite made up my mind about cross-dressing.

(Boy, that came out wrong).

I’ve yet to make up my mind yet whether cross dressing is funny.

I know it’s supposed to be funny. Men dressing as women. Women dressing as men. Big yucks.

It’s been part of the comedian’s bag of tricks for hundreds of years. Shakespeare used the gag constantly, in part because men played all the women’s parts anyway. Opera is full of “trouser roles”, young male characters played by young women.

I don’t know, though. The guys of Monty Python’s Flying Circus would regularly dress up as frumpy middle-aged housewives (known as Pepperpots, for some reason).
Though the joke got old eventually, the Monty Python cast in drag was definitely funny.

(And, I have it on good authority at a six-foot-three-inch bearded guy playing a clarinet while wearing a blue evening gown is hysterical. Of course, I had a better figure back then.)

On the other hand, women dressed as men? Not so funny. Partially because there really isn’t a lot of male clothing that isn’t also worn by women. Generally, when women DO wear men’s clothes, the results are, well, kinda sexy.

Remember that scene in Bull Durham when Jenny Robinson wears a catcher’s gear and almost nothing else? (Sorry I can’t find a picture of it, but if you’ve seen the movie, it’s pretty unforgettable.)

A friend of mine who has studied these things claims that it’s all about status. When someone of a high status takes a lower status position, we think it’s funny. When someone of a low status position takes a higher status position, it isn’t funny. Since men still hold a higher status position in Western Civilization—she argues—seeing them dress as women is funny. When women dress as men, they’re taking a higher status position, and that just isn’t as funny.

My friend could be right.

On the other hand, Terry Jones dressed as a man or as a woman is pretty funny looking. Even when he’s wearing nothing at all.




On the other hand, Jenny Robinson is pretty good looking dressed as a woman or a man. Even, one would imagine, when she’s wearing nothing at all. (Although once again, sadly, photographic evidence would appear to be lacking).

What do you think? Is drag inherently funny? Or, like a lot of things, is it all in the context?