Tuesday 25 June 2019

IS HUMOROUS NARRATIVE BECOMING A LOST ART?


If recent experience is anything to go by, the answer for me, unfortunately, is yes. As a reader I want to be entertained. That doesn’t mean I have a desire to shun communal responsibility, close my eyes to the troubles of the world, be they social or political or involve dire injustice. Writers are supposed to draw our attention to these things, heighten our awareness of the planet’s troubles, reinforce the notion that love is blind and sure to leave us heartbroken, or that might is right, or that taking to a life of crime and drug addiction will result in the most tragic of consequences. 

Yet there is a difference between changing our perceptions of the world around us and filling our minds with constant dread. I’m relentlessly bombarded with the darker side of humanity's existence; in the daily news, in documentaries, in the newspapers, in films, and In books. I want occasionally to enjoy life; to watch a play or a film or read a book that lifts my spirits without sending me scurrying to some dark corner in despair.

In the 1920s and the depression years that followed, people flocked to the cinema to see the likes of Harold Lloyd, Charlie Chaplin and Laurel and Hardy as a respite from their troubles. The last thing they wanted was to be confronted with their problems on a giant screen, yet people like Chaplin were able to mix humour with pathos; to make people laugh while they reflected on the more serious issues, such as how we can often misjudge people and jump to false conclusions (City Lights), how love and companionship can be found in the most unlikely of situations (The Kid) or how it’s possible to look tyranny defiantly in the face no matter how grave the threat (The Great Dictator). Many films made during the war years, in fact, were designed to lift people’s spirits and keep them motivated, even in the midst of the most horrific and frightening of circumstances.

I recently watched a raft of films, littered with profanities, the majority of stories focusing on corrupt politicians, sex addicts, a suicidal woman caught in a hopeless love triangle, a mother driven mad by her psychotic son, two couples arguing non-stop in an apartment, a wife beaten senseless by her husband and then finding solace with another violent man, a variety of macho-men wandering around beating people senseless, and a scientist who creates a synthetic skin for a woman who turns out to be a former man. 

Many television writers understand that stories often work better at two levels. Steptoe and Son is a comedy, yet it features two penniless rag and bone men, one an aged father, the other a son who is unable to break away and find a life for himself because of his parental ties. Darlene Hunt’s scripts for The Big C tackle the serious issue of cancer head on, pulling no punches but always holding out the hand of hope. And its one-liners hit home whilst making us smile: When Cathy’s estranged husband asks why she has thrown him out, she puts a hand on her son and says, ‘I couldn’t cope with looking after two children, so one of you had to go.’ It’s a funny line but the arrow finds its mark and the situation resonates with millions of people.

There is also much to enjoy and celebrate and I’d like to spend some of my time immersing myself in an imaginative, well-plotted story or unashamedly having a good laugh. So a big thank-you to Bill Bryson, Sue Townsend, William Goldman, Woody Allen, Muriel Spark, Galton and Simpson, Tom Sharpe, Nora Ephron, Charlie Kaufman, Billy Wilder, Douglas Adams, Patrick Campbell, Kingsley Amis, John Sullivan, Mel Brooks, Neil Simon and David Nicholls for lightening my load and giving me food for thought whilst ENTERTAINING ME.   

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