The Limits of Humor: When Comedians Get Serious
by Dannagal G. Young
Perhaps it’s counterintuitive that my first instinct when asked to write for a series entitled “The Laughter Effect” was to write about the moments in which late night comedy hosts choose to abandon humor. While it is unsurprising that comedians get serious following tragedies, it is less clear why comedians would choose to drop humor in discussions of political issues.
Late-night comics don’t drop their mask often. Examining the rare instances in which they do helps us understand humor’s potential limits as a rhetorical device — limits that the comics themselves seems to recognize and respect.
Serious tragedy
In September 2001, a week after the 9/11 terror attacks, late-night hosts returned with emotional opening monologues that sought to acknowledge the tragedy and galvanize the country. The Daily Show’s Jon Stewart engaged in a tearful monologue about the resilience of New York City and its residents. “To see these guys, these firefighters, these policemen and people from all over the country, literally, with buckets rebuilding. That’s extraordinary. That’s why we’ve already won. It’s light. It’s democracy. We’ve already won.”
Stewart’s monologue that day would set the tone for how late-night comedy hosts would respond to tragedy — with increasing frequency — for years to come. Following terror attacks, mass shootings, and hate crimes, late-night hosts use their monologues to mourn and remind Americans “who we are.”
“We need to get back to being brave enough to accept that we have different opinions and that’s OK because that’s what America is built on,” said Jimmy Fallon following the Orlando nightclub shooting in June 2016. After the white supremacist rally in Charlottesville, Virginia, during which a white supremacist drove his car into a peaceful protest, killing 22-year-old Heather Heyer in August 2017, late-night hosts dropped humor to address the hate crime. Jimmy Fallon implored his audience, “… we cannot do this. We can’t go backward. We can’t go backward.”
In the aftermath of tragedy, dropping the mask and acknowledging our collective pain seems necessary. It helps situate the comedy as a respite from a cruel chaotic world, without pretending that “everything is normal and fine.” But what about those moments when comics have adopted this serious pleading tone outside of tragic events?
Serious Issues
In May and September 2017, Jimmy Kimmel presented emotional monologues aimed at Republicans in Congress regarding their efforts to repeal the Affordable Care Act. Kimmel told the detailed story of how his infant son, Billy, had been diagnosed with a congenital heart defect at birth and how without the ACA, thousands of children like Billy would be uninsured due to their “preexisting condition,” and so might not survive.
Let’s stop with the nonsense. This isn’t football. There are no teams,” Kimmel urged. “We are the team. It’s the United States. Don’t let their partisan squabbles divide us on something every decent person wants. No parent should ever have to decide if they can afford to save their child’s life. It just shouldn’t happen. Not here.
This wasn’t a response to a mass shooting or a natural disaster. It was a response to a public policy debate with which Kimmel personally identified. A similar personal appeal was made by Jon Stewart in 2010 support of the 9/11 first responders, many of whom were suffering from terminal cancers caused by their months of work at Ground Zero in the aftermath of the 9/11 attacks. Stewart, a resident of New York whose skyline view from his home was once the World Trade Center, advocated for the Zadroga Act, the bill which would require the U.S. government to cover the healthcare of first responders. Many credit the bill’s 2011 passage to Stewart’s tireless — and largely serious — advocacy. Like the ACA to Kimmel, the Zadroga Act was personal to Stewart. So personal, in fact, that he continued to lobby on Capitol Hill when the bill’s funding was set to expire in 2015 and even delivered the 2017 eulogy for FDNY firefighter, Ray Pfeifer, who at age 59 died from the cancer he suffered after working at Ground Zero.
In 2010, we witnessed another rare moment: Stephen Colbert (while star of the Colbert Report on Comedy Central) dropping his humorous persona during testimony before Congress on the topic of immigrant labor. From the time The Colbert Report launched in 2005, Colbert was notorious for appearing in-character — even while not on his show — including appearances on Meet the Press and This Week with George Stephanopoulos. This dedication to his alter-ego makes it even more noteworthy that he would choose this moment to step out and speak as his authentic self. During his formal testimony on Capitol Hill in 2010, Colbert first performed in character, as his well-known ironic persona, a right-wing conservative pundit. But, in the Q & A with House Judiciary Subcommittee members, Colbert suddenly got serious and spoke as himself. California Congresswoman Judy Chu asked, “Mr. Colbert, you could work on so many issues; why are you interested in this issue?” Colbert, a devout Catholic, fidgeted, looked around and blinked, perhaps weighing the options of how to respond. In the end, he opted for sincerity in his remarks.
I like talking about people who don’t have any power and it seems like some of the least powerful people in the United States are migrant workers who come and do our work but don’t have any rights as a result. And yet we still invite them to come here, and at the same time ask them to leave. And that’s an interesting contradiction to me. And, you know, “Whatsoever you do for the least of my brothers,” and these seem like the least of our brothers right now…migrant workers suffer and have no rights.
The limits of humor.
Why would late-night hosts, whose cultural capital stems from their comedic talents, avoid humor in the treatment of such important issues? After all, as scholars Edward and Lillian Bloom write, satire is intended to “plead with man for a return to his moral senses.” So, why not use satire to make these pleas?
First, let it be said that comedians, as a rule, do not acknowledge the influence they may have on public opinion. And while I have found that frustrating over the years, I’ve come to believe that the reason they don’t acknowledge it is because they actually don’t believe that their jokes change people’s minds. If they are thinking about influence just based on that limited operationalization, they might be correct. A Trump supporter is not going to hear a joke about how Trump colluded with Russia during the 2016 election and then think, “Oh! I guess I was wrong all along!”
However, satire can create solidarity and mobilize people who are already “on the side of” the comic, moving them from beliefs to actions. Satire can also bring issues and themes to the mind of the public, helping to shape the kinds of things the public is thinking about. Satire can also shape public opinion (and knowledge) on what we call “low salience” issues; issues with which the public is not especially familiar. Think, for example, of Colbert‘s influence on public opinion and knowledge about Super PACs and the Citizens United Decision in 2011–12, or John Oliver‘s impact on public opinion on and familiarity with the net neutrality debate in 2014. Political humor is also good at bringing policies, events or topics to the top of people’s minds. In media research, we would say, “maybe jokes don’t tell us what to think, but instead they tell us what to think about.” This could mean issues like healthcare or tax reform or the personal flaws of political figures like President Trump’s narcissism or Senator Franken’s penchant for groping.
So why not use humor to bring attention to issues about which these comics are particularly passionate? The obvious answer is that there is a novelty when comedians speak seriously. It violates expectations and gets our attention. But, it might also be a strategic choice stemming from their perceived limits of humor. And if anyone knows the limits of humor, it is the comics. First, comics probably know that the way audiences orient to humor dictates how much they are affected by it. Audience members who consider political satire to be a legitimate source of news/information (rather than just mere entertainment) allocate more cognitive resources to it, and since they’re thinking harder about it, they learn more from it. Second, at a gut level, comics probably know that humor reduces our scrutiny of the arguments being advanced in a message. Because we dedicate mental energy to “getting the joke,” we have less energy left over to critique whether the argument being made in that joke is fair or accurate. Comics also probably know that when people enter the state of “play” when listening to a joke, they treat that message with different rules, and engage less carefully with its message arguments. This means audiences might be less resistant to an argument made in a joke. It also means they will not process that argument as critically.
“I’m not gonna be your monkey.”
To understand why comics would choose to get serious about a policy or issue, it helps to look back to 2004, to another time Jon Stewart dropped his comic mask. On October 14, in a notorious appearance on CNN’s Crossfire with Paul Begala and Tucker Carlson, Stewart, absent all irony, implored the hosts to “stop hurting America.”
I wanted to come here today to say Stop. Stop hurting America. And come work for us — we the people. We need your help. Right now you’re helping the politicians and the corporations.
Stewart peppered the exchange with humor, but as he got to the heart of his critique -that the show undermined democratic discourse and fueled polarization in pursuit of ratings — Stewart dropped the jokes, “The thing is, you’re doing theater when you should be doing debate.”
Carlson looked annoyed and replied, “Wait, I thought you were going to be funny. Be funny.”
Stewart quipped back, “No, I’m not gonna be your monkey.”
In ordering Stewart to “Be funny,” Carlson was trying to relegate Stewart to a play mode of discourse (and second class status) as “entertainer” rather than “informer.” Carlson and Stewart both knew that Stewart was presenting a serious evidenced critique. He was arguing that the cable program was harmful to democratic discourse, undermined citizens’ ability to thoughtful engage in public policy debate, and instead handed a megaphone to those partisan elites who yelled the loudest. As Stewart grew more serious in his critique, Carlson grew more desperate in his attempt to consign Stewart to the role of jester:
“I think you’re a good comedian. I think your lectures are boring.”
“What’s it like to have dinner with you? This is excruciating. Do you lecture people like this when you come over their house?”
It is crucial to note that historically, Jon Stewart tended to downplay the political importance and influence of The Daily Show, frequently describing it as a show that “follows a show about puppets making crank phone calls.” This makes sense as a comedic strategy. No comedian wants their jokes to be evaluated based on some normative expectation of what they should or should not be accomplishing politically, culturally, informationally, or otherwise. However, when articulating his critique on Crossfire, Stewart wanted his argument to be understood and engaged with, not laughed at and dismissed as a joke. He understood and respected the limits of humor and as a result, opted to leave the humor behind.
Hence, “I’m not gonna be your monkey.”
Why these issues?
According to humor scholar, Salvatore Attardo, humor appreciation requires a willingness to enter a “playful mode.” When people become particularly passionate about an issue that affects them in a personal way, that issue activates a sort of threat response. Once activated, it becomes challenging for a person to enter the state of play necessary to process, appreciate, or produce humor. So, topics that activate a comic’s own threat response, either because the issue affects them personally or is central to their social identity, will likely be avoided completely, or treated without humor. For Kimmel, that issue, based on the life-threatening experience of his baby boy, was healthcare for children. For Colbert, whose Catholic roots guide his political beliefs, that issue was how we care for those who lack power. For Stewart, who lived blocks from Ground Zero, that issue was how we care for the 9/11 first responders.
Right now, progressive comics (and citizens) are finding their core beliefs, value systems, and social identities challenged every single day — by executive orders and legislative outcomes and even by the nature of political discourse. In such a climate, we shouldn’t be surprised when our comics, armed with political beliefs and a microphone, stop trying to be funny.
Dannagal Goldthwaite Young, Ph.D., is an associate professor of communication at the University of Delaware where researches the psychology and influence of political satire and other non-traditional forms of political information. She has been an improvisational comedian for over 20 years, performing regularly with ComedySportz Philadelphia since 1999.
