The Default Observer

In the third episode of Season 5 of FX’s Louie, the socially awkward titular character—played by the show’s creator, director, writer, editor, and executive producer Louis C.K.— peruses the shelves of a cookware store. When the store’s young clerk ignores Louie’s requests for help because she wants to close shop, Louie confronts her at the counter. The clerk—who turns out to be the store’s owner—simply does not want his business, which baffles Louie.
“Alright then. Alright,” says Louie. “I will alert my entire generation that your generation needs nothing from us. We will just be on our way.”
Addressing the room’s elephant, the clerk goes on to ask, “Do you always get uncomfortable around younger people?”
The question lands hard and fast. Louie sighs and admits, “Yeah…I don’t know why.”
“I think I maybe know why…Because we’re the future, and you don’t belong in it. Because we’re beyond you, and naturally that makes you feel kind of bad. You have this deep down feeling that you don’t matter anymore.”
Looking defeated, Louie concedes: “Yeah that’s…that’s pretty true, yeah.”
Comedy As They Know It
Every joke has a premise. Sometimes a road needs crossing, or a door needs answering. The comedian beckons us to follow. But what happens when we resist the call?
Few have resisted Jerry Seinfeld. He is, after all, the wealthiest comedian of all time. His eponymous sitcom Seinfeld ruled the 90s and still rules syndication. Hulu just bought the rights to stream it for $160 million. Seinfeld’s webseries Comedians in Cars Getting Coffee—sponsored by Acura—garners millions of views for digital distributor Crackle. In short, there is still a demand for Jerry Seinfeld and his trademark observational humor.
On June 8, Seinfeld was promoting Comedians on ESPN’s “The Herd with Colin Cowherd”. They discussed the state of comedy. “Does the climate worry you now?” asked Cowherd. Seinfeld said yes, and he recounted an anecdote about his daughter, who called her mother “sexist.” According to Seinfeld, college-aged youth like his daughter “just want to use these words: ‘That’s racist;’ ‘That’s sexist;’ ‘That’s prejudiced.’ They don’t even know what the fuck they’re talking about.”
“Does it hurt comedy?” asked Cowherd.
“Yes it does. Yes it does,” said Seinfeld. The question clearly upset him. He went on to condemn the “apology culture” and claim that “we’re just too sensitive to live anymore.”
The internet resisted Seinfeld’s premise and countered his comments with predictable outrage. ‘Political correctness’ guards against racism, sexism, and other types of prejudice, and it halts stereotypes before they catch fire. Seinfeld and other like-minded comedians must redirect their offensive jokes and prod the privileged and powerful rather than the disadvantaged and vulnerable. This argument is logical, but it does not address one of comedy’s most pressing issues: In an era of identity politics and social justice, the dominant perspective—that of the middle aged white man—is trite.
Putting It in Perspective
Political correctness cannot and will not destroy comedy, which welcomes no such absolutism. The straight white man’s observations bear no fruit when they try to, but cannot, exist in a cultural vacuum. Too often, comedians forget to ask why they are telling a joke after they plan how and when and about what, and this is especially true for observational comedy. If the observation is the joke, then the means is the end. The comedian will of course add a unique analytical twist, but no comedian can mine humor out of nothing. What the comedian observes is key, and the comedian is often a straight, white man.
If this is true, then how do we reconcile Chris Rock’s condemnation of political correctness with his status as a straight, black man? In an interview with Vulture, Rock called college students conservative “in their social views and their willingness not to offend anybody.” Hundreds of years of political ideological theory aside, point taken: Rock wants to allow comedy some breathing room because “if you think you don’t have room to make mistakes, it’s going to lead to safer, gooier stand-up. You can’t think the thoughts you want to think if you think you’re being watched.”
Fair enough. Comedians should experiment with edgy material. However, they cannot use this as an excuse to offend for the sake of offensiveness or mock the disadvantaged without purpose. Not all comedy has to make a potent political point, but when it does it should not be directed at vulnerable targets. Sure, comedy is entertainment. But it is also a weapon, and it can sting.
Rock alluded to the motivating factor for his frustration when interviewer Frank Rich asked, “In [conservative comedian Dennis] Miller’s case, do you think that identifying with those in power is an impediment to laughter?”
“I’ll say this,” said Rock. “Poor people laugh harder than rich people.”
Comedy As We Know It
Perhaps class is the most illustrative example because it is the most outwardly obvious. The evidence of male privilege is not as apparent as the products of wealth. Seinfeld cannot say “they” don’t know what they’re talking about because “they” experience and have experienced racism and sexism and ableism and classism and ageism, and Seinfeld hasn’t and never will. These concepts—abstract to many straight, white men—are concrete to those who have experienced them. This is a simple and familiar concept. There will always be a place for observational comedy—it is, after all, the comedy of everyday life. But we must acknowledge the default observer: the straight white male. Stand-up comedy that is often branded political—like Hari Kondabolu’s, W. Kamau Bell’s, Hasan Minhaj’s, and Larry Wilmore’s, for example—is also observational. Their comedy reveals the absurdities of their own experiences. For them, it mocks the everyday.
Observations depend on the observer, and no one comedian can speak for all types of people. However, some comedians and their ‘politically correct’ comedy joke with a different observer in mind. Kondabolu tweeted, “Political correctness is stifling Jerry Seinfeld’s ability to say nothing.” Clearly Seinfeld’s comedy has never reflected Kondabolu’s life experiences. Seinfeld thinks political correctness censors comedy, but Kondabolu cannot imagine comedy that does not address issues of social justice. Kondabolu’s 2014 debut album Waiting for 2042 is funny. But critics often claim that he—and his type of comedy—is obsessed with race. In an interview with NPR, Kondabolu disagrees. “It’s part of my lived experience and my day to day and the history of this country.” said Kondabolu. “Certainly when I look at things, I see things in terms of a racial angle [and] I spot things maybe faster than other people maybe because I pay close attention to it.” His jokes are as political as observational.
Comedy’s old guard should not fear extinction. In fact, it does not need to undergo any drastic adaption to popular new topics in order to forge a place in comedy’s future. Rock observes that poor people laugh harder than rich people, likely because the rich resist laughing at their own privilege. Comedians like Jerry Seinfeld and Chris Rock can still tell meaningful jokes to a young audience if they consider the new default observer, which is not default at all. Just as comedy shies away from absolutisms, so do audiences. They don’t like to be told what is funny; they like to laugh. Comedians cannot expect every audience member to accept a joke’s premise, but they should ask why an audience member is offended if one is. And the answer must never be that the joke assumes a default observer. “What’s the deal with marriage? with backyards? with homework?” asks Jerry Seinfeld. But we eagerly anticipate the day when the contemporary Seinfeld asks, “What’s the deal with systemic racism?”
Image Source: Flickr/David Shankbone