Louis CK is one of my favorite stand-up comedians. His comedy, like that of George Carlin and Bill Hicks and many others, toes the line between comedy and philosophy. He dives into dark places and expresses guttural truths. He takes the banal, the overlooked and draws out the absurdity. He depicts the ridiculous, confesses moments of shame. He doesn't simply tell jokes. His goal, it seems, is to get at truths as much as it is to make audiences laugh. And the laughs he elicits resonate deeply. I feel them in the back of my throat and down my spine.
But his comedy wasn't always so deeply engaged with real life. In an interview with CK on his podcast WTF, comedian Marc Maron describes the transition in CK's style of comedy: "You were a uniquely poetic absurdist comic...but then all of a sudden something broke in you and all of a sudden you were doing personal revelatory comedy." CK: "Yea the act I was doing was kind of meta-, it was kind of absurdist comedy, I wasn't really functioning as a stand-up. 'How ya guys doing?' I wasn't that kind of guy." And ff you watch clips on youtube of the young Louis CK performing, you can see him doing these sorts of absurdist jokes. In his opening bit in a clip from 1987 (when he was 20) he goes up to the mic and makes high-pitched squeaks which, he explains, are dolphin jokes. In a clip from '91 as he pokes fun at the way you brush your hair with your hand to signal to a salesperson that your looking for a hair brush, he makes monkey sounds. In another bit he talks about waving while not realizing he has a peach in his hand, as if he's proclaiming, "I have a peach!"
And so there are definitely instances of CK doing these kinds of absurd meta-comedy bits (even in his 1996 Comedy Half Hour special on HBO he does a series of anti-comedy impressions, including JFK as a prostitute in Saigon) but I wouldn't say, from the clips available, that he was an absurdist comic. More often you see him doing the sort of observational humor that he still does now (for instance a joke he first used in 1990 about us still using the word 'minorities' when 80%--the majority--of people in New York are minorities) but, significantly, without the vehicle of potentially embarrassing/inappropriate personal revelation.
Whereas the early Louis CK has a joke about strangers reappearing in your life, as if god ran out of extras in the movie of your life, current Louis CK might twist that joke to be about him feeling that its ok to murder strangers if no one finds out, especially if there are plenty of other strangers to replace them. In the '96 special you do see CK talk about himself (he has a bit where he talks about not wanting anything in his ass) but he does so in a way that is safe and unsurprising. Contrast that with his 1-hour HBO special Shameless in 2007 wherein at one point he talks about wanting to get blown by Ewan McGregor.
And so the early comedy of Louis CK wasn't so much absurdist as it was impersonally observational. He employed observational humor that didn't stick because he didn't delve into untouched/unspoken-about/unsafe territory and didn't achieve the kind of intimacy that comes from exposing your darkest, weirdest, non-normative, supposed-to-be-private feelings on stage.
But CK did certainly make a change and it was significant. Beginning somewhere around 2004/2005 he started engaging with material from his actual life. In his One Night Stand HBO special from 2005 he talks about his baby being his asshole, about trying to keep his masturbation hidden from his wife, about the amazing responsibility involved in having a kid--including the ability to name your kid anything, anything, there are no laws, there should be a couple laws, he says.
He made a change and it was having kids that changed him.
In the interview with Marc Maron, he gets emotional as he talks about looking at his newborn baby: "When I had my daughter--when her mother had her in front of me--everything changed, I just fell in love with this kid. I remember she was screaming in the delivery room, really upset, she seemed angry. I expected, you know, when a kid's crying in the delivery room everybody's happy and smiling--ah, look at her cry!--but I was really upset for her...[here he begins to cry, takes a few seconds to compose himself again]" Then later: "You just don't know until you see the kid's face that there's now someone who's going to be with you for the rest of your fucking life and I didn't know how that would feel. But when she came out it wasn't about my feelings, it was about--this kid is scared shitless and she's really angry about being taken out of her mom...and I put my head next to hers--and she's just screaming with a purple face--and I said 'its ok, you're going to be ok, it's alright, I'm here' and she stopped screaming on a dime, turned and looked right at me."
Louis CK really loves his daughters. Perhaps he never really loved anything or anyone before. He calls them assholes and idiots, an imposition on his life, but, as he says, they're only an imposition because he cares about them. If he didn't care he could just leave them with their mom and not give a shit. When he does jokes about his dark feelings towards his kids, he takes the audience into inappropriate/private territory that is relatable, surprising, and true. Being annoyed with your kids goes hand-in-hand with loving your kids. Parents who claim to never have ill feelings towards their kids are not telling the truth.
But how did this change in CK's life translate into a change in his comedy? His early work was absurdist/impersonally observational. Watching those early clips you do feel, at times, that you are listening to an original comedic voice, but the voice is not intimate, the material does not feel real. It seems that it took the birth of his daughters to show CK that the real world and real feelings are worth commenting on and that comedy is worth taking seriously. As he states in the interview, after he had his kid he felt that he had to really support his child, couldn't half-ass it and make excuses. And so part of the reason that CK's recent material is so good is because he now works so hard. You can see him repeat jokes all the way from '91 in his 2001 Comedy Central special but now, since 2007, he's produced an hour's worth of new material every year--just like Carlin did. He writes, directs, and edits his show 'Louie' all by himself, all while still taking care of his kids. His comedy is more "real" now, in a sense, because he lives a real life. On stage, he engages with a world that he lives in, rather than a world that he stands outside of.
So, the stand-up comedy of Louis CK and of others who perform the same type raise an interesting question: what exactly is it that we want from stand-up comedy? Obviously we want more than just jokes. We want honesty and insight and intimacy. Some comedians, some of my favorites, don't go for anything more than laughs. I don't think that makes them aesthetically inferior. But, there is a connection between comedy and truth, between comedy and philsophy. Wittgenstein, who didn't have much of a sense of humor, once said that a serious and philosophical work could be written that would consist entirely of jokes. Maybe so. But many truths are sad and terrifying. I think sometimes comedy can obscure the truth. I wonder what it'd be like to see someone on stage not trying to entertain, not trying to make people laugh or cry, who, without even acknowledging the audience, just stands there with a microphone trying to get to the truth about his life and the world. Would we like that? Or would we want to shoot ourselves in the ears?
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Zadie Smith, Facebook, Personhood, "My Generation"
Zadie Smith begins her article "Generation Why?" in the New York Review of Books with the question: "How long is a generation these days?" She goes on to express her feeling that though she's only nine years older than Mark Zuckerberg, founder of Facebook and subject of the movie "The Social Network," she does not quite feel that she's part of his generation. She's back at "Person 1.0," as she expresses it, while the Facebook-obsessed, perpetually texting people of "my generation" are a new breed: Person 2.0.
But how long is a generation? Is the concept of 'generation' really useful in expressing the difference between people, or does it flatten people in the same way categorizing people in terms of their taste in music does? In her article, Smith, an excellent writer (I highly recommend her book of essays, Changing My Mind) makes some compelling insights about the movie "The Social Network" and Facebook and the nature of "Generation Y" but I disagree with some of the points she makes, especially her claims about Facebook's role in flattening the concept of personhood among People 2.0.
First, we need to understand Smith's concept of personhood and the threat that Facebook supposedly poses to it. So Smith says she thinks of a person as "private," a "mystery" both to the world and more importantly, to herself. With Facebook we share details about ourselves. We make ourselves public. And we share not quite details, but data, a limited set of data: favorite movies, music, relationship status, etc, not your favorite "architecture, ideas, or plants." And Smith is right here. The format of Facebook profiles does express an underlying framework as to what's important about people, about yourself. It's what movies you like that matter, not what buildings you like.
Smith draws the conclusion, though, that we actually think our identities come down to our favorite movies and TV shows. If so, she argues, with Facebook being so ubiquitous, we are locked into this way of thinking about what constitutes a human being. And guess what, we didn't author this theory of identity, Mark Zuckerberg did. We are locked into software "designed by a Harvard sophomore with a Harvard sophomore’s preoccupations." We are stuck in the semi-autistic computer geek Zuckerberg's concept of personhood. But do we actually think of our Facebook profiles as representative of our personalities? Do we even try to make our "about me"s really about us? I think not.
Smith misunderstands the attitude most people have towards Facebook. Most people I know have resisted Facebook at one point or another, either deleting their profiles or avoiding setting one up long as possible or just plain not using the site very often. Others often complain about being addicted to Facebook or wasting time on the site or about the confusing privacy settings (a topic that's been widely talked about.) But the point is that Facebook, though ubiquitous, is not reflexively embraced. It's not, from an emotional standpoint, "our new beloved interface with reality." We use Facebook, we don't necessarily love it.
So why do we use it? Why has it become so popular? Well, as Zuckerberg would say, "it connects people." We do want to connect with people, connection being, you could say, the most basic form of the social impulse. We do want more, of course. We don't just want to be "Facebook friends." But in a basic way, Facebook is a tool to connect with long lost high school friends or people at college you've just met, a step towards intimacy. Its about Facebook's nature as a tool for connection where Smith is misguided. She misunderstands the role Facebook plays in our online "lives".
We publicize our likes and activities in our Facebook profiles, true enough. But do people take these details as exhaustive representations of who someone is? Of course the details can be interpreted that way, but in reality, I think profiles are just interpreted as things that get filled in. When people set up their profiles, they put in their favorite movies, books, something clever maybe. Then perhaps they update these details on occasion. When I started using Facebook, way back in 2005, I thought seriously about how I came across in my profile. I changed it often. You used to be notified when someone changed their profile. It was significant. But now, I can't remember the last time I changed my profile. I really don't care what's in my profile. I don't care what's in other people's profiles. (Perhaps there's something significant to explore in how being notified of something makes it seem important, but we'll leave that for another time.) I treat the details in a person's profile as signs of who they are, not exhaustive representations. If you like a movie that I like I figure I might like you. If you like a book that I think is terrible I think, well, I might not like you. But I understand the distinction between the likes and dislikes people post on the internet and who they really are.
In the recent profile of Zuckerberg in the New Yorker, the author tries to draw some meaning out of the items in Zuckerberg's own Facebook profile. Apparently Zuckerberg lists only one book among his favorites, Ender's Game, "a coming-of-age science-fiction saga by Orson Scott Card, which tells the story of Andrew (Ender) Wiggin, a gifted child who masters computer war games and later realizes that he’s involved in a real war." Gifted child. Can't distinguish computer game from reality. Must be a key to the mind of Zuckerberg. But then as the author reveals later in the article, when he asked Zuckerberg about the book, he said "Oh, it’s not a favorite book or anything like that. I just added it because I liked it. I don’t think there’s any real significance to the fact that it’s listed there and other books aren’t." Zuckerberg then tells him that he enjoyed reading, for instance, the Aenid much more. And then the author proceeds to draw meaning out of Zuckerberg's feelings towards that book.
Maybe Zuckerberg underplayed his feelings towards Ender's Game because he was uncomfortable being analyzed, but lets take him at least somewhat at his word. Perhaps we're so curious about who Zuckerberg is that we're ready to build any information, any information at all that we learn about him into a full identity. Facebook details become a representation of personhood only when you really want to know who someone is and have no better source of information. Our obsession with "reality" TV shows and celebrity gossip works the same way.
So does the widespread use of Facebook and Facebook profiles really show the reductive concept of personhood among people in "Generation Y" and in society in general? I don't think so. There has always been a tendency to reduce personhood, whether to nationality, or age, or sex, or interests, or generation. Its difficult to express a complete picture of a person. That's why really good fiction is so rare, and difficult to write. In real life, when we talk about people and think about people we use shorthand because we have to. We flatten people in order to talk about people. Language is reductive and so are all forms of representation.
Maybe I've been wrongly using the pronoun "we" throughout this essay, but I think "my generation" and all generations realize, though they might have difficulty expressing it in language or thought, that we are each a mystery, to ourselves and to the world. Our Facebook profiles are only superficial faces to use in a virtual world that requires superficial faces to interface, to connect. Intimacy is still out there if we want it. Who am I? I don't know. I'm not even sure I understand the question.
But how long is a generation? Is the concept of 'generation' really useful in expressing the difference between people, or does it flatten people in the same way categorizing people in terms of their taste in music does? In her article, Smith, an excellent writer (I highly recommend her book of essays, Changing My Mind) makes some compelling insights about the movie "The Social Network" and Facebook and the nature of "Generation Y" but I disagree with some of the points she makes, especially her claims about Facebook's role in flattening the concept of personhood among People 2.0.
First, we need to understand Smith's concept of personhood and the threat that Facebook supposedly poses to it. So Smith says she thinks of a person as "private," a "mystery" both to the world and more importantly, to herself. With Facebook we share details about ourselves. We make ourselves public. And we share not quite details, but data, a limited set of data: favorite movies, music, relationship status, etc, not your favorite "architecture, ideas, or plants." And Smith is right here. The format of Facebook profiles does express an underlying framework as to what's important about people, about yourself. It's what movies you like that matter, not what buildings you like.
Smith draws the conclusion, though, that we actually think our identities come down to our favorite movies and TV shows. If so, she argues, with Facebook being so ubiquitous, we are locked into this way of thinking about what constitutes a human being. And guess what, we didn't author this theory of identity, Mark Zuckerberg did. We are locked into software "designed by a Harvard sophomore with a Harvard sophomore’s preoccupations." We are stuck in the semi-autistic computer geek Zuckerberg's concept of personhood. But do we actually think of our Facebook profiles as representative of our personalities? Do we even try to make our "about me"s really about us? I think not.
Smith misunderstands the attitude most people have towards Facebook. Most people I know have resisted Facebook at one point or another, either deleting their profiles or avoiding setting one up long as possible or just plain not using the site very often. Others often complain about being addicted to Facebook or wasting time on the site or about the confusing privacy settings (a topic that's been widely talked about.) But the point is that Facebook, though ubiquitous, is not reflexively embraced. It's not, from an emotional standpoint, "our new beloved interface with reality." We use Facebook, we don't necessarily love it.
So why do we use it? Why has it become so popular? Well, as Zuckerberg would say, "it connects people." We do want to connect with people, connection being, you could say, the most basic form of the social impulse. We do want more, of course. We don't just want to be "Facebook friends." But in a basic way, Facebook is a tool to connect with long lost high school friends or people at college you've just met, a step towards intimacy. Its about Facebook's nature as a tool for connection where Smith is misguided. She misunderstands the role Facebook plays in our online "lives".
We publicize our likes and activities in our Facebook profiles, true enough. But do people take these details as exhaustive representations of who someone is? Of course the details can be interpreted that way, but in reality, I think profiles are just interpreted as things that get filled in. When people set up their profiles, they put in their favorite movies, books, something clever maybe. Then perhaps they update these details on occasion. When I started using Facebook, way back in 2005, I thought seriously about how I came across in my profile. I changed it often. You used to be notified when someone changed their profile. It was significant. But now, I can't remember the last time I changed my profile. I really don't care what's in my profile. I don't care what's in other people's profiles. (Perhaps there's something significant to explore in how being notified of something makes it seem important, but we'll leave that for another time.) I treat the details in a person's profile as signs of who they are, not exhaustive representations. If you like a movie that I like I figure I might like you. If you like a book that I think is terrible I think, well, I might not like you. But I understand the distinction between the likes and dislikes people post on the internet and who they really are.
In the recent profile of Zuckerberg in the New Yorker, the author tries to draw some meaning out of the items in Zuckerberg's own Facebook profile. Apparently Zuckerberg lists only one book among his favorites, Ender's Game, "a coming-of-age science-fiction saga by Orson Scott Card, which tells the story of Andrew (Ender) Wiggin, a gifted child who masters computer war games and later realizes that he’s involved in a real war." Gifted child. Can't distinguish computer game from reality. Must be a key to the mind of Zuckerberg. But then as the author reveals later in the article, when he asked Zuckerberg about the book, he said "Oh, it’s not a favorite book or anything like that. I just added it because I liked it. I don’t think there’s any real significance to the fact that it’s listed there and other books aren’t." Zuckerberg then tells him that he enjoyed reading, for instance, the Aenid much more. And then the author proceeds to draw meaning out of Zuckerberg's feelings towards that book.
Maybe Zuckerberg underplayed his feelings towards Ender's Game because he was uncomfortable being analyzed, but lets take him at least somewhat at his word. Perhaps we're so curious about who Zuckerberg is that we're ready to build any information, any information at all that we learn about him into a full identity. Facebook details become a representation of personhood only when you really want to know who someone is and have no better source of information. Our obsession with "reality" TV shows and celebrity gossip works the same way.
So does the widespread use of Facebook and Facebook profiles really show the reductive concept of personhood among people in "Generation Y" and in society in general? I don't think so. There has always been a tendency to reduce personhood, whether to nationality, or age, or sex, or interests, or generation. Its difficult to express a complete picture of a person. That's why really good fiction is so rare, and difficult to write. In real life, when we talk about people and think about people we use shorthand because we have to. We flatten people in order to talk about people. Language is reductive and so are all forms of representation.
Maybe I've been wrongly using the pronoun "we" throughout this essay, but I think "my generation" and all generations realize, though they might have difficulty expressing it in language or thought, that we are each a mystery, to ourselves and to the world. Our Facebook profiles are only superficial faces to use in a virtual world that requires superficial faces to interface, to connect. Intimacy is still out there if we want it. Who am I? I don't know. I'm not even sure I understand the question.
Thursday, November 18, 2010
Intoduction
On this here blog I will be writing about interesting things happening in the world, reflecting on books I'm reading, and exploring ideas about all kinds of interesting things. My goal is just to write a bunch of interesting little (sometimes probably not so little) essays and things. Read them if you find them interesting. Ignore them if you don't. And I'll never find out how to make this blog look good, so judge me on the content of my writing, not the physical appearance of my chosen pre-made template.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)