Structuring Humor

Copyright by Gary L. Pullman 2019

Humor—good humor, that is—is difficult in itself. Structuring humor can be an added challenge. That's why the aspiring humorist should analyze the work of professionals, such as Bill O'Reilly, author of Old School: Life in the sane Lane, and his co-author, Brice Feirstein. It seems safe to say that many would recognize O'Reilly's name as that of the host of The O'Reilly Factor, late of Fox News, but O'Reilly has also written a number of bestselling books. Feirstein, although less known to the public in general, is also a professional writer. As a screenwriter, he wrote the James Bond scripts for GoldenEye, Tomorrow Never Dies, and The World Is Not Enough, as well as many articles for such national periodicals as The New York Times and The Wall Street Journal. Feirstein is also the author of Real Men Don't Eat Quiche and is a long-term contributing editor for Vanity Fair. Both O'Reilly and Feirstein have a keen sense of humor, as is evident in much of their work, including Old School.

So how did the authors structure their humor?

Old School starts with an introduction, “Greetings from 1973,” in which O'Reilly, using the metaphor of taking a ride in an automobile, promises to share the career path that led him into journalism after his interest in the subject was inspired by his teaching English and history at Pace High School in Opa-locka, Florida, “the crack capital of Dade County” during 1973, “a year when the U.S. government was falling apart.” He introduces the theme of the book by recounting the fact that, on the actual drive he took from Florida to Massachusetts, where he's been accepted as a student at Boston University, in the school's “broadcast journalism master's degree program,” which he undertook without benefit of an air conditioner, he advises people who complain about “their personal temperature” to “Stop,” adding the observation, “Life is not climate-controlled, people. Accept it. Don't be a Snowflake, a condition we will soon describe.”

Snowflakes, in fact, will become the target of O'Reilly's and Feirstein's humor, their adversaries who have been educated according to a curriculum far different than that of the Old School of which Old School's authors are alumni. Of course, humor often depends on targets or adversaries of one sort or another. Although humorists may be self-deprecating, the humorous opportunities offered by even the biggest ego is limited; a whole group of people, such as Snowflakes, offers many more targets for a pair of humorists.

In the first chapter of the book, “Preschool: Take Your Seat,” O'Reilly offers an anecdote about his father, Bill O'Reilly, Sr., who never let fashion get in the way of saving money. His father was happy to wear polyester, “mustard-yellow pants held up by red suspenders” that were too short for his 6'3” height. The dialogue between father and son is lively because of its allusions to history (the Great depression), fashion, an eye condition, and a disco band and the conflict between the generations that the respective speakers' points of view represents:

      “Dad, your pants are too short.”

      “Who are you, Oleg Cassini now?”

      “And what color is that?”

      “They're yellow. Do you have astigmatism?”

      “Come on, Dad, this is not a good presentation. You don't leave the house wearing those things, do you?”

      My father paused, giving me a look. He knew I was jazzing him, but his sense of humor overrode any offense.

      “Don't remember you checking out my wardrobe when I was paying for your college.”

      “Yeah, but you didn't look like one of the Village People back then.”

      My father actually laughed and walked into the kitchen. He wore those pants for years (1-2).

To the Old School attitude and behavior O'Reilly suggests by this anecdote, he and Feirstein will juxtapose those of their targets, the Snowflakes:

Now there is an ongoing battle between traditional Americans and those who want a kinder, gentler landscape full of “conversations” and group hugs, folks who believe that life must be fair and that, if it is not, there has to be a “safe space” available where they can cry things out (2).

O'Reilly next introduces his co-author, explaining how he and Feirstein met at Boston University; they're both “Old School,” O'Reilly explains, but they take different approaches to communicating with others who have opinions different than their own: “While I embrace an East Coast swagger, Feirstein does not immediately alienate half the universe as I have a tendency to do, but we're both Old School guys, as you will soon see. However, we take different buses to the school, which makes things interesting” (3).

Next, to further illustrate Old School teaching, O'Reilly lists examples of hypothetical situations in which he, his parents, or others might have been involved and his schoolmates and neighbors' reactions to his and his parents' behavior. A few illustrate the approach:

          If my mom had defended me after a kid-on-kid altercation, I could never have left the house again.

         If my dad had yelled at the Little League coach, air might have left the tires of our family car.

         If I'd borrowed money from another kid to buy a Three Musketeers and didn't pay it back, no one would have played with me.

         If a kid kicked someone in a fight, he was blacklisted. Only fists, and no hitting when someone was down.

    If a girl curse, silence ensued. For a long time. And boys never bothered girls because of the “Brother and His Large Friends” rule (4).

He sets up the next chapter with two short paragraphs at the end of chapter one:

       It is not Old School to live in the past, but remembering how things were as opposed to how things are now is a required course.

         So let's get started.

The title of the book's second chapter explains its mission: “Introducing the old School Curriculum.” A multiple-choice test quizzes readers on their actions and practices: “Do you still have a landline telephone?” “Do you still balance your checking account every month?” “If someone wishes you a 'Merry Christmas,' what's your immediate response?” “Which best reflects your view on dealing with terrorists?” What would you do “if you happen upon a raging warehouse fire late at night”? Then, the authors explain how members of the Old School conduct themselves in various situations, contrasting their behavior with that of Snowflakes. They suggest such individuals as Al Gore and Rosie O'Donnell are apt to be snowflakes, whereas Jack Nicholson, like Teddy Roosevelt, could be Old School.

Essentially, then, the introduction and the first two chapters of Old School introduce its topic, separate people into two groups, members of the Old School and Snowflakes, and suggests that Old School is easier exemplified than defined.

Chapter 3, “Old School Is in Session,” presents biographical sketches of four well-known members of the Old School: John Wayne, Billy Joel, Tina Turner, and Chris Kyle. We'll consider chapter 3 (and others) in future posts, coming soon to a computer near you.

How To Write Hilarious Humor: An Analysis of Professional Comedians' (and Comediennes') Techniques to Tickle the Funny Bone

Copyright 2011 by Gary L. Pullman

Chapter 6: Fame, Fortune, Golf, and Television

In “Future Reality Shows,” Radner departs a bit from what had, before now, become her standard approach to developing her book’s humor. Instead of using an opening paragraph to establish a basic situation as an excuse to introduce absurd examples, gags, and jokes concerning an aspect of her book’s central concept, or theme, of aging, the author summarizes the premises of several non-existent television game shows. The descriptions of the shows’ premises poke fun at the absurdities of actual television shows of this genre. Each of the imaginary shows requires participants to do something ridiculous and, usually, dangerous to have a chance to win “a million” (or, in one case, “a schmillion”) dollars. One premise indicates the approach:

Who Wants to Marry a Serial Killer?

Serial killers fall in love, too. Six lucky women get to spend time with a hardened criminal on death row . . . but only one of them gets to marry him, have sex with him, and be present for his execution. You win a million dollars.

This chapter ends with a television show’s title, which takes the form of a rhetorical question, to which Radner provides her narrator’s answer:

Who Wants to Smash Their High-Definition Flat-Screen Television Set?

I do. Keep your million dollars.

The implication is that it is worth a million dollars to Radner to smash her own television set if doing so rids her of such fare as the premises to her imaginary game shows suggest fill the airwaves.

The use of oddball logic structures Radner’s chapter concerning golf (“A Hole in Eight”). In this chapter, after contributing a stunningly funny comparison (“the thought of me holding a golf club was as likely as Eleanor Roosevelt wiring a bikini”), the author shares her ideas as to how to enjoy a game of golf. Her logic is as impeccable, in its own way, as it is unconventional. Her strategy consists of four interrelated practices (or non-practices): don’t entertain high expectations; don’t purchase expensive, quality equipment; don’t practice the sport; and don’t take lessons. By adopting these approaches to playing golf, one eliminates stress and, in fact, enhances the enjoyment of the sport, she argues, for one is “thrilled” if play goes better than anticipated and, at the same time, one has is under no pressure to perform to a high standard--or, indeed, to any standard at all. As Radner’s narrator puts it, “If I hit a good shot, I’m thrilled, and if I don’t . . . well, what do I care? It’s not like I practiced.” She offers similar wrongheaded, but surprisingly sagacious, advice concerning the taking of golf lessons:

Never take a lesson. Just position yourself next to someone who is taking a lesson. This way, if you become worse, you can forget what you overheard, and if you become better, you have had free instruction.

In the “conclusion” to her chapter, Radner’s narrator suggests a theme, or a message, as it were, in the madness of her oddball logic. Her madcap procedures work for her, because, although she may be “out of touch with reality,” she is, nevertheless, “having a good time,” and having a “good time,” she implies, is more important than playing a golf game well.

Occasionally, a comedian or a comedienne can get away with an essentially serious monologue, spoken more from his or her own mouth, as it were, than from that of his or her book’s narrator. Radner accomplishes this--and well--in “At What Price?,” a chapter concerning the instant celebrity to which Andy Warhol referred when he predicted that, given the media’s incessant need for material, “In the future, everyone will be famous for fifteen minutes,” exemplifying the hidden personal costs, including invasions of privacy and actual physical danger, that being famous entails and the way in which almost anyone can become “famous”--for a while and for a time, at least--in contemporary America, as Paris Hilton did when her infamous sex tape was leaked over the Internet or as can those “who can stand on a post for hours while holding a dead fish in their mouths.” The theme of this chapter seems to be the lesson that Radner intends to teach her daughter, Molly: “Fame should be a by-product (and not necessarily a good one) of achieving something extraordinary.” She concludes the chapter with a twist on Franklin Delano Roosevelt’s famous saying, “The only thing we have to fear is fear itself”: “The only thing we have to fear is fame for fame’s sake.”

Radner gets away with being serious for a moment as a comedienne because she herself is famous (and, as such, may have a thing or two to teach others about the “cost” of celebrity) and because she writes well. However, in a humorous book, even a talented professional jokester can’t expect to get away with being serious very often, and Radner, of course, reverts to form--sort of-- in her next chapter, “CNNNMSNBCCNBCFOXNEWSNETWORKHEADLINENEWSLOCALANDNATIONALNEWS.” Its premise? “There are too many news outlets and not enough news to go around.” As a result, she contends, she hears the same news repeated at night that she has already heard the same morning, with the only real difference that it is now “stretched over twenty-two minutes plus commercials.” She offers an amusing, perhaps telling, observation concerning a parallel between the news itself and one of the products that sponsors it: “I’ve . . . noticed that the commercials on the evening newscasts are predominantly stomach-related. The news is so upsetting, drug companies have figured out a way to profit from it.” The claim that there is a cause-and-effect relationship between disparate incidents or situations is a favorite technique for prompting laughs, and one which tends to be funny whether the relationship is implied, as it is here, or directly stated, as it would have been if Radner had written, ““I’ve . . . noticed that the commercials on the evening newscasts are predominantly stomach-related because the news is so upsetting that it turns viewers’ stomachs, and drug companies have figured out a way to profit from it.”

Radner--or her narrator--offers a couple of brief examples of how news anchors are reduced to creating, rather than reporting, news stories and responds to Katie Couric’s plea to her audience to “send me a story you’d like to see on the news,” assuring viewers she’d “like to hear it,” with, “Well, I wouldn’t. Maybe that’s just me, but I like my news to be newsworthy.”

Having set up her chapter’s topic, television news, Radner follows up by offering an example of the mundane “news” that would result if she were to take Couric at her word and send in an item that her narrator felt was newsworthy; explains why she finds news crawlers (“the additional information located at the bottom of the screen”) helpful, because they add something new, if not actual news, to the newscasts; explains why she enjoys watching televised murder trials (they extend her treadmill exercise time); critiques the appearance of female newscasters (they all resemble fashion models); and criticizes the inundation of newscasts with flash, colorful graphics--all annoyances with which ordinary members of America’s television audience can relate.

In the process, Radner includes several techniques for producing laughter that are common to professional comedians and comediennes, some of which have been mentioned already, such as:

• Run-on text: the title of this chapter runs together the acronyms and titles of several network news shows and the two categories of news programs, local and national, suggesting that these shows and categories have merged into one, more-or-less continuous and identical body of programmed material
• Absurd, but amusing, anecdotes or examples that illustrate her sometimes-serious, sometimes-humorous claims and observations
• A seemingly absurd, but nevertheless appropriate, comparison between disparate items: repeatedly reciting the same news while making it seem as if it is being read for the first time and Madonna’s attempt to affect virginity (“Reporting the exact same stories over and over and trying to keep them sounding as if it is the first time they’re being read has to be harder than Madonna trying to pretend she’s a virgin”) and the appearance of female newscasters as an effect of a cause which she associates with an historical event (“I love Judy Woodruff and Lesley Stahl, but I think the last time they ate something the Beatles were on Ed Sullivan”)
• The use of something for an unintended, but practical, purpose: watching the news is an adjunct to her exercise routine
• Humorous rhetorical questions: do judges’ refusals to televise certain criminal trials suggest that “they do not care about the state of my inner thighs? Have they no conception of the benefits to my buttocks?”
• Absurd solutions to unusual problems: One such solution is suggested by a hypothetical action on her narrator’s part: “If I sent pictures of me before the O. J. trial and then after,” the judges who refuse to televise trials “might reconsider” their decisions, she suggests, and, thereby, allow the broadcast of these programs, which she uses as adjuncts to her exercise routines. She also has an idea as to how to remedy the broadcasts of made-up news: instead of overusing the “Breaking News” graphic, “how about a ‘Made-Up News’ graphic?”
• Cause-and-effect relationships of a spurious, but amusing, nature: “The more attractive a woman reporter is on CNN, the more time she gets to spend indoors. If you’re forty and have a double chin, chances are you’re filming your report wearing a parka and freezing on the White House lawn or wearing a flak jacket down in a spider hole in Iraq”
• Exaggeration: “‘Breaking News’ is a graphic that is currently being overused on television to command our attention. The last time I saw it flashed on my TV screen it turned out that someone in a kitchen in Iowa had broken something”
• Absurd counterexamples (headlines, in this case, that would suggest actual, rather than made-up news--if they were, indeed, true--and would, therefore, command attention): “‘Hi, this is Katherine McKennedy and here are today’s headlines. . . . Tony Danza announces he is running for president of the United States . . . . Bill gates goes bankrupt . . . and Osama Bin laden marries Jennifer Lopez in a drive-through chapel in Vegas.”

Conclusion

Over a period of three chapters, Radner demonstrates how a topic can be given extended treatment when the material that supports it is broad enough. Television provides sufficient fodder, and Radner, employing a variety of humorous techniques, criticizes game show premises and television news, breaking up the topic with the inclusion, between the chapter concerning game shows and news programs, a chapter that deals with golf, a sport that enjoys widespread popularity, and fame which, whether it is deserved or undeserved, comes with a “cost.” In each case, her targets are, as usual, both familiar and popular, but are also sources of aggravation and annoyance for both those who participate in them or those who merely observe others who participate in them. In these chapters, Radner has employed many of the same techniques that she has already used to effect humor, but she also demonstrates the use of several as-yet-unseen methods for amusing readers, including run-on text; unintended (but practical) uses of products or services; absurd solutions to problems, real or imagined; dubious cause-and-effect relationships between disparate incidents or situations; and absurd counterexamples. The chapter concerning the cost of fame shows that a comedian or a comedienne can occasionally get away with being serious (for a moment), provided that, the rest of the time, he or she is funny and provided that, in being serious for a moment, he or she writes well.