Standing Up For [High-Art] Stand-Up

I’m not the biggest stand-up comedy fan. I’ve been to a couple shows; I’ve watched a couple Comedy Central specials; I’ve surfed YouTube for old George Carlin clips; and I’ve listened to at least two Dane Cook CDs (who manages the neat trick of being hysterical and unlikeable at the same time). But none of that qualifies me as any kind of comic guru. The most I can expect of myself is the ability to know a good joke from one that falls flat.

That said, I was recently struck by the dichotomy between “high” and “low” dichotomy (if such a dichotomy exists elsewhere other than in my not-so-comically-adapted mind, let me know) in stand-up comedy. Unlike other art forms—in which there are usually pretty well-defined notions of “high” and “low” art (I’ll drop the quotes now), like Transformers and Tree of Life in film—in comedy, there is no clear definition.

What does it mean to be a “high art comedian”? (Sorry for the brief return of the quotes…it seemed like it needed it…) My immediate reaction is to gesture to those comedians who elucidate the humor (and sometime pathos) of the human experience. That sounds like a weighty job here, but not so much when applied to an example. Sticking to Dane Cook (because I know him), I can reference his much-quoted “Friend That Nobody Likes” routine. 

[Sorry for the stick-figures; ignore them?]

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In this example, Cook discusses the epiphany that he had one day that “there is one person in every group of friends that nobody f—g likes.” That notion, while exaggerated to somewhat of an absurd degree, holds true in my experience. The real kicker is when Cook hears audience members talking amongst themselves how true that idea is and he proclaims, “I know it’s true—that’s why its so funny.” (He says this three times, by the way.)

Truth, in Cook’s view, makes good comedy. But good comedy is not necessarily high comedy. Are the great (high) comedians those who illustrate life’s truths using humor?

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Hesitantly, I would offer that this is far from the truth.

High comedy, in the vein of George Carlin for instance, plays with notion of language and how the words we perceive shape out reality. Language, in Carlin’s stand-up, becomes a social force; language becomes a process through which we not only understand experience, but through which our experiences are themselves formed.

One of Carlin’s classic bits is a discussion of the so-called “airlines’ perversion of language.” Among his many examples is the notion of the airport “gate.” Carlin, of course, does not offer serious explanations for the terms used by the airlines, but his humor does offer a obvious pathway towards questioning the everyday language that surrounds us. Why is it called a gate? Wikipedia, for one, cannot answer me. The truth probably lies in a simple appropriation a long while back in aviation history…which stuck and now “gate” is what we call the passageway to the plane.

Carlin uses humor—in my estimate, high comedy—to explore the particularities of language and how language is formed, often in seemingly random ways. Like lots of other great works of art, it is enough, I’d argue, for comedy to provide questions without necessarily pointing answers.

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These thoughts of high comedy spring from a show I saw a few nights ago with stand-up comics Sheng Wang and Dan Ahdoot. Both had their exceptionally funny moments, but neither made any stabs at what I’ve tentatively identified as high comedy. Wang being of Taiwanese descent and Ahdoot being an Iranian Jew, there were more than enough racy racist jokes to go around. However, the one bright spot that stayed with me occurred when Ahdoot was doing a bit about how his favorite show is Mythbusters.

Mythbusters, Ahdoot pointed out, ran out of myths to bust seasons ago…so now they’re making up. The first “myth” Ahdoot suggests is to test if “Mexicans are immune to electricity” (which he quickly displayed) and the second “myth” testing if “puppies are bulletproof.”

While the first part about Mexicans gave rise to laughter and some occasional groans, the second part about puppies gave way to a sustained moan throughout the whole audience. Most of the laughter seemed more nervous. Ahdoot was quick to point out the disparity there: we were more upset about dead puppies than (potentially) dead Mexicans. Why is that? What social forces have shaped us to react in that way?

Again, no answers—only questions—but that should be exactly what high comedy aims to do.