“I’ve got a great story to tell you. So there are a bunch of witches hanging out. A few warlocks are there, also some Goblins, a chupacabra, assorted ghouls, vampires, werewolves, etc. A real “who’s-who” of the world’s phantom scary-beings. It’s their Annual General Meeting at the airport Ramada in Laughlin, Nevada. They’ve all come down from their rooms, bleary-eyed and hungover from last night’s debauchery. The Creature from the Black Lagoon chokes down a dry bran muffin from the continental breakfast tray as the meeting begins. The administrative side of things takes up most of the day, followed by awards (“Most Scares,” “Most Improved,” and the announcement of the winner of the coveted top prize at the previous day’s chili cook-off). They decide to end the event with a competition. Some of the attendees were lacking inspiration and method in their recents attempts to petrify onlookers with terrifying displays, and so it was decided that all attendees would attempt to produce the greatest possible fright they could, by any means necessary, with a winner being determined by vote at the end of the exhibitions. Haunting organ riffs were played, macabre cakes were baked, and very frightening balloon animals were crafted. Last in the line of performers came a pretty ordinary looking human, who did no more than tell a story. No one seemed to recall sending an ordinary human the e-vite. The story was brief but potent. In its aftermath, faces frozen in grotesque expressions filled the room. The person left. The monsters did not even convene to vote for the winner. Their stunned silence ordained the victor. Only further choking from the Creature from the Black Lagoon, who was stealthily attempting to consume muffins left over from the morning’s meal, broke the eerie silence that succeeded that story of pure evil.”
For a story about how evil came into being it might seem like my version has too much comedic ambition (“ambition” being the key word there, as it drew few to no laughs) and this is something that developed directly as a result of my repeated tellings of it. I started by simply retelling Thomas King’s version of Leslie Silko’s story. My first response came from a friend who replied: “so it’s fiction. Fiction brings evil into the world?” Her response was probably the best one I received. After this I learned that my friends and family have very little patience for dour material. Either this or maybe my desire to provoke a reaction made me heighten the comedy. I was worried that the added humour might be taken as disrespect for the story’s origins, but it was really just a way of drawing it out and amusing myself in the process. But there is comedy in King’s telling of Silko’s story. I pictured the gathering of witches as something like this: by turns comical, terrifying and sort of campy. Think of how bored these witches must have been to make up such a contest.
I decided to make the one who brings evil into the world a human (though I left the gender ambiguous, as Silko does) because the idea of a mere human raining on the parade of all of these famous monsters is hilarious to me. Though I know we were supposed to maintain the ending and Silko’s story does not end with a marine monster choking on a dry baked good, I made that little addendum as a last opportunity for the audience to laugh (though they did not), and take a breather after the story’s gravest moment.
Beyond coming face to face with my lack of comedic talent, I don’t know that I came away with any trenchant insights about storytelling. Though obviously I found that it is much easier to tell a story in a vacuum without the immediacy of an audience response than it is to engage in a more performative storytelling activity.
Hyperlink:
Haxan: Witchcraft Through The Ages. Dir. Benjamin Christensen. 1922. Film.
Hi Hayden,
Thanks for your fun story and discussion around the use of humour in storytelling. I also tried to keep my version of the story a little lighthearted and cheeky, and was a bit worried that it would read as overlooking the seriousness of some of the themes of the course. But in the end, I really think that humour can be one of the most valuable and equalizing tools in communication. I found that King did sometimes engage in a kind of dry, blunt comedic tone. the best example I can think of is when he is talking about his portrait series of First Nations artists wearing the Lone Ranger mask. The actual photo project sounds super heavy and loaded with political commentary, but gets its point across immensely effectively through humour. King followed through saying that a lot of artists were not into the idea, and did not wish to take part, which is valid and fair. There is risk in convoluting one’s message, but I feel like that was one of the main points of this and last week’s readings/listenings anyway–that language in any form is very subjective and always being moulded by the unique histories and lived experiences of groups and individuals.
It is difficult to determine any pure truths around the notion of “evil”, and we could all get very, very serious in the pursuit of doing so; but comedy reveals some truths elsewhere that, I think, open listeners up for more interpretation and discussion. Chamberlin talks about this ritual of sharing belief and sharing a laugh can be such an effective form of this (too cheesy??). There is so much vulnerability in storytelling, and humour, often expecting a physical/audible reaction, amplifies this. SO, thanks again for your thoughtful discussion around the various tones storytelling can take and the outcomes this may result in.
Cheers
Yeah great point about the Lone Ranger project King was doing. I seem to recall him saying something about how it allowed the person wearing the mask to see things from the other side. This is what humour is all about. In order to get a joke, to allow yourself to laugh, you have to accept the teller’s premise, and accepting a joke’s frame can mean endorsing, even if only momentarily, a political standpoint. Thanks for your insightful comment Jocelyn, and even though I did this already on someone else’s blog, I’m posting this very topical Louis CK bit about the lasting and sometimes undesirable effects of language and storytelling, and the implied power dynamic in giving something or someone a name
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L9VMY8X9rU8
🙂
I really enjoyed your story!
You seem to think that your humor was unsuccessful, but I found it very funny personally. I loved the appearance of the bran-muffin-eating Creature from the Black Lagoon and the fact that it’s a human who comes up with evil in the midst of all these monsters.
I also tried to be a bit funny in my retelling. I think comedy is a really interesting topic, so I’m glad you chose to write about it. I’ve always found that it’s really dependent on the audience, and with some books a lot of people find it hilarious and a lot of other people completely miss that aspect (Jane Austen comes to mind as one example).
I hadn’t thought about it before, but I imagine that the specific way a story is told orally would have a huge effect on how the audience reacts to comedy. Do you have any thoughts on that aspect?
Thank you for reading Cecily, and yeah, it’s not so much the tale as how it’s told. Anytime it is evident that a performer is genuinely feeling and experiencing their material as they speak it, it rarely misses with audiences. Perhaps I was too detached.
🙂