Show me your O[ffice Space] face.

Alas, I was working on my final paper, and for some technical reason (I'm sure of NO fault of mine), I lost some of the oh-so-profound analysis on page 7 and the revised "clever" title I created last night. As a distraction, I thought I'd return to the blogger, which seems to autosave even the most pathetic of my ideas.

However, because I'm a bit angst-ridden towards technology right now, I find it highly appropriate that we are watching Office Space on Monday. The music "Damn, It Feels Good to be a Gangsta," coupled with the image of three nerdy guys clubbing a copy machine with a baseball bat, embody what I'd like to do to my old-school HP laptop--and its screen which only works 70% of the time. But the film's image itself with suffice for me...

Oh, Office Space. It seems to encompass a variety of the theoretical stances toward comedy we examined throughout the semester. At its most basic, the film is a satire of the American work place; however, it's laden with amazing catch-phrases ("Riiiiiight...that would be greeeeat," "Sounds like somebody has a case of the Mondays," "The Bobs," "Have you theen my thtapler?," "Showin' me her O face," etc.), frighteningly accurate character parodies/caricatures (Milton, the waiter w/excessive flare, etc.), moments of heightened incongruity (via the character who attempts suicide, and, while in a body cast, says "this is the best thing that ever happened to me" and means it, Peter's preference for construction work over the American ideal of a 9-5 job, a rap soundtrack which contradicts expectations for the characters' music choices, etc.), and, finally, Grawe's survival patterning (the protagonists survive: Peter wins the girl, Milton wins the money, and the co-workers return to their comfort zone in an identical position at a nearly identical company).

Still, though Office Space is a satire, it's 10 years old. Initially it worked to mock the present workday and point out how it potentially leads to frustration and insanity. A decade later, can we evaluate if anything, at all, has changed? The reason I ask this is because, with Idiocracy, we discussed how it works as both an exaggeration of the present and a warning about the future: if we "do nothing" and are "not sure" about anything, we will become--and live amidst--abject.

Office Space is still a relatively recent film, but I think, on some level, it did evoke a call to change, albeit a subtle one. Office Space carved a space for more workplace comedies. The Office(s) came out. Parks and Recreation is a new comedy that explores local government offices. 30 Rock shows the dynamics of work when producing a TV show. Waiting, a film, depicts the ridiculous interpersonal dynamics of a restaurant. Though this may be a stretch, I would venture to say that by more and more media pointing out and making fun of the day-to-day idiosyncracies that frustrate us in our non places of leisure, the more likely we are to note our own annoying qualities when we interact with others at work, school, and so on. And we can laugh about them rather than destroying our copy machines...or HP laptops.

Rogen...Revisited

After viewing several of the stand-up presentations, I've noticed a trend: almost all of the comedians made their way into film or television. A few weeks ago, I blogged about Seth Rogen's persona on film; it's always the same, and, to me, it's boring because it's repetitive and no longer endearing. I made the comparison with stand-up comedians who succeed by relying on the consistency of their personas; ultimately, I theorized that it works on stage but not on film. However, I'm beginning to rethink my stance.

The David Spade presentation, for example, pointed out that he plays one of three personas on screen (and also pointed out that Tommy Boy and Black Sheep are the same film). I couldn't help thinking of Adam Sandler in this way, too. Besides general context (a school vs. a golf course), there's not much difference between Sandler's characters and plot in Happy Gilmore and Billy Madison. Wanda Sykes also carries her persona from stand up to film roles and to a favorite TV role of mine--as herself on Curb Your Enthusiasm. Jerry Seinfeld is another comedian who carries both film and stage genres equally well while maintaining the same "character." Thus far, as the presenter mentioned, Eddie Izzard is the only one who takes a dyamic departure from stage to film...

Therefore, I take back my generalization from the previous blog, and I will re-articulate some things. 1) Characters played by comedians can still be funny--regardless of how repetitive their roles may seem. 2) There's a caveat: those characters need to be unique to that comedian. 3) Seth Rogen's "loveable chubby pothead" character can be played by other people. (Take Superbad, for instance. The younger chubby character--developed, not surprisingly, by Rogen--was played by Jonah Hill, another "loveable chubby pothead.") 4) Because Rogen's roles are both replaceable and repetitive, there's a lack of both novelty and actor necessity (ie, we've GOT to have Rogen in this role.)

Obligatory Laughter.

Yesterday Jen and I filmed our attempt at a comedy routine/comedic scenario. We had been collaborating on a script for a few weeks, and, though we slightly lauded ourselves for incorporating a few amusing one-liners, we continued to ask each other a central question: "Is this actually going to be funny to anyone else?"

After spending the semester analyzing what elements/theories go into humor, we drew from the critics and Dr. McIntire-Stasburg's lectures to justify our otherwise potentially lame material. My favorite excuse was, "Well, I'm not sure the class will laugh at this, but it is drawing on repetition/incongruity/[insert key term of choice], so it might work..."

I'm not sure, though, if the theoretical justifications did work in this instance. However, we did laugh at ourselves the entire time we were filming--partially because we felt silly (and we kept making references to 8th grade group projects that involved a video camera) and partially because we (and only we) thought the material warranted a laugh. Jen and I attempted to create humor based on what we find funny (and, admittedly, some of it's a bit absurd...though I'll avoid leaking any of the "dynamic" plot details). Still, if we didn't laugh, who would? It was, without sounding too self-critical, obligatory. Our laughter was essentially the laughter of nerves. So, my question is, where does obligatory nervous laughter fit into theories of humor? Perhaps it tends more toward Grawe's notion of survival; though, in this context, it is more the survival of the "comics'" stage presence and less the survival of humanity. On the other hand, maybe, for an afternoon, Jen and I forcefully positioned ourselves as insiders, as "superiors" who could laugh at something that others may not understand? Then again, that theoretical connection is still a bit of a stretch...

"Russ," LBJ, and the Body Politic

While considering the construction of political satire within Baker's short story/woven anecdote of his journalistic encounters with LBJ in class, I also began thinking about what this satire says about the American body politic. Generally, body politic refers to the idea that a nation's leader is both a physical and metaphorical embodiment of the nation and its subjects. For example, when Bush was president and made comments that may have come across as ignorant or silly (i.e., "strategery" and "nuc-u-lar"), many other countries began to stereotype all Americans in the same way. (As a sidenote, I've noticed many of my blog comments invoke Bush as an example a lot; however, this is not intended to "Bush bash" or be offensive...)

In regards to LBJ and the body politic, it seems as if "Russ" and his journalistic dialogue with the president comes to represent something beyond a facade of friendliness. What I mean is that Baker provides the reader not only with an insider's view of how politicians position themselves as "nice guys" to get ahead in a journal article, but how a false position of "you're my buddy" vs. not knowing someone from the Jolly Green Giant vis-a-vis the president can come to signify the United States' relationship to others outside the country and among fellow citizens. For instance, the same phone calls LBJ makes to Russ are much like the propaganda that surfaces during presidential campaigns; presidential candidates speak to viewers as if they know them and their situations in order to gain votes. Yet, aside from "Joe the Plumber," most candidates fail to recognize their potential voters/"fellow Americans" beyond the generalizations and directly by name. Finally, though the president/political leader may memorize other countries' leaders' names when preparing for a meeting or to reference their name in speech, some just as easily forget when that country is neither a threat nor a potential benefit.... (And, it's often assumed that many Americans operate similarly...) Just a thought.

Rogen Rant

This entry may not be particularly scholarly in nature. However, I want to get this off my chest: Seth Rogen is getting on my nerves. When he was on Freaks and Geeks, his offbeat, one-line sarcastic observations were endearing; they made his "freak" character likeable. I think, though, that my problem with Rogen began after Knocked Up.

And I'm pretty sure I now know why. We've spent a lot of time in class talking about how many successful stage comedians adopt a role; the audience begins to have certain expectations of their stage presence, which we've assumed is likely an exaggeration of their true personalities (and personality quirks). In terms of Rogen, he too has adopted a "stage presence." The same one line witticisms that rendered him endearing about 10 years ago on Freaks and Geeks now make him redundant. He plays the chubby, cynical, but generally good-hearted twenty-something in pretty much every film he's in: Knocked Up, Zack and Miri Make a Porno, 40 Year Old Virgin, Superbad, Pineapple Express... (you get the idea). Okay, so Knocked Up was pretty funny; still, the situation the character was in made the film humorous--not the character himself. And Superbad and 40 Year Old Virgin were hysterical only because Rogen was a supporting character instead of a lead.

Okay, so I'm getting to a point here: stand up comedians' success in self-caricaturization (is that a real term?) fails to translate to the same success for actors in comedic roles. There's a lack of novelty when this happens across film roles. And, at least when caricatured comedians are on stage, they can tailor their quirks toward the audience in front of them; film actors perform for an imagined audience and for screenwriters and directors. In the case of Rogen (and Apatow), I think their audiences may be ready for something different...

Texas Humor

Okay, go ahead and laugh: I'm from Texas. I'm used to laughing about it all the time, particularly because some of the stereotypes (even if I don't conform to all of them) have traces of truth in them...

1. The accent. Ya'll know what I'm talkin' about. Sure, some people tell me, "what, your from Texas? You don't have an accent." Truth is, I've just learned to hide it in certain situations.

2. The attitude. Most native Texans believe that Texas is the best state ever. I'm not so sure about that; but, as an Austinite, I do believe Austin is the best city ever.

3. The oversize cars. Again, not so true for me. I like to save on my gas. There are a lot of giant trucks, though -- especially Ford150s. And they force my little Civic into the slow lane constantly.

4. The food. We all love barbecue (and big portions of it), right? Almost every party in the state features a beans, brisket, and ribs buffet. Those of us who prefer a lighter feast are generally forced to lurk around the bread basket and salad station. But I do love Tex-Mex (and a nice cold Shiner Bock beer; I'll pass on the Lone Star...).

Listing out the general Texas stereotypes for me, as a native Texan, doesn't make me feel inferior. Heck, I'm an insider; I can make fun of my own. And this parallels a lot of the readings we've done--more directly with the Molly Ivins piece (which reminded a lot of Kinky Friedman's writings; "he ain't Kinky...he's my governor") and more indirectly with the gendered humor, the southern humor, and the social humor: we have to laugh at ourselves and our practices in order to a) understand the situations and contexts that make us the way we are and b) point out the situations in which show us our personal flaws (in my case, stubbornness -- other cities are probably just as cool as Austin...) and, in the context of misconception, socially (seriously, not everyone in Texas has big hair, votes Republican, and works for an oil company....). To that, I say "yee haw." I'm off to the hair salon; this time, I'll ask for extra hair spray on my bangs.

Why Fart Jokes Don't Stink

For my book review, I read Valerie Allen's On Farting, a critical analysis of the use of flatulence to evoke laughter in the medieval period. However, what's great about Allen's analysis is how she connects much of the fart's significance to the present: farts--manifested physically, artistically, literarily, and historically--represent something so innately common to the human condition that laughing at a fart is essentially laughing at humanity. In other words, though her scholarly approach caters to an academic audience of either scatologists, medievalists, or both, the overall point resonates (was that a bad pun?) with even the five year old reader of the popular books Everybody Poops and Everybody Farts. This notion of equalization is like the Bakhtinian theory often applied to bodily releases, in that Bakhtin positions scatological actions as more a reminder of the social leveling of the body (i.e., all humans fart, poop, pee, etc. as methods of digestive self-regeneration).

Yet one thing I've pulled out of Allen's examination is the notion that farts are products of hyphenation; they are both intimate (in that they emerge from the inside of our bodies, and those we share them with become "intimately exposed" with our internal goings-on) and extimate (because they are now outside of us, their odor and sound become part of the air). And this hyphenated nature of the fart makes me think, in the context of this class, not only why farts are comical because they expose something intimately/extimately stinky about the human body but also why they are funny on a communal level that differs from Bakhtin's ideas. The fart is a hyphenated "insider-outsider." Yes, those who "let flee" (as Chaucer might say) the fart, and the fart itself, are often laughed at--as inferior outsiders. Or, if someone is farted on, the fart recipient is inferior, while the farter and the viewers are superior. Yet a certain equalizing element also emerges in the farter: the farter's expulsion of air from the rear is much akin to the laugher's expulsion of air from the mouth. In many ways, the hot air of laughter and the fart are identical (particularly if the laugher has halitosis!), and both spectator and spectacle are culpable. Moreover, the laugher and farter are both releasing something together, and they both often feel better for doing so; thus, the self-fulfillment is mutually collaborative.

At any rate, it seems that farts are funny on numerous levels. And perhaps that's why the fart joke (and the fart itself) remains funny--regardless of historical context.