Transactional Relationship?

 
 
 

Transcript:

What is being exchanged between comedians and audience members during a stand-up comedy performance?


Laughs for money?


Moral certitude about social or political beliefs in exchange for adulation?


What are we all getting out of this deal?


Is comedy a transactional relationship?


It’s interesting to me how much comedians and audiences use the word love.


Whitney Cummings has a comedy special called “I Love You.”  And she called it that because her friends pointed out to her that she often said “I Love You” at the end of her sets.  She didn’t even realize she was saying it.  But it’s what she would say before walking off stage.


I remember watching Jerrod Carmichael’s most recent special, Rothaniel, and he talks about how he’s struggling with the idea of accepting love from the audience when he comes out during the special.


Jerrod’s friend Bo Burnham, who directed Rothaniel, during one of Bo’s specials an audience member shouts out “I love you!” and Bo responds “You love the idea of me.”


Quick on his feet, that Bo Burnham.


But also maybe a little emotionally closed off.


“How dare you heckle me with affection!  I’ll show you the folly of your ways with my razor-sharp wit!”


I get it though; Bo’s whole thing in his specials is exploring performance.  What does it mean to perform something?  What does it mean to always be in the public eye?


But that exchange between Bo and that audience member raises some interesting questions:


Are we only presenting the idea of ourselves in our art?


How close can we get to the real thing up there?


How close to the real thing is desirable if you’re making good, honest art?


Does making the art actually change you as a person in the process and is that a way of being more real?


How possible is it for people to get to the real thing even in real life?


Aren’t we all wearing masks of one sort or another in order to participate in society?


Don’t we all rein in the “real” us?


What is a personality?  It’s a construction of action patterns that allow us to participate in society.


We go through life and we build up ways of being that are acceptable within our given culture.  We learn how to interact successfully with other people.  That’s what our personality is - it’s a tool for social interaction.  It’s our characteristic behavior patterns that help us navigate the world.


We don’t fully express our personality the same way with every single person we interact with.  Certain aspects of our personality are expressed more fully depending on who is around us.


So if we say to someone that they don’t know the “real” us, that’s because we haven’t been bold enough to fully express ourselves around them.  For one reason or another, we’ve kept aspects of our personality under wraps in their company.


Performance is interesting because you’re being highly selective about which aspects of your personality are being shared.  It’s less organic than daily life, more constructed.  


You’re trying to get at a particular thing with performance; you’re not just naturally reacting to daily life.  You’re engaged in a pursuit with a specific purpose.


So in some sense, we’re always performing.  It’s rare that we can completely let ourselves go around someone.  Totally let our guard down and just be ourselves without any fear of negative social judgments or scrutiny.


But I think that’s sometimes what love is about.  Some forms of love have that unconditional characteristic - that feeling of acceptance no matter what.  Be who are; we will love you for it.


I think that might be why comedians tell audiences they love them.


I think that might be why audiences tell comedians they love them.


The comedian feels accepted for revealing more of their personality - often aspects of their personality that have not been well accepted and approved in daily life.  The prevailing culture has rejected these aspects of the comedian’s personality - or at least the comedian feels that it has - and yet here are people who appreciate them all the more for those very same personality aspects.  The “flaws” become valued in this new context.


And audiences feel that acceptance vicariously through the comedian.  “Everyone else is laughing at this too.  I guess they can also relate.  Maybe I’m not an isolated weirdo freak like the prevailing culture would have me think I am.”


Ideally, I think that’s what’s being exchanged at a comedy show.  It’s that feeling that we all know that there’s something more real underneath the surface.  We all put on our personalities to participate in polite society, but that’s not the whole story.


We’re all a bit nutty.  The world’s kinda crazy.


It’s useful that we pretend to be a little more stable and sane for the sake of keeping the economy running efficiently, but it’s still helpful to blow off some steam and wink at each other that we all agree this is a bit odd every now and again.


And I should say too that the love isn’t really unconditional.  If comedians misstep, audiences will let them know.  People won’t laugh if the comedian misses the mark too frequently.  So the process is a bit of an invitation to personal growth - assuming as a comedian you are putting yourself in a position to perform for diverse audiences and not just for sycophants who worship the ground you walk on.


Returning to that comeback Bo has when that audience member shouts out “I love you.”  Bo fires back “You love the idea of me.”


Is that her fault?  Should we really be upset with her for not knowing Bo?  What aspects of himself is Bo hiding when he’s performing that he is afraid the audience wouldn’t love him for if he were to reveal them?


Right?  Isn’t that implied there?  “If you knew the real me, you wouldn’t love me.  You just love the performance.”


I don’t know Bo personally, obviously.  I can’t say that I love him.  But I do love some of his art.  I’m very appreciative of it.


And I’m not trying to say anything negative about Bo.  I don’t think it’s desirable or even possible to fully express yourself on stage in a 5-minute or 30-minute or hour-long stand-up performance.  That’s an absurd expectation.


The art is not the artist.  And artists are not just artists.  They’re people with lives that are multifaceted.


There’s no reason you should feel the need to be everything that you are on stage.  It’s fine for parts of your personality to be reserved for other, more private interactions with closer friends and family.


I don’t think the love felt between performers and audience members is anything like the love that can be felt between friends or family members.  But it still has its place.  It’s still valuable in its own way.  It doesn’t have to become something pathological.  It can be healthy.


I feel like when I’m making my art - my jokes - I’m exploring the edges of who I am.  When I’m moving through daily life, it’s more automatic.  Less reflective.


Artistic spaces are more consciously reflective spaces.  You explore newer ideas.  Maybe that changes you.  Maybe that shifts how you behave in your day-to-day life in a valuable way.


And then again, maybe sometimes comedy is just a transactional relationship.  Maybe it is just paying money for some laughs because the comic needs money and the audience needs to blow off some steam.  Maybe no real mutual understanding is being reached.  Maybe no growth is happening.


But even when it’s about money, it’s not entirely.


I watch a lotta comedy shows and lots of times comics sell merch - t-shirts, beer koozies - to supplement money from ticket sales.  And almost every comic will say something along the lines of “You don’t have to buy anything, but please don’t ignore me like I’m a beggar on the street.  Say hi.  We can hug; take a picture.  I’m not an animal; I’m a human with feelings.”  Most comics will say something along those lines if they’re doing a merch pitch.


A lot of comics are sad puppies desperately seeking out normal human interaction.  The performance is just an excuse to get people to talk to them after the show.


And then they immediately burn out and realize, “This was a huge mistake to invite people to talk to me.  I’m so anxious and annoyed right now.”


But yea.  It’s not a purely transactional, business relationship.


At its healthiest, artistic creation between comics and audiences can be an enriching experience.  It can make you feel a bunch of warm fuzzy feelings toward one another.  It’s a form of genuine social bonding.  It can lead to personal growth.  That’s been my experience of the art form anyway.  But maybe that’s just because I haven’t made any money doing this yet.


Maybe once the podcast takes off and the money starts rolling in I’ll wake up and realize it’s all about the Benjamins baby!


 
Michael Franke