Anatomy of a Joke, Prelude.
Probably this is a bit like disecting a butterfly. I might learn something but the chances are good the butterfly will have a different opinion of the matter.
I don't much like, at this stage of learning, to talk about what I see in the nuts and bolts of story. Discussion technique can be tedious, and I'm suspicious of whether I'm just using it as an excuse to avoid writing more stories.
In other words, I'm not quite ready to let myself off the hook on certain things. If'n I'm at the keyboard, why aren't I writing story?
Which also has its pitfalls, 'cause if it ain't any fun what's the point?
A conundrum. Happily, no one's ever going to mistake me for a performer, so I can distract myself with diving into an enough different medium to scratch an itch.
This all started when I was wondering about a certain well-known bit in a movie with some resonance (fine, it's the "these go to 11" bit in Spinal Tap).
What I realized was the bit doesn't fit the "rules" of comedy.
Specifically, it doesn't pick on anyone. There's no butt to the joke.
Think about it. Let's say you're a rationalist. So you're Rob Reiner, sitting there wondering why the guy just doesn't go out and buy a bigger amp.
So what you're saying is, you're clueless. Everyone who's ever performed as a musician knows, it doesn't matter how many amps you have, you're always going to find yourself at some stage of the performance wishing for just one... more... step... up... higher (louder, whatever). Whether you're just playing in your garage for the yorkie and the cat and the weekend's beer, or whether you're playing Wimbley Stadium.
Either way, you're gonna find the edge and walk over it.
Or, let's say you're the dreamer, the rock god wanna be, and this nitwit shows up with a microphone wondering what on earth your amps are doing with an 11. Doesn't this clueless straight know anything, why on earth did my manager sign us up for this garbage, can't they at least get somebody from Rolling Stone that knows what music is, for christ's sake I'm tired of this newbie get me some Crystal and some brown M&M's and get this jerk the hell out of my face...
See. They're both the butt of the joke. And neither, because they're both right.
This is what I mean by a deconstructed joke. It works, all by itself, no setup, no target, no stereotypes...
Ok. You're thinking the rock god stereotype, and you're absolutely right. That's sort of the whole point of Spinal Tap, after all, to poke a few holes in the ego of the stadium rockers (woo-hoo!).
I didn't say the bit was perfectly ego and target free. There are better examples than that. I just mean that, overall, I think the template works. It just works better for other jokes, that's all.
First, here's the link "These go to 11" so you can refresh yourself (if you haven't seen the movie this is unlikely to make any sense at all, unless your friends habitually quote it in which case you'll at least have a visual to what they're talking about).
(if you run off and watch the movie, catch up when you return, we'll still be here)
So, this is the first in a series of these anatomy of a joke bits for me. I've got a few jokes I want to look at, up close or at a ten thousand foot view, whichever occurs when I dive into it.
Let's see: Who's on First, the Four Yorkshiremen, what else? Oh, that's right, Michigan J. Frog. Tomorrow, I think I'll start with the Four Yorkshiremen. Like the "11" bit, it doesn't quite work, except it's a close enough archetype that I learned something interesting working through it.