The Funny Face of Death

There are some subjects which are always going to be hard to grab the laughs from.

By the weak-willed, these topics are largely ignored, but you have to admire the truly strong comic who meets them full-on, stares them square in the eyes and says “This is what I think of you!”

As an audience, we like to have our boundaries pushed from time to time; to challenge our own belief system as we make sense of our opinions on a topic. The skill of the great comic is in giving their audience the push they need whilst still keeping their material funny.

The biggest such subject would have to be death.

In the world of the serial comedy, it is inevitable that at some point a death will occur so how, then, do we choose to deal with it?

In some cases we see the death itself wimpishly skirted using such methods as commencing a new series with a funeral or someone will just mention in passing “since x died” but when the death becomes part of the show itself, the results will often surprise or even challenge the audience.

The most poignant example for most would have to be the death of Nana in the Royle Family.  
The moment Nana died, all in my home were sobbing, tear soaked and distraught and I doubt there was any household which was any different. This displayed perfectly not only the ballsy writing skills of Aherne and Cash but also the huge array of talent in their cast. It is a huge leap of faith to abandon the funny for any length of time, but one which handled well can pay huge dividends. In this episode, there was no punchline, no cheap laughs, just the pure rawness as every character was laid emotionally open for us.

If you decide to go for the laughs, it is vital you know what reaction you want from your audience.

I spoke a few weeks ago of having seen the brilliant Simon Munnery. I forget the exact joke, but at one point there was something about the death of one of his grandparents. I remember everyone had an immediate laugh, and then there was a lull as we had a collective realisation we were laughing at a very distressing moment in someone’s life. Whilst some comedians would worry at a sudden drop in laughter, a fleeting look of satisfaction went across Munnery’s face; we had played right into his hands and given the exact reaction he had wanted. In a larger theatre, I doubt the connection between audience and performer would have existed to the extent it did, so the joke would have just blended into the rest of his set and the look he gave would certainly have gone un-noticed but regardless, we were challenged to stop for just a moment and think about whether we truly thought it was okay to laugh at this or were we just laughing because all around us were.

What had me thinking about this subject was the latest episode of Psychoville. I didn’t ever watch the first series, as it seemed (obviously) a little too “League of Gentlemen” for my liking and I have never been able to see the funny in that show! I now find myself wishing I had made the effort, though, as series two has had me gripped from the outset; although I have to admit to feeling cheated on a few laughs as there seem to be some jokes brought forward from previous episodes.

This week, though, we saw the death of Maureen and I have to admit that whilst I harboured no real emotional connection with either character, I did well a little as she slipped away and her distraught son, David cried and kissed her.

Challenged again, as we are asked to invest emotion in characters we do not particularly like and strangely in spite of ourselves we fall into the trap.

Short-lived emotion, though, as he then carries her across the room, sits her on the floor and commences with her dying wish of dancing “Oops upside your head”.

That’s the clincher, isn’t it?

Hit your audience with the raw emotion, give them just enough time to invest in the moment and wonder how the survivor will cope, then body-slam them with an unexpected punchline. Verbal, physical or visual; it doesn’t really matter. What is really important is that there is time to digest the emotion before the hit.

Looking down the line at playing the real-life role of survivor in my own story, I think the latter will be my preferred method of coping. We have managed through ten years of illness by laughing through the hardships, so why would this be any different; when the time comes I shall be looking for my punchline.