"An Insane Idiot And His Collection Of Descending-Size Deer Heads"

Also related to this museum/weird stuff collection business. . . but much, much funnier, is this transcript from an old SNL sketch written by none other than Jack Handy. Again, the fact that I have seen this and enjoyed it is because of Jesse Thorn and his wonderful podcasts. :)

An Insane Idiot And His Collection Of Descending-Size Deer Heads

Sincerity before I could articulate it. . .

I guess for me, this is the central conflict of my work and perhaps my own life - I am wedged squarely between two opposing ideas. That we should celebrate and be thankful for and enjoy the humor of the excesses and abundances and over-the-topness of our country, and meanwhile we should ashamed of it, disgusted by it.

On the one hand, I want to be serious about these issues, but on the other, I want to have a sense of humor. To laugh at something that is so blatantly too much . . . I mean, things that are grossly out of proportion are in and of themselves somewhat funy, aren't they? I really love that Jim Gaffigan joke about explaining dessert to someone in a starving country (actually mentioned in another posting). I think it his the nail on the head because there is something almost laughable about this fact when we put it into context. He navigates this line well because it is really a horrific thing and the guilt that would accompany actually explaining dessert to someone starving face to face is crushing, but it's told with a sense of humor, with an appreciation for what is unbeleivably funny about the situation. How does one do this visually?

Father Ted and Humor

So, listening to the interview with Graham Linehan and Arthur Matthews (I think on the DVD extras), they described how they took these stereotypes of Irish people (drunk priest, super-nice lady) and took them to ludacris dimensions, so that it was nearly impoosibble for it to be taken seriously. And that got me thinking how wonderfully complicated humor is. Aside from the people-falling-down humor, which is pretty basal and easy to understand, there is so much more sophistication involved in humor. Even in this case, where the joke of a priest being so drunk that he will literally drink anything, including floor polish, and who hasn't been sober in 2 years, which is not that complex of a joke in and of itself, is making a bigger, more complicated joke about Irish steretopes. And I realized that without that little explanation, I might not have understaood the bigger joke. I mean, when I first saw the show, I thought - aren't Irish people offended by all these stereotypes? It worries me that so much can be lost on me.

I also think that so often, I see images and I think "this is funny." but I can't explain why. And I think I'd prefer not to, but maybe if I could, then I can exploit or expand the joke to me to make the image more . . . like the Culver's man walking down the street after the parade. That is funny to me. It's just funny.

Making complex narratives

Also, I was thinking about the Simpsons (thought other shows do this too) where there will be a main storyline but then a sub-story that intersects every once in awhile but mostly just happens on its own, or the show begins with its own little scene, a short set of jokes that really doesn't do anything for the main plot of the show, but is just funny, and I think they talked about that with Fr. Ted too (the authors) how they would conceive of a show by having 2 or 3 funny scenes that were just funny in and of themselves, because of their set-up or situation, and then build around them. Set peices kind of a thing. So that makes me think about how I can repeat characters or jokes in a painting narrative or how I can have a sub-character or literally a background story going on, adding other characters that support or intersect. . . . trying to make the narrative more complex or make more layers to what is going on. I wonder if I can tell a story in a room but not necessarily in order. Not a linear story, but scenes, a moment and maybe not of an event, the way our mind goes back and forth from flashes of long ago to yesterday to whatever. Hmmmm.