Where Did the Laughs Go?: A Defense of Comedy

“You’ve never seen Friday?!” my boyfriend Albert exclaimed.

I blinked unabashedly, shrugging my shoulders at his incredulity, and shook my head no.

“You have to watch this movie. It’s one of my favorites. I know every line by heart; that’s how much I’ve seen it. I can’t believe you’ve never seen it. It’s really funny.”

Well funny I know, I thought, assuaging my bruised ego. It was early in our relationship, and considering myself something of a film connoisseur, I was hurt that Albert was already calling me out for not watching one of the best comedies ever made. I prided myself in having watched all the classic films that cinema had to offer, albeit I could count on one hand the number of comedies I owned: Sixteen Candles and The Mask. But, okay, if I needed to see this movie Friday, “the funniest movie ever,” then fine. Pop it in. So, Albert gleefully inserted the DVD in his PlayStation 2, sat back on the couch next to me and pressed play, shooting me a furtive glance as the movie started. With my most critical attitude, I began watching.  

I’ll never forget that first viewing of Friday. I couldn’t understand how this was Albert’s favorite movie. How could he think this was so funny? And how on earth could he have watched this repeatedly over the course of his young life? When the blissful end came, I turned to Albert, who was smiling sardonically, and exploded: “That movie wasn’t about anything! It wasn’t funny.” His eyes widened and he shook his head, “You didn’t get it then.” Of course, I didn’t get it, I thought. This movie was nothing like the beloved classics adorning the shelves of my bedroom each one hand selected by the Academy. Those were serious “Best Picture” movies full of meaning that years later have stood the test of time, many of which are included in the National Film Registry to preserve its significance . What was this movie, Friday? Nothing but a bunch of characters sitting around with nothing to do. Albert was right. I didn’t get it. I couldn’t possibly because the problem was I wasn’t cool enough. I wasn’t watching it to laugh but to judge it, failing to grasp the point of it all.

What was more shocking than Friday was finding out one of my favorite sitcoms of all time Friends, a show I’d seen so many times I knew the jokes by heart, wasn’t the least bit funny in Albert’s eyes. I was appalled when he delivered this harsh criticism, denouncing a show that, in his knowledge, didn’t have one true comedian, and how could a show that touted itself as a sitcom be any funny without any comedians in it? I was flabbergasted by this question, and a bit hurt that my intelligence was being questioned. Wasn’t Phoebe Buffet’s rendition of “Smelly Cat” not worthy of a few laughs the moment it becomes painfully and awkwardly obvious she can’t sing or play the guitar? Or, Monica’s Type A personality fretting over a situation she can’t control? What about Ross’s comedic physicality or monosyllabic statements that simultaneously elicited pathos and mirth? That isn’t funny? I couldn’t believe it, because Friends made me laugh in ways Friday couldn’t. Growing up with sitcoms, the laughs from the audience faithfully guided me like a flashlight and I stubbornly refused to listen to anything otherwise. Friends was on television for a decade. That’s ten years the world thought the sitcom deserved a place on my TV because it was funny. How could anyone argue with that logic? However, after watching an episode of Atlanta, I realized the deafening absence of a laugh track left me probing the scenes for laughs like Indiana Jones’s quest for historical relics. Sitting through that first episode, Albert howling at an encounter between Earn and his white friend, my panic and confusion elevating to such an ultimate high it was tantamount to a panic attack, wondering what the hell was so comical, I came to the horrid realization that I was lost without the laughs in the background telling me what was funny. I wallowed uncomfortably with this sudden epiphany.

Our conversation about sitcoms not being funny (or good) if there were no comedians starring in them, made me mull over the idea that the programs I chose to watch on cable TV had been just that: television shows programmed to make me watch them, think that they’re funny, and love them simply because they were on the air. And that deception infuriated me because I felt like I was Mean Girl’s Cady Heron and my TV was my Janis and Damian; my roadmap to navigating the network of television. My TV was supposed to guide me to the best and coolest shows, not dull my intellect by accepting mediocre entertainment that shut out creators in favor of whatever dimwitted material was the most lucrative. For two decades my TV formulated the schedule of my life with hours of dialogue, characters, and stories that I assumed were the best because they had the honor of being on the small screen. I also was looking in the wrong places.

Albert introduced me to Chappelle’s Show and South Park and, together, we saw The Carmichael Show starring the brilliant Jerrod Carmichael, a sitcom that went beyond the typical situational comedy because it made you think and engage in timely conversations I will forever be grateful for. These were great shows, helmed by creative, talented, and funny comedians and after that I reconsidered everything I had thought was funny before. (Thankfully, I had invested in great shows, like Seinfeld and Everybody Loves Raymond because my dad loved those comics, and I found The Office in college.) I even watched Friday again, hanging my head after the final scene, acknowledging that I was the biggest idiot ever for not recognizing this gem of a movie as anything less than genius. Every line of that movie is not only hilarious but quotable and iconic. My newfound understanding of comedy shed light on the music video to Jay-Z’s “Moonlight,” a scene-by-scene reenactment of an episode of Friends, except this time the dialogue is delivered by a cast of talented black actors and comedians, and even they, with their prowess in acting and comedy, couldn’t make those lame ass lines (jokes?) funny or interesting. That moment was like unveiling the wizard behind the curtain—for a decade, I was programmed to think Friends was hilarious, but the truth subtly portrayed in “Moonlight” showed me that Friends just isn’t that funny…or good. It’s still ten years of nostalgia as I grew up watching the show with my sisters. I can’t erase the laughs the sitcom gave me. I find something so funny in each of the characters. I just see the show through a different lens now.

Following in the footsteps of my boyfriend, and wishing to expand my palette and perspective, I started listening to podcasts that he suggested, podcasts that were led by stand-up comics, comediansy I had never seen or heard of, which I found fascinating. The first podcast I followed was Your Mom’s House, a podcast Albert didn’t think I’d immediately like because the comics were very silly and I was very serious. They joked about poop, farts, mental illness, and gender pronouns not giving a fuck about what they say. Their intention was just to laugh at the silly. Tom Segura and Christina P., the husband and wife behind Your Mom’s House, changed everything for me because they helped me loosen up more, get silly, and not take life so damn serious. Other podcasts with comedians helped me as well: The Joe Rogan Experience, This Past Weekend, The Fighter and the Kid, Bertcast. The love between the guests and hosts of these podcasts, many of the guests comedians themselves, provided me the opportunity to see friends tease and joke with each other without feelings getting hurt; there’s abounding laughter when everyone can handle the truth and laugh at themselves. A comedian’s honesty, vulnerability, levity, wit, and good humor changed my whole view of how to experience life. Before comedy, my demeanor was dreary, gloomy, too sensitive to jokes perceived to be attacks even if they were true and funny. This sensitive mentality was cultivated in my childhood; my sisters and I weren’t allowed to tease each other because it was thought to be cruel and hurtful. That education was detrimental to my development. If you can’t be honest about your flaws and wear them like a medallion, every little thing said to you and about you will make you want to cry. The truth isn’t always nice or what we want to hear but it can be funny if you choose to look at it that way. Laughing at yourself will keep you ten steps ahead of anyone who laughs at you.

Today more than ever before comedians are villainized for their jokes because people want to be crybabies, taking offense at every slight jab. I understand those people because I was once that person convinced that honesty and cruelty were conjoined, thinking I couldn’t laugh at something if it was at someone else’s expense, no matter how real the observation might be. The truth is we’re smart enough to understand an underlying truth in a joke, so why not just laugh and release that tension instead of being curmudgeons. Since my introduction to comedy I’ve been to multiple stand-up shows and observed what it takes to get up on a stage in front of hundreds of people with only your wits, your soul, and your body as an instrument. Last month I saw Bryan Callen at the Helium Comedy Club in Philadelphia, PA where he brought his “Complicated Apes” stand-up show to a seemingly underground room of two hundred and fifty people. The room reverberated with his energy and our laughter, his physicality and originality entertaining us for more than an hour of fun as he wowed us with his humor and experience. Callen’s finesse at creating scenes for his audience, worthy of a movie, was amazing to watch, while his raw vulnerability and honesty about how much failure is encountered before you succeed was poignant and humorous. It was the best stand-up show I’d ever seen. It reminded me that comics aren’t taking the stage to be mean, cruel, or heartless; they want the crowd on their side, laughing. So why are we attacking comedians for their craft when all they want is to make us laugh? I saw a YouTube clip of Leslie Jones on The View last summer where she brilliantly responded to this very question:

Stop holding comedians to this standard. Stop doing that. Our job is to make the ugliest stuff funny! That’s our job! That’s our job. We are court jesters. We are clowns. That’s what we do. We come out and make the terrible situation laughable. I mean…unless you wanna cry for the rest of your life? Do you wanna cry? Because we can do that. We can cry if you want to. But I rather laugh at the situation because laughter brings joy. Laughter brings endorphins. Laughter brings contagiousness…does that make sense? It brings joy. People love me so much because I have an energy of happiness. I wanna be happy. I want you to laugh […] The best way to conquer pain is laughter! It’s the best way. So, let comedians do their job, because let me explain something to you, you’re not letting comedians do their job, and you’re MISERABLE! YOU’RE MISERABLE! Because laughter is a release […] that you’re now cutting off. Stop walking around so offended. You’re not gonna be able to survive life if you walk around offended. Laugh! Laugh! Laaauuugghh!

Leslie’s right: Learn to laugh. It’ll make you feel good. When Kevin Hart was on Joe Rogan’s podcast a couple weeks ago, he summed up a comedian’s deep seated intention by explaining that whether a joke is good or bad, the intention behind it is always to be funny. So crack a smile.

I used to be such a snob when it came to comedies, thinking those movies were subpar because the Academy never considered them for nominations. After listening to so many comics on podcasts, I’m embarrassed at my ignorance of the unique performances created by comics, many of which simply can’t be replicated by any other actor. Comedies might not be esteemed by the old, disconnected white men running the award shows, but it’s almost exclusively what I’ll watch at home. Not only are they funny the first time you watch them, but every time you watch them. I admire the stand-up comics who write, perform, and tour their material around the country and the world, giving a piece of themselves to audiences, leaving them with such happiness. It’s such a beautiful gift and I’m so grateful that I’m finally open-minded to receive it. Life’s a whole lot easier when you can laugh at all its absurdities. Ice Cube once said in an interview that only cool people like Friday. I agree.

The View. “Leslie Jones on Silencing Comedians, Emmy Nomination for SNL.” YouTube, 30 July 2018, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kLjJD2WH5GQ.