Why we laugh: A case study

Adrian Monk is a fictional TV detective with an uncanny ability to notice tiny details at the scene of a murder investigation which lead to the conviction of the killer. He also happens to be a walking textbook of psychiatry. As well as exhibiting symptoms of severe OCD, he suffers from an exotic range of phobias and displays an assortment of bizarre mannerisms. On top of this, he is crass, mean-spirited and devoid of empathy, in short, an altogether unappealing character.

Yet despite this, he somehow manages to retain the affection of those who work with him, including his devoted lady assistant-cum-carer and a world-weary police officer who enlists his aid. The comic element turns on the fact that he is repeatedly drawn into situations which exacerbate his phobias. For instance, despite his fear of heights, he finds himself dangling in the air on the big wheel at a fairground or having a truckload of refuse dumped over him as a challenge to his dirt phobia while in pursuit of a criminal.

Along the way, we learn that Adrian himself was once the victim of a crime in which his wife was murdered, leaving him traumatised and incapable of engaging in relationships. The patient attempts of his kindly psychiatrist to lead him out of his mental morass add a note of pathos to the story.

The viewer is torn between exasperation and amusement at the shenanigans of this exceptionally intuitive but socially inept man, disabled by multiple neuroses. Our laughter is tempered by annoyance at his offensive behaviour and there is nothing amusing about the Monks we encounter in real life. People who have suffered in the way that Adrian Monk has, invite compassion even when their behaviour is bizarre or objectionable.

Children laugh readily at adult idiocies. It only takes a facial contortion, a funny walk or a misstep resulting in a fall to raise a giggle. A child learning to master the spoken word can laugh at someone’s speech impediment or mispronunciation, while another child might frown at such a reaction. Girls are better than boys at overcoming the urge to laugh at innocent blunders.

Clowns and entertainers exploit human failings as their stock in trade, but even in show business there is a line not to be crossed. Today’s children are less likely to laugh at clumsiness and more likely to disapprove of those who mock it. And always, in the background, there is the image of the sad clown, the entertainer who exaggerates his disability to draw laughter from the crowd. Laughter can also be an instinctive reaction to shock, an attempt to make sense of a paradox, or simply a way of expressing grief. People often say, “If I hadn’t laughed, I would have cried.”

There is usually a butt at the other end of the joke. This could be an authority figure – an officious police officer, a high-ranking clergyman or a snob, in fact anyone assuming an air of superiority. George Orwell writes that humour can be defined in a single phrase as ‘dignity sitting on a tack’. It is OK to poke fun at pretentiousness but somehow not OK to deride someone who is traditionally lower down in the human pyramid. The higher they are, the harder they fall, says Orwell, and the funnier that is.

The so-called Jewish joke belongs to the category of self-deprecating humour. Refined by centuries of helplessness in the face of persecution, the laughter it evokes is dipped in irony and bitterness.

Typical examples of Jewish humour are:
1. Pride in a child’s achievements: (“Help! Help! my son, the doctor, is drowning!”)

2. Making the child feel guilty. Example: A mother gives her son two ties – a red one and a green one. The next day he visits her, proudly sporting the red tie. Mother: (sorrowfully) “So you didn’t like the green tie?”.

3. The desire not to antagonise non-Jews. Example: Abie and Hymie are dragged before an SS firing squad. Abie shakes his fist at the Nazis, shouting, “Filthy swine! I hope you rot in hell!” Hymie (turning to Abie): “For God’s sake, Abie, shut up! Can’t you see we’re in enough trouble already?”

The repertoire is endless, but jokes which exploit traditionally antisemitic tropes, such as the alleged Jewish preoccupation with money, are deemed beyond the pale, especially when cracked by non-Jews.

As the case of Adrian Monk illustrates, our laughter, so easily evoked in childhood, pivots on a knife-edge separating the comic from the tragic. It seems that as we mature emotionally, the comic element fades. However, in our ability to see the funny side of life we have the balm for our pain.