This section is where I give serious essays on comedy.
This past weekend’s mixed reviews of Bee Movie confirm what seemed obvious to anyone who’s watched Seinfeld reruns in the post-Curb Your Enthusiasm-era: Jerry Seinfeld and Larry David were like Paul McCartney and John Lennon—they worked best as a team, but as solo artists, David and Lennon would prove the better artists while McCartney and Seinfeld were panned as the Tin Pan Alley pop hacks.
Seinfeld was obviously their Sgt. Pepper’s: most of it was attributable to Seinfeld, just like Pepper’s was ultimately McCartney’s triumph. Still, McCartney’s peppy “Getting Better” chorus was grounded by Lennon’s weary “can’t get much worse” back-up vocals. Respectively, Seinfeld’s safe, quotidian observations of everyday life were stale without David’s bile and vinegar.
As Lennon’s solo work became more introspective and stripped-down in his solo years, David offered a darker, personal vision. If Seinfeld prided itself on observations that all of us can relate to (understanding low talkers, scratching your nose in front of a lover), Curb Your Enthusiasm was an unapologetic look through David’s wire-rimmed glasses (another similarity between Lennon and David).
Though I have not seen Bee Movie, the words used to malign it have been identical to the ones used to denigrate McCartney’s output in the ‘70s: “ho-hum;” “bland;” “middle of the road.” The short of it is, no one has been outraged enough to give it a scathing review, which paradoxically makes the film seem worse.
This does not mean I agree with the McCartney/Seinfeld haters. I will still watch Bee Movie and I will still post this Wings classic:
Showing posts with label nothing funny about comedy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label nothing funny about comedy. Show all posts
Monday, November 05, 2007
Tuesday, February 27, 2007
Nothing Funny About Comedy: Funny Films are Starting to Fizzle
This section is where I give serious essays on comedy.
Comedy Central will begin to broadcast its web shorts on television in a late-night series called "Web Shows." Between the success of "The Office" on iTunes, TBS's Super Deluxe and this, television is adapting very well to the Web revolution. How are comedy films doing?
In the LA Times, Neal Gabler writes:
Today, movies just don't seem to matter in the same way — not to the general public and not to the high culture either, where a Pauline Kael review in the New Yorker could once ignite an intellectual firestorm. There aren't any firestorms now, and there is no director who seems to have his finger on the national pulse the way that Steven Spielberg or George Lucas did in the 1970s and 1980s. People don't talk about movies the way they once did. It would seem absurd to say, as Kael once did, that she knew whether she would like someone by the films he or she liked. Once at the center, movies increasingly sit on the cultural margins.
This is definitely true about comedic cinema. Last week's box office sent a very strange message to film comedians: straight-up comedies like Reno 911!: Miami will place at #4 whereas horror movies with a (typically) comedic lead will have the highest debut of the week.
The lack of buzz is even more obvious when we look at last year's domestic grosses: the highest-ranked adult live-action comedy was Talladega Nights at number 12. Funny as it was, it did not crack the top ten and, compared to the watercooler buzz over Crying Wrestling Fan or even the latest episode of "The Office," Talladega Nights provoked less idle chatter. The most buzzed-about comedy of last year - Borat - was surpassed only by its own guerilla promotional campaign, which was far more interesting than the film itself (no scene in Borat will top his march to the White House gates to speak to the President of Kazakhstan - a publicity stunt that was all over the Web).
So how can Hollywood catch up? By going digital. As someone who aspired to be a motion picture director from 1997 to 2002, I certainly agree that film is the most beautiful visual medium available. But if the '70s was the "Me Decade," this is the "Me, Myself and I" decade, with more and more brats uploading their own comedic shows and sketches onto YouTube. If Hollywood were to go digital, some interesting scenarios might open up.
Let's say a movie house has a theater open from 12 AM to 1:30 AM for an amateur comedy (an Olde English film, say) that has gotten the most buzz at a Channel 101-style contest (one for amateur movies instead of shows). One theater might mean nothing, but what if it's the UA theater in Union Square and all the bloggers are buzzing about it? It might not go into wide release, but limited release would be a possibility. Considering the budget for a cheap digital film, the movie could be very profitable for the filmakers, the theaters and the distribution companies. After the successful digital indie debut, perhaps Olde English could ink a deal with Warner Brothers and make a more professional studio film. This would be one way that film and web could have better synergy.
This scenario has a factor that was vital to Hollywood fifty years ago and is all but dead in Tinseltown today: word of mouth. There was a time when a Pauline Kael review would have people talking. The promotional blitz has replaced word of mouth. The other day, I encountered a talking Norbit ad at the Parkside men's room. One more Pabst Blue Ribbon and I would have ripped it off the wall and thrown in the toilet (there's a time and a place to hear Eddie Murphy sing a Pussycat Dolls song).
Studios fear that switching from film to digital will make piracy easier. Parodoxically, piracy should be the least of Hollywood's worries. At least piracy indicates that people still want to watch movies.
Comedy Central will begin to broadcast its web shorts on television in a late-night series called "Web Shows." Between the success of "The Office" on iTunes, TBS's Super Deluxe and this, television is adapting very well to the Web revolution. How are comedy films doing?
In the LA Times, Neal Gabler writes:
Today, movies just don't seem to matter in the same way — not to the general public and not to the high culture either, where a Pauline Kael review in the New Yorker could once ignite an intellectual firestorm. There aren't any firestorms now, and there is no director who seems to have his finger on the national pulse the way that Steven Spielberg or George Lucas did in the 1970s and 1980s. People don't talk about movies the way they once did. It would seem absurd to say, as Kael once did, that she knew whether she would like someone by the films he or she liked. Once at the center, movies increasingly sit on the cultural margins.
This is definitely true about comedic cinema. Last week's box office sent a very strange message to film comedians: straight-up comedies like Reno 911!: Miami will place at #4 whereas horror movies with a (typically) comedic lead will have the highest debut of the week.
The lack of buzz is even more obvious when we look at last year's domestic grosses: the highest-ranked adult live-action comedy was Talladega Nights at number 12. Funny as it was, it did not crack the top ten and, compared to the watercooler buzz over Crying Wrestling Fan or even the latest episode of "The Office," Talladega Nights provoked less idle chatter. The most buzzed-about comedy of last year - Borat - was surpassed only by its own guerilla promotional campaign, which was far more interesting than the film itself (no scene in Borat will top his march to the White House gates to speak to the President of Kazakhstan - a publicity stunt that was all over the Web).
So how can Hollywood catch up? By going digital. As someone who aspired to be a motion picture director from 1997 to 2002, I certainly agree that film is the most beautiful visual medium available. But if the '70s was the "Me Decade," this is the "Me, Myself and I" decade, with more and more brats uploading their own comedic shows and sketches onto YouTube. If Hollywood were to go digital, some interesting scenarios might open up.
Let's say a movie house has a theater open from 12 AM to 1:30 AM for an amateur comedy (an Olde English film, say) that has gotten the most buzz at a Channel 101-style contest (one for amateur movies instead of shows). One theater might mean nothing, but what if it's the UA theater in Union Square and all the bloggers are buzzing about it? It might not go into wide release, but limited release would be a possibility. Considering the budget for a cheap digital film, the movie could be very profitable for the filmakers, the theaters and the distribution companies. After the successful digital indie debut, perhaps Olde English could ink a deal with Warner Brothers and make a more professional studio film. This would be one way that film and web could have better synergy.
This scenario has a factor that was vital to Hollywood fifty years ago and is all but dead in Tinseltown today: word of mouth. There was a time when a Pauline Kael review would have people talking. The promotional blitz has replaced word of mouth. The other day, I encountered a talking Norbit ad at the Parkside men's room. One more Pabst Blue Ribbon and I would have ripped it off the wall and thrown in the toilet (there's a time and a place to hear Eddie Murphy sing a Pussycat Dolls song).
Studios fear that switching from film to digital will make piracy easier. Parodoxically, piracy should be the least of Hollywood's worries. At least piracy indicates that people still want to watch movies.
Wednesday, January 31, 2007
Nothing Funny about Comedy: When Rock Became Disco - A Look Back at the '80s Comedy Boom
This section is where I give serious essays on comedy.
Until two years ago, I assumed that most of today's biggest comedy clubs have been around since the '50s. I had no idea there was an '80s comedy boom. After writing this blog post on the current tech-fueled comedy boom, I realized how little I knew about the first comedy boom. Most accounts about the '80s comedy explosion rely on the same cliches (cable killing live performances, too many comics). Using some freelance writer research magic, I dug up two articles written in the '80s and one from the '90s about the glory days of comedy clubs and decided to post them online so those who were too young for the comedy craze can see what was remarkable about it as well as what was tragic.
Article 1 (the beginning of the boom, with a profile of Dennis Blair)
#2 (the middle, when comedy clubs were in danger)
#3 (the beginning of the end)
Pee Wee Herman: A New Wave Comic
The Audiences
One striking difference between the new audiences and the old ones is the age. The current boom is driven by tech-savvy teens
"In fact, many teens lately are more apt to know the names of such hot comedians as Brian Regan, Dane Cook and Frank Caliendo than what new music tops the charts."
or by young indie kids in the alt-comedy scene. Twenty years ago, comedy clubs attracted aging baby boomers.
[Caroline's] PR woman, Peggy Reed - who, like the owner, is in her 30s - sees the clubs as a gathering place for the Baby Boomers.
"I think we're getting a little older and we don't necessarily want to go out and hear rock and roll music or go to Woodstock or do all that kind of stuff," she says. "We're more sophisticated and we like live entertainment, but we want to be entertained and not blasted out of our seats or dance the night away."
If comedians are, as they like to put it, the ''rock stars of the 80's,'' then comedy's Woodstock is happening nightly in people's homes on television.
A majority also came in from the suburbs.
Mr. McLaren attributes the rise of stars like Mr. Seinfeld, Richard Lewis, Paul Reiser and Carol Liefer to what he called the suburbanization of comedy. For around the country, as in Manhattan, the predominant audience for urban comedy clubs comes from outside the city.
The Comedians
TJ Miller brilliantly dispels the stereotype of the standard '80s comic:
At that point people saw stand-up as this kind of hacky thing where everybody wore jeans and blazers and talked about airline food. That simply wasn't the case -- even in the midst of that so-called bust, there were so many comics that were doing new and original stuff.
The sidebar (at the bottom of the linked article, called Comic Pedigrees) gives a more in-depth look. Stephen Holden gives interesting musical classifications of the different stars (Eddie Murphy is pop-funk, Pee Wee Herman is new wave). Indeed, the boom had different phases within it.
In the early 1980's, the hottest young performers in clubs were so-called weird or conceptual performers like Pee-wee Herman, Steven Wright and Emo Philips. Then in a rush of rock-star energy came performers like Andrew Dice Clay and Sam Kinison who brought a macho, heavy-metal energy to the field.
Heavy Metal Thunder
But just as fans came in from the suburbs, so did the comics.
The Sids, Murrays, Jackies and Sheckys are being replaced by suburban kids named Skip, Chip and Brian.
We all know hack topics like airline food brought the breathless momentum to a halt, but joke thieves made the comedy even more bland and homogenous.
''Audiences don't care if they're hearing material everyone else is doing,'' [Paul Provenza] says. '' 'Which part of the chicken does the McNugget come from?' There must be a dozen comics doing that same joke.''
''The McNugget joke belongs to Letterman,'' says Ellis Levinson, a New York comic now living in Los Angeles. ''It belongs to Letterman no matter how many people rip it off.''
The Decline
No one denies that stand-up comedy's ubiquity on cable television meant more people staying at home to watch comedy and less people going out to the clubs.
Many in the club business attribute the sagging box office to cable television, where uncensored comedy has become a thriving staple.
Television also ignited the comedy explosion.
Seinfeld: King of the Suburbs
Conversely, the brisk business being done by the ever-growing number of comedy clubs may be due in part to the very industry that is snapping comics up; television and comedy clubs are feeding each other as they make the standup comedian a familiar image in pop culture. ''Once people see what these clubs are like on HBO or some other show,'' says Chris Albrecht, ''they want to go in person.''
But the main killer of '80s comedy was the influx of comedians who saw stand-up as a means to an end as opposed to an end in itself.
"I'm working to make sure that comedy doesn't become the disco of the 90's, which it has a fair chance of doing," [TV producer Campbell McClaren] said. "There are similarities. A lot of comedy has become more generic. Just as Ethel Merman and everybody else did a disco record in the late 1970's, now everybody wants to be a comedian. The garage band has been replaced by the garage comic."
The rock stars of the '80s became the disco has-beens of the '90s.
The Lessons
1) Be wary of comedians who want rock-star status
Though there has been no conclusive evidence of comedians who want to be darlings of the indie scene, it couldn't hurt to be wary of newcomers who hope to eventually open for The Shins (like Eugene Mirman did), appear in New Pornographers videos (like David Cross has) or play rock festivals (like Aziz Ansari has). Cross, Mirman and Ansari did not get into comedy for these perks. But just like the '80s hacks eventually wanted to be big-name stars, there is great danger that the downtown scene will be flooded by hipsters whose goal is to play Pitchfork's Intonation Festival, not to develop an act. Hopefully these fauxhemians won't namedrop indie bands and literary works to please the Buddy Holly glasses set - much like the Chips and Skips of the '80s dressed sharp and did celebrity impressions to remind talent scouts that they were Hollywood material.
The mainstream comedy world could get overrun by frat boys who want more MySpace friends than Dane Cook. Aggressively marketing themselves online, they might have millions of friend requests, videos on the YouTube front page, spots at Madison Square Garden - everything but a fully developed voice and perspective.
2) All That Tech Fuel Might Backfire
Television sparked the boom and killed it. More and more people went to clubs to see their favorite TV comedians, more and more new comedians got on TV, more and more people went home to watch the hottest club comedians.
The primary reason is simple: Comedy isn't pretty. Even the most pedestrian video-sharing sites like YouTube can be the perfect platform for isolated bits.
``It just works very well on different types of screens,'' said Mitchel Fried, senior vp promotion and marketing at Comedy Central. ``Whether you see Artie Lange on a 20-foot screen or your phone or your iPod, it doesn't matter, he's funny. And stand-up in particular, it's just one body there. You don't need a landscape.''
The ability to see comedy on cell phones, iPods, computers and televisions can lead to even more saturation than there was before. This will probably hurt the club scene more than the alternative comedy scene (which tends to have free shows anyway).
The Internet also makes it easier for wannabes to flood the marketplace and gain exposure, putting up their comedy videos online. This could mean more Ethel Mermans putting out more garage disco.
One Major Difference That Might Prevent Another Bust
Back then the easiest way for a hack to start the trajectory to getting a movie deal was to start at an open mike with a list of shitty Chicken McNugget jokes. Now, those who want their own TV show will start off on YouTube. Those who want to be movie stars will try to pimp themselves on iFilm. This means, even though we should still be wary of the posers who want to use comedy as a backdoor to MySpace fame or a Sub Pop deal that will give them instant indie cred, we can at least be sure that, unlike many of the boom comics, comedians new and old, funny as well as insipid, mainstream (Larry the Cable Guy) and indie (David Cross), see telling jokes as an end in itself.
Until two years ago, I assumed that most of today's biggest comedy clubs have been around since the '50s. I had no idea there was an '80s comedy boom. After writing this blog post on the current tech-fueled comedy boom, I realized how little I knew about the first comedy boom. Most accounts about the '80s comedy explosion rely on the same cliches (cable killing live performances, too many comics). Using some freelance writer research magic, I dug up two articles written in the '80s and one from the '90s about the glory days of comedy clubs and decided to post them online so those who were too young for the comedy craze can see what was remarkable about it as well as what was tragic.
Article 1 (the beginning of the boom, with a profile of Dennis Blair)
#2 (the middle, when comedy clubs were in danger)
#3 (the beginning of the end)
The Audiences
One striking difference between the new audiences and the old ones is the age. The current boom is driven by tech-savvy teens
"In fact, many teens lately are more apt to know the names of such hot comedians as Brian Regan, Dane Cook and Frank Caliendo than what new music tops the charts."
or by young indie kids in the alt-comedy scene. Twenty years ago, comedy clubs attracted aging baby boomers.
[Caroline's] PR woman, Peggy Reed - who, like the owner, is in her 30s - sees the clubs as a gathering place for the Baby Boomers.
"I think we're getting a little older and we don't necessarily want to go out and hear rock and roll music or go to Woodstock or do all that kind of stuff," she says. "We're more sophisticated and we like live entertainment, but we want to be entertained and not blasted out of our seats or dance the night away."
If comedians are, as they like to put it, the ''rock stars of the 80's,'' then comedy's Woodstock is happening nightly in people's homes on television.
A majority also came in from the suburbs.
Mr. McLaren attributes the rise of stars like Mr. Seinfeld, Richard Lewis, Paul Reiser and Carol Liefer to what he called the suburbanization of comedy. For around the country, as in Manhattan, the predominant audience for urban comedy clubs comes from outside the city.
The Comedians
TJ Miller brilliantly dispels the stereotype of the standard '80s comic:
At that point people saw stand-up as this kind of hacky thing where everybody wore jeans and blazers and talked about airline food. That simply wasn't the case -- even in the midst of that so-called bust, there were so many comics that were doing new and original stuff.
The sidebar (at the bottom of the linked article, called Comic Pedigrees) gives a more in-depth look. Stephen Holden gives interesting musical classifications of the different stars (Eddie Murphy is pop-funk, Pee Wee Herman is new wave). Indeed, the boom had different phases within it.
In the early 1980's, the hottest young performers in clubs were so-called weird or conceptual performers like Pee-wee Herman, Steven Wright and Emo Philips. Then in a rush of rock-star energy came performers like Andrew Dice Clay and Sam Kinison who brought a macho, heavy-metal energy to the field.
But just as fans came in from the suburbs, so did the comics.
The Sids, Murrays, Jackies and Sheckys are being replaced by suburban kids named Skip, Chip and Brian.
We all know hack topics like airline food brought the breathless momentum to a halt, but joke thieves made the comedy even more bland and homogenous.
''Audiences don't care if they're hearing material everyone else is doing,'' [Paul Provenza] says. '' 'Which part of the chicken does the McNugget come from?' There must be a dozen comics doing that same joke.''
''The McNugget joke belongs to Letterman,'' says Ellis Levinson, a New York comic now living in Los Angeles. ''It belongs to Letterman no matter how many people rip it off.''
The Decline
No one denies that stand-up comedy's ubiquity on cable television meant more people staying at home to watch comedy and less people going out to the clubs.
Many in the club business attribute the sagging box office to cable television, where uncensored comedy has become a thriving staple.
Television also ignited the comedy explosion.
Conversely, the brisk business being done by the ever-growing number of comedy clubs may be due in part to the very industry that is snapping comics up; television and comedy clubs are feeding each other as they make the standup comedian a familiar image in pop culture. ''Once people see what these clubs are like on HBO or some other show,'' says Chris Albrecht, ''they want to go in person.''
But the main killer of '80s comedy was the influx of comedians who saw stand-up as a means to an end as opposed to an end in itself.
"I'm working to make sure that comedy doesn't become the disco of the 90's, which it has a fair chance of doing," [TV producer Campbell McClaren] said. "There are similarities. A lot of comedy has become more generic. Just as Ethel Merman and everybody else did a disco record in the late 1970's, now everybody wants to be a comedian. The garage band has been replaced by the garage comic."
The rock stars of the '80s became the disco has-beens of the '90s.
The Lessons
1) Be wary of comedians who want rock-star status
Though there has been no conclusive evidence of comedians who want to be darlings of the indie scene, it couldn't hurt to be wary of newcomers who hope to eventually open for The Shins (like Eugene Mirman did), appear in New Pornographers videos (like David Cross has) or play rock festivals (like Aziz Ansari has). Cross, Mirman and Ansari did not get into comedy for these perks. But just like the '80s hacks eventually wanted to be big-name stars, there is great danger that the downtown scene will be flooded by hipsters whose goal is to play Pitchfork's Intonation Festival, not to develop an act. Hopefully these fauxhemians won't namedrop indie bands and literary works to please the Buddy Holly glasses set - much like the Chips and Skips of the '80s dressed sharp and did celebrity impressions to remind talent scouts that they were Hollywood material.
The mainstream comedy world could get overrun by frat boys who want more MySpace friends than Dane Cook. Aggressively marketing themselves online, they might have millions of friend requests, videos on the YouTube front page, spots at Madison Square Garden - everything but a fully developed voice and perspective.
2) All That Tech Fuel Might Backfire
Television sparked the boom and killed it. More and more people went to clubs to see their favorite TV comedians, more and more new comedians got on TV, more and more people went home to watch the hottest club comedians.
The primary reason is simple: Comedy isn't pretty. Even the most pedestrian video-sharing sites like YouTube can be the perfect platform for isolated bits.
``It just works very well on different types of screens,'' said Mitchel Fried, senior vp promotion and marketing at Comedy Central. ``Whether you see Artie Lange on a 20-foot screen or your phone or your iPod, it doesn't matter, he's funny. And stand-up in particular, it's just one body there. You don't need a landscape.''
The ability to see comedy on cell phones, iPods, computers and televisions can lead to even more saturation than there was before. This will probably hurt the club scene more than the alternative comedy scene (which tends to have free shows anyway).
The Internet also makes it easier for wannabes to flood the marketplace and gain exposure, putting up their comedy videos online. This could mean more Ethel Mermans putting out more garage disco.
One Major Difference That Might Prevent Another Bust
Back then the easiest way for a hack to start the trajectory to getting a movie deal was to start at an open mike with a list of shitty Chicken McNugget jokes. Now, those who want their own TV show will start off on YouTube. Those who want to be movie stars will try to pimp themselves on iFilm. This means, even though we should still be wary of the posers who want to use comedy as a backdoor to MySpace fame or a Sub Pop deal that will give them instant indie cred, we can at least be sure that, unlike many of the boom comics, comedians new and old, funny as well as insipid, mainstream (Larry the Cable Guy) and indie (David Cross), see telling jokes as an end in itself.
Thursday, January 11, 2007
Nothing Funny About Comedy: How Teenagers Have Ruined Funny Films
This section is where I give serious essays on comedy.
My Taiwanese-American friend Mike and I went to a theater once to see a movie. There were loud teenyboppers yelling into their cell phones. Mike said "I gotta leave this theater," so we left. David Denby of the New Yorker recently wrote an article on how the multiplex experience is getting bad even for Hollywood studio heads. The article mentions cell phones. If he had courage he would have specifically blamed the teenyboppers on their mobile phones.
Cars was the highest-grossing comedy of '06. The top live-action comedy was Talladega Nights.Pretty funny, but neither Borat nor Little Miss Sunshine are on the list. Worst of all, there were three more computer-animated cartoon comedies beating it: Ice Age, Happy Feet and Over the Hedge. Even Seinfeld, who once said in Rolling Stone that comedy isn't ready for the movies, has decided to act in only one feature: Bee Movie, a computer-animated film.
You and I hate the glut of these films. But what do teenyboppers have to do with the success of these films? Surely teenagers aren't the ones seeing Ice Age - families are. That's my point: teenagers have been so obnoxiously loud on their cell phones before and during the films that people are avoiding teen and adult comedies like the plague. Studios insist on marketing to teens. Why? Teen comedies have flopped one after the other. Remember Accepted, anybody? No. That's why the American Pie sequels are moving to DVD; teens are busy watching Nick Cannon films while fatigued, ruddy-faced fathers let out relaxed sighs at the latest computer-animal revue.
Kids are just as noisy as teens, of course, but teens go to the movies themselves more and more, especially with GPS-equipped cell phones ensuring their parents can check up on them without hearing that dreadful tinny emo music. However most parents don't drop off their small children at the movies. Thus parents prefer to take the family to kids' movies with children only as opposed to teen films where they might run into some delusional suburban brat who thinks he's gonna make the draft pick for Dipset.
In the '80s some of the greatest blockbusters were teen/college comedies. Ferris, Revenge of the Nerds Back to the Future . Now we toss Dane Cook films at the multiplex like burnt French fries at overfed seagulls. When they don't stick we wonder why.
So what's the future of comedy blockbusters in the movies? Not on the iPod or on the PC or the TV; I don't want to derail here. In the multiplex, what will bring in thelaughsmoney? Night at the Museum was number one last week. It's a live action film about museum figures coming to life. So it had better be a family comedy with a few ironic asides for the adults. Oh, and if you see my friend Mike looking relaxed on the line for the movie, you know you've got a solid gold comedy hit.
My Taiwanese-American friend Mike and I went to a theater once to see a movie. There were loud teenyboppers yelling into their cell phones. Mike said "I gotta leave this theater," so we left. David Denby of the New Yorker recently wrote an article on how the multiplex experience is getting bad even for Hollywood studio heads. The article mentions cell phones. If he had courage he would have specifically blamed the teenyboppers on their mobile phones.
Cars was the highest-grossing comedy of '06. The top live-action comedy was Talladega Nights.Pretty funny, but neither Borat nor Little Miss Sunshine are on the list. Worst of all, there were three more computer-animated cartoon comedies beating it: Ice Age, Happy Feet and Over the Hedge. Even Seinfeld, who once said in Rolling Stone that comedy isn't ready for the movies, has decided to act in only one feature: Bee Movie, a computer-animated film.
You and I hate the glut of these films. But what do teenyboppers have to do with the success of these films? Surely teenagers aren't the ones seeing Ice Age - families are. That's my point: teenagers have been so obnoxiously loud on their cell phones before and during the films that people are avoiding teen and adult comedies like the plague. Studios insist on marketing to teens. Why? Teen comedies have flopped one after the other. Remember Accepted, anybody? No. That's why the American Pie sequels are moving to DVD; teens are busy watching Nick Cannon films while fatigued, ruddy-faced fathers let out relaxed sighs at the latest computer-animal revue.
Kids are just as noisy as teens, of course, but teens go to the movies themselves more and more, especially with GPS-equipped cell phones ensuring their parents can check up on them without hearing that dreadful tinny emo music. However most parents don't drop off their small children at the movies. Thus parents prefer to take the family to kids' movies with children only as opposed to teen films where they might run into some delusional suburban brat who thinks he's gonna make the draft pick for Dipset.
In the '80s some of the greatest blockbusters were teen/college comedies. Ferris, Revenge of the Nerds Back to the Future . Now we toss Dane Cook films at the multiplex like burnt French fries at overfed seagulls. When they don't stick we wonder why.
So what's the future of comedy blockbusters in the movies? Not on the iPod or on the PC or the TV; I don't want to derail here. In the multiplex, what will bring in the
Thursday, January 04, 2007
Nothing Funny about Comedy: Crowdsourcing Comedy: The Alternative to Alternative Comedy
Note: Sometimes I write serious, opinionated pieces. Starting this year, I will call these editorials Nothing Funny about Comedy, to distinguish them from my lighter pieces.
Just as more people are turning to amateur bloggers and videographers for news, they are also going on YouTube and Flickr finding unintentional kitsch and amateur comedy. Amateur internet comedy is the new underground and, until we start crowdsourcing comedy to the lunar colonies on Titan, will probably remain the new place for edgy comedy.
Surely I am overreacting, right? Where's the evidence? Of course this is my opinion; I am not saying that more people are viewing Album Cover Wars than they are looking at the latest Variety Shac video (though this is probably true). What I am saying is that alternative comedy has lost its edge. By "edge," I mean its status as an alternative to mainstream comedy. I'm sorry, but I can't think of one decent "alternative" comedian that hasn't been snatched up by a corporation. Aziz Ansari and friends are on MTV. Paul F. Tompkins has a steady job at VH-1. Neil Hamburger is a favorite on Jimmy Kimmel. This was the case back then, of course, but with the web, many of these amateur comedians keep delivering their unique brand of comedy without leaving their bedrooms, let alone partnering with Comedy Central. This guy just wants to make funny faces, regardless of whether he gets a gig at Rififi or not. Love him or hate him (may your pagan god forgive me, I hate him), he is the true alternative to sitcoms and midtown comedy clubs.
Just like any crowdsourcing story, online amateur comedy is cost-free. The creator doesn't charge, the viewer doesn't pay. Both the David Crosses and the Dane Cooks of the world get deals with HBO. Inevitably the edgiest alt-comic will get snatched up by AOL. Not necessarily so for Ask a Ninja.
Of course alternative comedy isn't dead. It just needs to change. What change is necessary? Let's look at Demetri Martin. Anyone who's seen his five-minute sets on Conan knows that he tells great one-liners.
When I saw his one-man show (Dr. Earnest Parrot Presents Demetri Martin), he told one-liners as well. But he also recounted some very serious life lessons and gave very earnest metaphysical ruminations. Indeed, when I think about the legends of stand-up, I remember Pryor and Carlin. Both of these comedians delivered stirring monologues betwixt dick jokes and fake commercials. Listening to Pryor especially, you'll notice that he often gets applause as well as laughter. These monologues work better with an audience hooting and clapping whereas they would fall flat on a podcast.
But doesn't this go against the grain of alternative comedy? Aren't speeches so over? For an eight minute set, sure. But the greats like Martin and Pryor deftly mixed sincerity and irony. Since the web is where people go for GI Joe parodies and bad album covers, irony is more omnipresent and inexpensive than ever. But I have yet to see a homebrew Mario YouTube with a reflective, somber moment. As long as comics alternative and mainstream wake up and realize that anyone can do disaffected irony but not everyone can challenge the status quo like Lenny Bruce once did, stand-up will be OK. As long as comedians focus less on being edgy and hip and more on being funny and poignant, they will succeed. David Cross and Louis CK still sell out clubs, don't they? Moral of the story: Haha ain't enough. You got to put the "a-ha" in "ha-ha."
Just as more people are turning to amateur bloggers and videographers for news, they are also going on YouTube and Flickr finding unintentional kitsch and amateur comedy. Amateur internet comedy is the new underground and, until we start crowdsourcing comedy to the lunar colonies on Titan, will probably remain the new place for edgy comedy.
Surely I am overreacting, right? Where's the evidence? Of course this is my opinion; I am not saying that more people are viewing Album Cover Wars than they are looking at the latest Variety Shac video (though this is probably true). What I am saying is that alternative comedy has lost its edge. By "edge," I mean its status as an alternative to mainstream comedy. I'm sorry, but I can't think of one decent "alternative" comedian that hasn't been snatched up by a corporation. Aziz Ansari and friends are on MTV. Paul F. Tompkins has a steady job at VH-1. Neil Hamburger is a favorite on Jimmy Kimmel. This was the case back then, of course, but with the web, many of these amateur comedians keep delivering their unique brand of comedy without leaving their bedrooms, let alone partnering with Comedy Central. This guy just wants to make funny faces, regardless of whether he gets a gig at Rififi or not. Love him or hate him (may your pagan god forgive me, I hate him), he is the true alternative to sitcoms and midtown comedy clubs.
Just like any crowdsourcing story, online amateur comedy is cost-free. The creator doesn't charge, the viewer doesn't pay. Both the David Crosses and the Dane Cooks of the world get deals with HBO. Inevitably the edgiest alt-comic will get snatched up by AOL. Not necessarily so for Ask a Ninja.
Of course alternative comedy isn't dead. It just needs to change. What change is necessary? Let's look at Demetri Martin. Anyone who's seen his five-minute sets on Conan knows that he tells great one-liners.
When I saw his one-man show (Dr. Earnest Parrot Presents Demetri Martin), he told one-liners as well. But he also recounted some very serious life lessons and gave very earnest metaphysical ruminations. Indeed, when I think about the legends of stand-up, I remember Pryor and Carlin. Both of these comedians delivered stirring monologues betwixt dick jokes and fake commercials. Listening to Pryor especially, you'll notice that he often gets applause as well as laughter. These monologues work better with an audience hooting and clapping whereas they would fall flat on a podcast.
But doesn't this go against the grain of alternative comedy? Aren't speeches so over? For an eight minute set, sure. But the greats like Martin and Pryor deftly mixed sincerity and irony. Since the web is where people go for GI Joe parodies and bad album covers, irony is more omnipresent and inexpensive than ever. But I have yet to see a homebrew Mario YouTube with a reflective, somber moment. As long as comics alternative and mainstream wake up and realize that anyone can do disaffected irony but not everyone can challenge the status quo like Lenny Bruce once did, stand-up will be OK. As long as comedians focus less on being edgy and hip and more on being funny and poignant, they will succeed. David Cross and Louis CK still sell out clubs, don't they? Moral of the story: Haha ain't enough. You got to put the "a-ha" in "ha-ha."
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