THE SOURCE OF COMIC LICENCE

Several theorists have suggested that comic licence is a result of the marginal-ity of joking as a practice. Morreall (2005: 69–74) has observed that jokes are

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managed by special rules; in particular, as recipients of the joke, we must not be troubled by concern about either truthfulness, or repercussions upon the well-being of those involved. Bergson similarly states that laughter requires us to be dispassionate spectators, ‘for laughter has no greater foe than emotion’

(Bergson [1900] 2008: 10–11). Critchley (2002: 87–88) and Linstead (1985: 761) pose similar models which describe the joke as the inhabitant or creator of a marginal reality. For them, the joke takes place in a safe-space on the side of everyday interaction, where many of the rules governing honesty and decency may be relaxed. Here, risky ideas may be tried, even road-tested for suitability as mainstream attitudes, without the risk of infecting ordinary interaction.

In his discussion of the comedian as social critic, Kaufman (1997) interprets the practice of joking through Johan Huizinga’s analysis of the special rules gov-erning ‘play’. Huizinga (1970: 24–25) produces a somewhat confused account of the relation between ‘play’ and the ‘comic’, asserting that these are independ-ent concepts, but also acknowledging that they are linked, with the comic hav-ing a ‘subsidiary’ relationship to play. Kaufmann demonstrates that jokhav-ing is, in practice, governed largely by the rules of play, following which it seems logical to resolve the quandary by revising Huizinga’s model such that the ‘subsidi-ary’ practice of joking takes place within the play-world; for play, like joking, involves ‘a stepping out of “real” life into a temporary sphere of activity with a disposition all of its own’ (Huizinga 1970: 26). According to Huizinga, ‘all play moves and has its being within a play-ground marked off beforehand either materially or ideally, deliberately or as a matter of course’ (Huizinga 1970: 28).

‘Play-grounds’ are ‘forbidden spots, isolated, hedged round, hallowed, within which special rules obtain’ [sic] (Huizinga 1970: 28–29). Huizinga’s examples of play-grounds include the temple, the law court and the card table: places where the rules of etiquette and norms of behaviour deviate from the mainstream. The stand-up comedy gig is an apt addition to this list, for just as the joke is a theo-retical safe-space under the terms of comic licence, the performance room is a physical space in which the marginal rules of joking reign supreme.

Here, then, is the first theory explaining the origin of the comedian’s licence. When Mark Thomas celebrates the unkind, indecent or illegal act, he does so in the ideological safe-space of the joke, and in the physically demar-cated performance venue. Separated from mainstream reality in such a way as to prevent him from harming it, Thomas experiments with risky ideas.

The second theory is that of special status. Comedians perform an impor-tant role within our social structure. As Orrin E. Klapp argued, the ‘fool’ con-tributes to ‘group organization and discipline,’ chiefly functioning as ‘a device of status reduction and social control’, ‘discrediting leaders, movements, or individuals which show weaknesses in terms of group norms’ (Klapp 1949:

161–162). Douglas (1970) framed the ‘joker’ in a role of similar significance, but adopted a different focus. While Klapp’s term ‘fool’ includes a range of both intentional and unwitting behaviours that are deemed comic or ridicu-lous, Douglas limits her discussion to those who deliver jokes. Klapp con-cludes that the ‘fool’ serves largely to reinforce group norms by punishing deviation; Douglas, crucially, asserts that the ‘joker’ challenges the norm itself.

Their conclusions are complementary; comedians may challenge deviation from the norm and adherence to it. Thus every comedian serves as a social critic, even if his causes are not as large as Thomas’ causes.

It has often been suggested that comedians have a mystical origin and power. Tony Allen links the modern comedian to the shaman in ancient cultures, identifying parallels between them. Each enjoys a powerful status,

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tribe’s (or audience’s) actions and place in the universe (Allen 2002: 51–53).

For E.T. Kirby (1974: 12–14) this link is direct and practical; he suggests that the practices of entertaining through comedy, and many of the techniques for doing so, are directly descended from the curing rituals performed by sha-mans in ancient cultures.

Jimmy Carr and Lucy Greeves (2007) further make the case for seeing ‘come-dian’ as a special status by linking him to the Jungian archetype of the trickster.

According to Jung (1959), all of humanity shares a collective unconscious, in which we find patterns that all individuals and societies perpetuate. Thus every society has ‘mothers’ and ‘heroes’, and every society has ‘tricksters’. Trickster is the seditious force to which we attribute subversion and mischief of all kinds (Jung 1972). Furthermore, he is an expression of ‘shadow’; the archetype where lurk the characteristics that the conscious, civilized part of the psyche – both individual and collective – dislikes and wishes to deny. Trickster is, in part, a piece of the collective shadow shared by the social group. Thus the trickster is easily equated with the subversive and challenging functions of a comedian, for both expose our weaknesses and undermine and question those ‘truths’ which we take for granted. Yet it is healthy to confront and come to terms with the natural instincts buried in our shadow: the trickster is equated with the saviour, just as the comedian liberates through his challenges to convention.

The very existence of the above theories demonstrates that we intuitively assign a mystical or special status to the comedian. Thus, when we talk about the comedian’s licence, we are talking about the licence granted to one who is perceived to operate over and above, or in the margins of, our own plane of existence. However, attributing a special status to the comedian implies an immunity which belies the reality. Comedians can trespass the boundaries of licence and suffer the consequences: both in terms of immediate failure to get the laugh, and the wider repercussions of public anger. In 1907, Russian clown Vladimir Durov lost the consensus of the German authorities when he used ventriloquism to make a pig appear to say, ‘Ich will Helm’. The act involved the porcine performer fetching a real ‘Helm’ (helmet), and the phrase osten-sibly translates to the innocent statement ‘I want the helmet’. However, it also sounded very much like the pig had said ‘I am Wilhelm’, a derogatory refer-ence to Kaiser Wilhelm II for which Durov was arrested on charges of trea-son and banished (Schechter 1985: 1–2). Without consensual backing for the joke, Durov was in significant personal danger. A joke does not have to offend those with official authority to have ruinous effects. When Johnny Vegas alleg-edly molested a female audience member onstage, he became the target of a great deal of personal abuse as both press and Internet commentators viciously reproached his behaviour (Chortle 2008). Comedians are not marginal figures who are safe from reproach, but mortals who are vulnerable to attack.

The fundamental problem with the above theories becomes clear when we apply them to the work of Mark Thomas. To see a comedian or his jokes as the inhabitants of a safe-space where they need not infect mainstream interaction implies that the attacks are essentially meaningless. Jokes may be enjoyed as a release of tension or celebrated as intelligent ideas, but they can also be written off as the meaningless ranting of an irrelevant figure. By this measure the joke, whether told onstage or performed in campaign pranks, need not affect the ‘real’ world. When dealing with a comedian like Mark Thomas, who strives towards, and achieves, genuine change, these models fail to reflect reality.

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These problems may be solved if we reverse the above concepts. Instead of seeing the comedian as the source of comic licence in his own right, we should remember that it is the activity of joking which gives him his licence.

He commands a special respect, but this springs from the joke itself and does not grant him personal immunity. To suggest that the joke exists in a marginal reality implies that its attacks cannot penetrate the mainstream, so that public opinion cannot be harmed by, or do harm to, the joke. In reality, jokes deal intimately with the social structure in which they are told (Douglas 1970). Jokes are made because they are a necessary means of negotiation. The material from which they are formed is social comment and their boundaries are set by social perception of ‘decency’ and ‘fair play’.

The marginal reality is a somewhat misleading metaphor; the joke actually infuses its society.

Ostensibly, this may seem to lessen the comedian’s power. This third model requires us to see comic licence as a limited protective cover, because without the immunity conferred by a marginal reality or a special status, the comedian is left hemmed in by the limits of consensus at every turn. Thus, to succeed as a come-dian, and avoid rejection as one who oversteps the boundaries, the comedian is left unable to say what is truly revolutionary, or provoke the will to change; in Douglas’ terms, ‘he merely expresses consensus’(Douglas 1970: 159).

Mark Thomas is emphatic in his opposition to this interpretation of the comedian-audience dynamic: ‘It’s about play, it’s about interplay. It’s about expectation and defying expectation, and if you can’t make that political and change people’s minds, then you’re in the wrong fucking game. It’s intrinsi-cally there’ (Thomas 2008c). For Thomas, playing with or within consensus is not a case of preaching to the converted, but rather of informed debate:

That interaction exists in no other art form in this dynamic […] there’s actually a kind of democratic feel to it, if you like […] that actually the voice of the audience affects the outcome. Y’know, your laughter affects the outcome, the way you react affects the outcome, what you shout affects the outcome […] actually comedy is more open than any other art form to put-down and challenge.

(Thomas 2008c) For Thomas, there is no question of riding roughshod over the audience’s moral boundaries because, for him, the audience are equals in the discussion:

they are welcome to question and able to damage any idea that he presents.

Stand-up is a medium for debate and discussion, and this is the key to its unique power as an educational tool. Consensus is not, therefore, a question of avoiding certain topics or refusing to attack the sacred: within the consen-sus formed by the forum of comedian and audience, nothing is indisputable, and everything is subsumed within the peculiar rules of ‘play’:

The whole point about this is it should be fun, but it also should have a significance. If you can’t play with these big ideas, then […] what you’re saying is that some things are sacred, and we can never change them.

And as soon as you say that, it’s just like you’ve just become part of the obstacle […] the whole point is it’s open to change […] change occurs all the time. It’s about whether you can shape or change or influence its direction.

(Thomas 2008c)

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119 For Mark Thomas, it is vital for the comedian to be rooted firmly in the

world upon which he comments. Consensus does not limit his licence;

rather it translates that licence into the possibility of real social and political change.