Joke’s On Us
Balancing Humor and Reality
My Creating Historical Documentaries class is vlogging “Corona Chronicles,” capturing the “incongruity, emotion, conflict, humor, and vulnerability” of life during a pandemic. On the brink of destruction, it’s been surprisingly easy to find humor—whether by watching a woman unload a whole shopping cart full of canned beans into her trunk or the craze of a chemistry Google Meet test run. Laughing during quarantine isn’t logical, but it’s almost instinctual.
In “Planet Funny: How Comedy Ruined Everything,” Ken Jennings provides some explanation as he tracks the ubiquity of humor in our culture. He points out that jokes now pervade politics to advertising to airline safety videos. Everything—even “Corona Chronicles”—has to be funny, for better or for worse.
At Parker, too, things really are considered better if they’re funny. Club leaders think witty Morning Ex announcements will attract more members to meetings. The student body rallied around a meme page. Candidates for elected positions often hang posters with jokes, and many students only read the backpage of “The Weekly.”
At Parker, too, things really are considered better if they’re funny. Club leaders think witty Morning Ex announcements will attract more members to meetings. The student body rallied around a meme page. Candidates for elected positions often hang posters with jokes, and many students only read the backpage of “The Weekly.”
Of course, it’s not hard to understand why we love to laugh. I’ve bonded with classmates over bio jokes, and John Oliver makes current events a little easier to stomach.
But, with Jennings’ assertion that “comedy ruined everything,” I’ve wondered: with such a strong focus on what’s funny, what are we missing?
Take the example of airline safety videos. I just watched one by United Airlines that features a flight crew posing Abbey Road-style, a dinosaur fishing, and a Hawaiian wedding. Why does it take such elaborate scenes to get our attention? Logically, it’s in our best interest to watch carefully. Safety doesn’t seem like it needs to be conflated with entertainment.
Similarly, I’m often confused when presidential candidates force one-liners into their debates, eliciting cheers from the audience. As voters, it isn’t in the best interest of the nation to prioritize humor over other defining qualities of a successful president. And at Parker, when many of us are compelled by Student Government candidates’ posters with baby photos or memes—I’m guilty of this—it’s easy to forgo careful consideration of actual platforms.
At this point, we’re conditioned by popular culture to require humor—in the news, TV, even school—and everything else runs the risk of dismissal as dry or boring. I’m not writing this article, though, as a condemnation of comedy. Laughing at the absurdity of my new routine— while continuing to follow the news and practice recommended precautions—helps to counteract the gravity of the coronavirus pandemic. We should more critically consider the role of comedy in our lives and free ourselves from the notion that for something, whether a presentation or a political movement, to be good or useful it must be funny.
