Sept. 22: Laughter
I don't know if it's wrong to say I cut my teeth as an actor. I have
some professional actor friends who might take issue with that. I
studied theatre formally for a few years and I think I acted in a
professional show once (though it might have been amateur.) I've written
plays - even won an award for one - and I take more than a passing
interest in the world of the theatre. I know I don't have the chops to
make it to the Stratford Festival but I also know I'm a bit above the
Cranberry Creek Community Players.
I am in limbo.
-
I used to be somewhat chummy with a professional Calgary actor who I'll call Jim. When I became a working journalist, the newspapers I worked for, upon learning that I had a theatre background, would usually assign me to the entertainment beat. Whenever a play needed to be covered, I was the guy. At one newspaper in Quebec, one of my fellow reporters had his own theatre company. He told me his troupe prided itself on presenting "professional-calibre amateur theatre."
That phrase always made Jim laugh.
I am sad to say that I saw one of my colleague's plays. His self-assessment was only half correct. It was amateur theatre. It was not professional calibre. It would have pained him to hear me say that.
-
After I left that newspaper, I started working at another newspaper in East Ontario. Part of my coverage area included a United Church that, once a year, would mount a theatrical fundraiser. That year they chose a musical comedy called The Parson's Predicament. The show was performed in the church itself with audience members sitting in the pews.
It was not a good show. I found plenty of fault with it. But the audience loved it. They laughed and they clapped and they rewarded the actors with a standing ovation. During the post-show reception, one old lady clutched the leading man's hand and told her how surprised she was that he wasn't a professional. "I was shocked when they told me you're all local people," she said. "I thought for sure that they had flown in some actors form New York."
I had to leave the room.
-
I told Jim that story later and it made him laugh too.
I still laugh at that story but what exactly am I laughing at?
Am I laughing at the actors? I hope not. None of them claimed to be professionals. I don't think any of them even claimed to be competent. They were just a group of dedicated churchgoers who wanted to do something nice for their community and raise a little money in the process.
Am I laughing at the old lady? I hope not. I'm not aware of any law that says a person must have an understanding of professional theatre if they are to live in the world. The lady was blissfully ignorant of even the most basic lessons in stagecraft. No matter. This ignorance helped her enjoy what was, essentially, a perfectly wretched show and I am happy that she, along with dozens of other audience members, were able to experience joy.
So maybe I was laughing at myself.
I hope I was.
Yeah, Shteevie knows a little something about the theatre. But put me in a medical laboratory or a sawmill or an orchestra or a basketball court or a coal mine or a computer lab and I will be as ignorant as that sweet and unassuming old lady. I wouldn't know a scalpel from a pickax.
-
My dad used to have a book called The Laughter Book. Here it is:
I discovered that book when I was in Grade 3 or so. The book was filled with dirty jokes, but that's not what fascinated me most about it. What fascinated me was that the book wasn't about dirty jokes, it was about why we find certain jokes funny. One section of the book had 40 cartoons and stories; readers were invited to rank each of these items on a funniness scale. There was one joke in there about a man who goes to a singles bar and meets a woman with only one shaved armpit. It is a filthy joke and I found it excruciatingly funny but whenever I told it, no one laughed. I guess that's because (a) I lacked the comedic timing to make it work or (b) no one wants to hear nine-year-olds tell dirty jokes anyway.
The Laughter Book told us that men and women find different things funny. It showed two six-panel cartoons, both virtually identical. One of them showed a man watering his lawn while his wife nagged him. The final panel saw him turn the hose on his wife. The second cartoon showed a woman being nagged by her husband. In the final panel, she turned the hose on him.
The book's author, a certain Doug Long, told us that men usually find the first cartoon funny whereas women find them both equally funny. According to a woman's brain, nagging is nagging. In a man's brain, nagging is only punishable if it's being done by a woman.
-
One joke I remember from The Laughter Book:
A man comes home from work to find his wife lying naked in bed and a strange man taking off his clothes. Thinking quickly, the strange man says: ":Lady, I'm telling you for the last time that if you don't pay your gas bill at once, I'll shit on the floor."
I found that joke funny but I suspected it was a joke I shouldn't tell my parents. The kicker is that I was only nine years old and so I didn't grasp the full magnitude of what was going on in the world of that joke. It was the scandalous use of the word "shit" - a word that I'd heard a lot but could never work up the courage to utter myself - that really tickled my funny bone. I was too innocent to see that the strange man had just been caught in the act of initiating infidelity. But the idea of a grown man crapping on someone's floor was enough to make me laugh.
We see different things depending on how old we are.
-
This seems like an opportune time to reprint one of my favourite poems of all time, Tricking by Dennis Lee:
When they bring me a plate
Full of stuff that I hate,
Like spinach and turnips and guck,
I sit very straight
And I look at the plate
And I quietly say to it: "YUCK!"
Little kids bawl
'Cause I used to be small,
And I threw it all over the tray.
But now I am three
And I'm much more like me--
I yuck till they take it away.
But sometimes my dad
Gets terrificly mad
And he says, "don't you drink from that cup!"
But he can't say it right
'Cause he's not very bright--
So I trick him and drink it all up!
Then he gets up and roars;
He stomps on the floor
And he hollers, "I warn you, don't eat!!"
He counts up to ten
And I trick him again:
I practically finish the meat.
then I start on the guck
And my daddy goes "Yuck!"
And he scrunches his eyes till they hurt!
So I shovel it in
and he grins a big grin.
And then we have dessert.
Now when I read that poem as a little kid, I saw it from a child's perspective. This kid had a not-too-bright father who didn't want his son to eat his supper. He yelled and stomped his feet but his son defied him and ate his meat and spinach and guck. A few years ago, I recited that poem at a poetry night at a local elementary school and that's when I realized that the father in the poem is not a dolt, he's a genius.
When I left the school that night, I grinned a big grin.
And then I had dessert.
I am in limbo.
-
I used to be somewhat chummy with a professional Calgary actor who I'll call Jim. When I became a working journalist, the newspapers I worked for, upon learning that I had a theatre background, would usually assign me to the entertainment beat. Whenever a play needed to be covered, I was the guy. At one newspaper in Quebec, one of my fellow reporters had his own theatre company. He told me his troupe prided itself on presenting "professional-calibre amateur theatre."
That phrase always made Jim laugh.
I am sad to say that I saw one of my colleague's plays. His self-assessment was only half correct. It was amateur theatre. It was not professional calibre. It would have pained him to hear me say that.
-
After I left that newspaper, I started working at another newspaper in East Ontario. Part of my coverage area included a United Church that, once a year, would mount a theatrical fundraiser. That year they chose a musical comedy called The Parson's Predicament. The show was performed in the church itself with audience members sitting in the pews.
It was not a good show. I found plenty of fault with it. But the audience loved it. They laughed and they clapped and they rewarded the actors with a standing ovation. During the post-show reception, one old lady clutched the leading man's hand and told her how surprised she was that he wasn't a professional. "I was shocked when they told me you're all local people," she said. "I thought for sure that they had flown in some actors form New York."
I had to leave the room.
-
I told Jim that story later and it made him laugh too.
I still laugh at that story but what exactly am I laughing at?
Am I laughing at the actors? I hope not. None of them claimed to be professionals. I don't think any of them even claimed to be competent. They were just a group of dedicated churchgoers who wanted to do something nice for their community and raise a little money in the process.
Am I laughing at the old lady? I hope not. I'm not aware of any law that says a person must have an understanding of professional theatre if they are to live in the world. The lady was blissfully ignorant of even the most basic lessons in stagecraft. No matter. This ignorance helped her enjoy what was, essentially, a perfectly wretched show and I am happy that she, along with dozens of other audience members, were able to experience joy.
So maybe I was laughing at myself.
I hope I was.
Yeah, Shteevie knows a little something about the theatre. But put me in a medical laboratory or a sawmill or an orchestra or a basketball court or a coal mine or a computer lab and I will be as ignorant as that sweet and unassuming old lady. I wouldn't know a scalpel from a pickax.
-
My dad used to have a book called The Laughter Book. Here it is:
I discovered that book when I was in Grade 3 or so. The book was filled with dirty jokes, but that's not what fascinated me most about it. What fascinated me was that the book wasn't about dirty jokes, it was about why we find certain jokes funny. One section of the book had 40 cartoons and stories; readers were invited to rank each of these items on a funniness scale. There was one joke in there about a man who goes to a singles bar and meets a woman with only one shaved armpit. It is a filthy joke and I found it excruciatingly funny but whenever I told it, no one laughed. I guess that's because (a) I lacked the comedic timing to make it work or (b) no one wants to hear nine-year-olds tell dirty jokes anyway.
The Laughter Book told us that men and women find different things funny. It showed two six-panel cartoons, both virtually identical. One of them showed a man watering his lawn while his wife nagged him. The final panel saw him turn the hose on his wife. The second cartoon showed a woman being nagged by her husband. In the final panel, she turned the hose on him.
The book's author, a certain Doug Long, told us that men usually find the first cartoon funny whereas women find them both equally funny. According to a woman's brain, nagging is nagging. In a man's brain, nagging is only punishable if it's being done by a woman.
-
One joke I remember from The Laughter Book:
A man comes home from work to find his wife lying naked in bed and a strange man taking off his clothes. Thinking quickly, the strange man says: ":Lady, I'm telling you for the last time that if you don't pay your gas bill at once, I'll shit on the floor."
I found that joke funny but I suspected it was a joke I shouldn't tell my parents. The kicker is that I was only nine years old and so I didn't grasp the full magnitude of what was going on in the world of that joke. It was the scandalous use of the word "shit" - a word that I'd heard a lot but could never work up the courage to utter myself - that really tickled my funny bone. I was too innocent to see that the strange man had just been caught in the act of initiating infidelity. But the idea of a grown man crapping on someone's floor was enough to make me laugh.
We see different things depending on how old we are.
-
This seems like an opportune time to reprint one of my favourite poems of all time, Tricking by Dennis Lee:
When they bring me a plate
Full of stuff that I hate,
Like spinach and turnips and guck,
I sit very straight
And I look at the plate
And I quietly say to it: "YUCK!"
Little kids bawl
'Cause I used to be small,
And I threw it all over the tray.
But now I am three
And I'm much more like me--
I yuck till they take it away.
But sometimes my dad
Gets terrificly mad
And he says, "don't you drink from that cup!"
But he can't say it right
'Cause he's not very bright--
So I trick him and drink it all up!
Then he gets up and roars;
He stomps on the floor
And he hollers, "I warn you, don't eat!!"
He counts up to ten
And I trick him again:
I practically finish the meat.
then I start on the guck
And my daddy goes "Yuck!"
And he scrunches his eyes till they hurt!
So I shovel it in
and he grins a big grin.
And then we have dessert.
Now when I read that poem as a little kid, I saw it from a child's perspective. This kid had a not-too-bright father who didn't want his son to eat his supper. He yelled and stomped his feet but his son defied him and ate his meat and spinach and guck. A few years ago, I recited that poem at a poetry night at a local elementary school and that's when I realized that the father in the poem is not a dolt, he's a genius.
When I left the school that night, I grinned a big grin.
And then I had dessert.
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