Saturday, July 19, 2003

I'D RESPECT YOU LIKE CRAZY! One thread that links a lot of books I read are those books which seek to explain how the popular culture we have today came to be -- books as varied as Live From New York, the Tom Shales/James Andrew Miller oral history of "Saturday Night Live", and Our Band Could Be Your Life, Michael Azerrad's memorable series of vivid profiles of American underground bands of the 1980s, the Husker Dus, Minutemen and Black Flags of the indie world that created the universe from which Nirvana broke through in 1991.

To that list now add Gerald Nachman's Seriously Funny: The Rebel Comedians of the 1950s and 1960s, which proved to be an excellent way to spend any number of beach days.

Nachman wants to explain how American comedy changed in the 1950s, from the world of brash, polished joke tellers to a world where comedians focused on material that was much more personal, more relevant to American lives. Stereotypical mother-in-law jokes faded away, increasingly replaced by irreverent satire, political humor, biting cynicism and a more intellectual approach to comedy. As Joan Rivers once observed, "Audiences nowadays want to know their comedian. Can you please tell me one thing about Bob Hope? If you only listened to his material, would you know the man? His comedy is another America, an America that is not coming back."

The book proceeds as a series of profiles, loosely arranged in chronological order, starting with Mort Sahl, Nachman's focal point, a comedian largely unknown to my generation. Sahl brought a biting cynicism with a strong anti-establishment political bent into the rooms of stand-up, just picking up the day's newspaper before an audience and riffing off the headlines with a jazz-like sensibility. It was a different kind of humor than had been seen before -- less formal, but more daring -- and it worked.

Some of Nachman's subjects are ones that many of us are pretty familiar with, and the chapters on well-known pioneers like Sid Caesar, Mel Brooks, Woody Allen, Lenny Bruce and Bill Cosby seemed more obligatory than revelatory. Others are way too short, like those on tv pioneer Ernie Kovacs and largely-forgotten black comedian Godfrey Cambridge, one of the first comics to confront racial issues head on ("It's so nice to go overseas and be hated solely because you're an American.")

And then there's the really good stuff. The chapter on Mike Nichols and Elaine May just plain shines. I knew that they were funny, and that they mattered, but I never quite understood how innovative their sketch comedy scenes really were, relying on joking references and character types -- the way the stories were told, and not the lines themselves. They began The Age Of Irony, influencing everyone who makes us laugh today.

Meanwhile, chapters on Steve Allen, Bob Newhart and Jonathan Winters -- harmless fuddy-duddies to us today -- reveal how much they shined back in the day. David Letterman wouldn't have existed without Steve Allen, and it's good to be reminded of that. It's also worthwhile to learn about long-forgotten humorists like Shelley Berman, whose sit-down cataloging of neuroses ("I never have the slightest doubt about my safety in a plane until I walk into an airport terminal and realize that there is a thriving industry in this building selling life insurance policies") was the obvious precursor for the Woody Allens and Richard Lewises who followed.

One figure deserving of his own chapter in the book, but largely absent, is Johnny Carson -- not so much for his own humor (the key was the delivery, not the substance), but the influence of his Tonight Show in selecting those comedians who immediately gained national recognition through his show. Yes, he comes up a fair amount in the discussions of Jonathan Winters, Bill Cosby and (obviously) Joan Rivers, but a focused discussion of the importance of his show and its choices would have been welcome.

Frequently the book is a catalogue of bitterness -- Sahl angry at the audiences that started ignoring him when he obsessed over the Kennedy assasination, numerous comics accusing each other of stealing material -- and, for me, that's always fun to read about. And where else will you read about Bill Cosby punching out Tommy Smothers? Or Bob Newhart's routine in which a handler tries to persuade President Lincoln not to revise the Gettysburg Address ("What else, Abe? 'People will little note nor long remember'? . . . . Abe, what could possibly be wrong with that? . . . . Abe, of course, they'll remember it. It's the old humble bit. You can't say, 'It's a great speech, I think everyone's gonna remember it.' You come off as a braggart, don't you see that? Abe, do the speech the way Charlie wrote it, would you?")?

How about an acidic Elaine May telling fellow Compass player Shelley Berman, "The next time you fuck me up onstage, I'll pull down your zipper and pull out your dick"? Or the fact that Joan Rivers' former stage name was "Pepper January"? And so on.

It's a well-researched book and a fun read. Even after you grasp Nachman's thesis and the book starts to feel repetitive, there are gems throughout to keep you reading. Woody Allen's description of his stand-up craft, writing up to 20,000 jokes a year while starting out, is full of insight. You really come to respect Phyllis Diller, of all people, and anytime you can read twenty-seven pages on the still-living, still-funny, one-time-friend-of-Stephen-Sondheim-in-summer-camp Tom Lehrer, I think you've got to go ahead and do it.

Recommended reading.

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