He Who Laughs
Are comedians funny, or harbingers of social change?
Jun 2, 2008, Vol. 13, No. 36 • By ZACK MUNSON
Comedy at the Edge
What do four Jewish comedians, three goyish comedians, and one black comedian have in common? Well, according to Comedy at the Edge they--Robert Klein, Albert Brooks, Andy Kaufman, Jerry Seinfeld, Steve Martin, Robin Williams, George Carlin, Richard Pryor, and others--"changed America." At least that is what Time's television critic, Richard Zoglin, believes.
All attempts to explain social change through the narrow prism of short-lived pop culture phenomena aside, Zoglin's work is quite informative, and not entirely unpleasant reading. He describes, in a largely chronological though sometimes too-serious way, the development of what today is called stand-up comedy.
Zoglin has conducted extensive interviews with comics, club owners, managers, producers, and hangers-on. And his subjects rarely bore. They are, for the most part, carousing, drug addicted, and emotionally unstable (there's no business like show business!), and Zoglin captures their plentiful highs and lows. He offers little insight into the more sordid gossip and better-traveled stories, such as Richard Pryor setting himself on fire; but he does give some details that bring these strange characters to life.
Pryor, in response to an unimpressed audience member, "suddenly unzipped his fly and peed in her direction." When David Brenner catches Robin Williams using his material on television, Brenner warns Williams's agent, "If he ever takes one more line from me, I'll rip off his leg and shove it up his ass." After a concert one night in the mid-1970's, legendary manager Jack Rollins issues a "rueful assessment" of his client Robert Klein, then at the height of his success: "Effective, but not winning."
Zoglin also does a good job telling the story of the rise of the comedy club, from its humble beginnings in a seedy New York dive called the Improv, to its growing influence in supplying talent for TV and film and the boom that filled American towns and cities with Seinfeld wannabes. This story is worth a book in itself, and takes up a sizable part of Zoglin's, and is populated with yet another group of familiar names and characters. Some succeeded: Billy Crystal, Richard Lewis, Richard Belzer, Garry Shandling. Some skyrocketed: Jay Leno, David Letterman. And some--well, some aren't so familiar, but apparently did do standup comedy in the 1970s (Argus Hamilton, anyone?).
This is an engaging and informative book, but it has a serious flaw. Zoglin begins with the obligatory tribute to Lenny Bruce; e.g., Bruce was a genius among other, lesser geniuses (including comedy lightweights such as Mort Sahl, Bill Cosby, Bob Newhart, Jonathan Winters, and Woody Allen). But of course, Zoglin admits, "Bruce was hardly (to get this heresy out of the way first) the funniest of the lot." Heresy offstage, breathless sycophancy resumes:
Five hyperventilating pages later, Zoglin finally gets at what he was getting at, the real thrust of Bruce's influence: "[Bruce's] vibrant, manic, free-associating mind games could be dazzling, almost intoxicating. Bruce showed that stand-up comedy could be the expression of an engaged, thinking, neurotic, impassioned human being in his raw, crazy complexity."
The sad truth is that Lenny Bruce was not "complex." He was a drug addict. His career was always on the brink. He was unstable, and often incomprehensible. Zoglin admits that this was a detriment to Bruce's comedic abilities but insists that it helped change American society.
Zoglin elevates Bruce's outlandishness and confuses it with creative radicalism. And that confusion informs Zoglin's attitude to the whole subject. For him, the stand-up comic is, or should be, an artist forever pushing the boundaries of taste, decency, social norms, our perception of truth. He is some kind of social critic. Not merely some kind; he is probably the most important social critic on earth. Again and again Zoglin returns to this theme.