Laughing on the Inside
Saturday's National Mall event wasn't a rally, it was a cult meeting.
5:16 PM, Nov 1, 2010 • By ALEC MOUHIBIAN
Ever since then-CNN president Jon Klein declared himself “firmly in the Jon Stewart camp” after the comedian's bombastic appearance on Crossfire in 2004, something like an anti-cult has formed around that very camp—including as it does The Daily Show, The Colbert Report, and the many books and franchises of its hosts. When the CNN anchor Rick Sanchez exploded against Stewart recently on the radio, he became only the latest public figure to join this anti-cult, and not the first to do so in a slightly deranged manner that ended up costing his job.
The Rally to Restore Sanity and/or Fear
Kristoffer Tripplaar / Sipa Press / Newscom
The first to do so in such a manner was Lee Siegel of the New Republic. “Siegel is brave, brilliant, and wittier than Stewart will ever be,” Siegel notoriously observed, under a pseudonym, in the comments section of his own blog. But not all members are so overblown. Last year in the Atlantic, Christopher Hitchens reported the “vaguely alarming” feeling of being admired all around for an appearance on The Daily Show, before concluding that “a liberal joke, at present, is no laughing matter.” Camille Paglia has repeatedly and calmly noted her attempts to avoid Jon Stewart “like the plague.” Even Stewart himself, dismayed by the imbalance of laughter and applause from his audience, flirts with membership from time to time.
As you can see, membership in this anti-cult is not limited to annoyed conservatives. Members come from all walks of cultural life and political affinity. Give or take an envious rival, they are an intelligent, sensitive, well-informed, generally awesome bunch. I am one of them.
Like most of my fellow anti-cultists, I don't deny the comic talents of the Stewart camp; I know their gags can hit gold. I'm grateful for the emergence through their channels of Steve Carrell, if not Lewis Black. I respect Chicago’s Second City improv school where they trained. Though darlings of the liberal-left orthodoxy, deviating from it on nothing at all, their politics don't account for the problem, either. What, then, explains it? Why do I and so many others find it impossible to watch even a few minutes of The Daily Show or The Colbert Report without hurting the remote in our haste to switch channels? Why did we look upon the Rally to Restore Sanity and/or Fear, staged in Washington on Halloween eve, to be one of those nightmares from which a reading of Thomas L. Friedman: Selected Sonnets would be a welcome respite?
The answer can be found in Max Beerbohm. In a century-old essay entitled “The Humour of the Public,” the Incomparable Max laid out better than anyone the difference between what is actually funny and what is merely supposed to be. He wrote,
Against this individual sense of humor screams the humor of the public: formulaic, garish, common. “Unless a joke hits in the eye, drawing forth a shower of illuminative sparks, all is darkness” for the latter. “Unless a joke be labeled 'Comic. Come! why don't you laugh?' the public is quite silent.” Private laughter, as Beerbohm describes it, laughs hardest in the company of a few good friends, whereas public laughter echoes hollow from the dreary cues of “humorists” on page or stage.
Beerbohm hated groups, so I'm sure he would have hated the Stewart camp today; but his distinctions do a lot to explain its success. Sophisticated comedy has left behind much of the traditional ba-da-bing manner in search of those “quiet jokes” that belong to private experience. For Daily Show fans, Stewart is a likable fellow who encounters the daily current of events with the same awe and frustration they do, reacting just as they would if they were funny. Tuning in often feels like eavesdropping on a dinner party of a few million good friends. The warm chuckles. The winks and nods. The occasional break into silly rapture. Now and then the mood gets serious and somebody laments, “Fox! News O'Reilly Fox News Hannity fair and balanced Britt Hume, Fox!”—and after awhile the language might sound a little foreign, the air gets a little thick, and you begin to suspect you weren't invited. You look for a way out.
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