The cold-cut truth is that humour can be hard Leno, Letterman know how to wander to the edge of what's acceptable
Ian Haysom Saturday, September 20, 2008
Funny thing, humour. Sometimes, it isn't. The side-splitting joke suddenly doesn't make them laugh. Too lame. Bad taste. Too raunchy. Inappropriate. Wrong crowd.
Many were continuing to call yesterday for the resignation of Agriculture Minister Gerry Ritz for his "death by a thousand cold cuts" quip about the listeriosis outbreak, which has been linked to at least 17 deaths.
He did this during a conference call, which shows a) he thinks Canadian agriculture ministers are supposed to make like Henny Youngman, b) he reckoned this might actually get him known outside Saskatchewan and c) he's monumentally stupid.
Putting on the Ritz apparently means you're a doofus. A political joke.
The cold-cuts joke is the kind of topical joke that might get told quietly, in bars, in offices, among friends, and would be considered clever if it didn't make you feel uncomfortable.
Leno and Letterman know how to wander to the edge of what's topical and acceptable. There are some no-no's. No jokes about 9/11, though it's OK to joke about Osama bin Laden and O.J. Simpson, though two people died. It's apparently OK now to joke about the Kennedy assassination (I actually don't find those jokes funny), but not about AIDS or breast cancer, though obesity is OK. Listeriosis? Don't think so.
I was at a roast for the broadcaster Bill Good on Thursday night at a Vancouver hotel, and the event drew a huge crowd -- including the premier. Who told this joke, to show how Bill was a quick-thinking youngster:
Bill was working as a teenager in a grocery store when a customer told Bill he wanted half a head of lettuce. We don't sell half-heads of lettuce, said Bill, but the customer was insistent. Bill said he'd talk to the manager. He walked to the back of the store. "Hey," he told the manager, "some idiot out front wants half a head of lettuce." At that moment he realized the customer was standing right behind him. "And this gentleman would like the other half."
Now, that was safe, acceptable and funny. And clever. Campbell is actually a very funny man in private. I once saw him emcee a golf tournament for politicos and he knew how to play a room. But he keeps it pretty buttoned down in public. Smart politicians know that going for guffaws can get you into hot water. Leave it to comedians.
The roast is a quaint, 1970ish kind of event, where you mock the guest of honour loudly. Most of the roasters tried to be cruel at Good's expense, but couldn't. Canadians are just too kind. And Good is an all-round nice guy.
But Bruce Allen, the broadcaster and manager of the likes of Bryan Adams and Michael Bublé, let rip at Good's perceived blandness. Allen was funny. He was cruel and insulting. He tiptoed over the edge. And the crowd loved it.
There had been, he said, five big-name roasters. But three pulled out. They all looked at their blank sheet of paper for a couple of days and realized there was nothing to say.
Good is so bland, he said, that there should be a warning before his newscasts telling viewers not to operate heavy machinery since the following show might cause drowsiness.
Afterwards, I was speaking to former NDP cabinet minister Joy MacPhail, who had also been a roaster. "Wow, that was harsh," she said of Allen's stint. "Do you think Canadians like people being that cruel?"
That's a good question. In Britain, they go way over the top. Too far. I watch a BBC comedy show called Mock The Week which is brutally cruel to everyone (look up some segments on YouTube).
The show is funny, but it takes no prisoners. Everyone and everything is satirized. The other week they were mocking John McCain's arms and walk, which have been affected because of his torture in Vietnam. After a plethora of jokes, one of the panel said, "Do you realize we're all mocking someone with a physical disability."
"Oh, for God's sake," said another, "he's American!" And the crowd laughed uproariously.
At the roast on Thursday, one of the funniest performers was former Vancouver police chief Jamie Graham. At one point, looking at his notes, he said, theatrically, "no, I won't do any Taser jokes."
A wise decision. Someone died. Graham was smart to keep them to himself.
I went with former Province columnist Bob Stall to the roast and remembered that one of Bob's most popular columns asked readers to send in jokes. He was inundated. Thousands of jokes flooded in.
People love telling jokes, I guess.
"No," said Bob, "I gave away Bob Stall T-shirts."
Ian Haysom is news director of Global News in British Columbia. He divides his week between Central Saanich and Vancouver.
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