Grief (induced by the abstract)

    I saw the movie Man on the Moon in 2002; I had not even turned 20 then. It introduced me to the idea of self-effacement (self-erasure, self-caricature etc., apply too) in service of a craft that might not be considered respectable by many. Or in artistic terms, high art. One could, perhaps, think of people like Charlie Chaplin and 'clown acts' as a whole that might fit this category, but Andy Kaufman is of a unique breed. For Kaufman blended the performative with the 'real' and dared to explore its boundaries, apparently heedless of the consequences [1]. The ultimate act being his death itself, shrouded in manufactured (false) mystery.

I first got to watch Norm MacDonald in 'The Norm Show' around the same time. It was sharp and witty like some of the other sitcoms I liked but it was considerably more mischievous, in a dark, and perhaps deviant sense. Oh, he was also very likeable because he could barely keep a straight face. Over the next several years I sought after and consumed every bit of Norm I could find [2]. It wasn't long before I started quoting and paraphrasing him in real life conversations, mostly to 'nonplussed' faces.

Many of Norm's semi-serious pronouncements did not sit well with me but I could not help but admire his fearlessness and commitment to a certain idea of his craft and the integrity it required. This idea, I thought, was constantly trying to resolve a paradox: humour exists in a context within a mind but it also seeks validation from an audience, even if only one, that might not be on board. True, there is humour in the unacknowledgement of it too, but to proceed with no regard for this paradox is where one declares their allegiance. Norm did it more often and more successfully than others.

Condescension and even misanthropy are second nature to most standups (the good ones). It is a professional hazard. But Norm was generally better at masking it. Norm might have been inspired by Kaufman at some level, if not by his methods, by his chutzpah (which, ironically, is often projected as ignorance or gaucherie in their acts). His performance was driven by a semiotic sensibility that drew liberally from irony and farce. Norm saying "wait till you hear me do it" is one of the rare occasions he acknowledged his prowess. His profession did not get in the way of being genuine and earnest, nevertheless.

My everyday time-waste routine involved watching at least one or two of Norm's videos. They were always in my recommended list on YouTube and I never got annoyed by its ubiquity. It's been over a month since he passed away and my routine has been hit with melancholic disruption. I am now recommended videos of various comedians expressing their shock and sorrow at his passing; especially that he kept his nine year 'battle' with cancer a secret. Kaufman seems to have inspired him in at least one other aspect.

Norm had not put out any specials in a long time; even so the occasional word here and there in the plethora of podcasts had been reassuring, that there's flow still. Not anymore. But unlike most of his contemporaries we are not left just with a static composition but an iconic syntax. It's as if he used hours and hours of material that spans over decades to distill a predictable yet unique language structure that held his audience in wilful thrall. So much so that his fans seem compelled to speak citationally wherever possible [3]. This is a rare form of adoration that few artists, let alone comics, have achieved.

A palpable grief has crept in the last few days and has caused some dissonance. I have often wondered whether a favourite writer/artist who stopped producing anything for a long time being dead or alive makes a difference. Especially if there was no realistic chance of meeting them in person, for what it's worth. In a strictly rational sense they are only an abstract entity whose real existence should not matter. We all get a periodic reminder that our rational self is always playing catch up, and Norm's death is one for me.

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[1] - The film The Prestige comes to mind. 

[2] - Some self praise: it turned out that I was among the few in the 'audience' to get his act on The Roast of Bob Saget and was howling the entire set.

[3] - This essay is no exception.

Groundbreaking Material

I was listening to Sarah Silverman on Q earlier this morning. She noted that her brand of humour draws its inspiration from her swearing when she was a toddler. She said her dad used to teach her swear words for the fun of it and all others would react positively and laugh when she mouthed them. As she grew up it's her gender that took that toddler’s place – extrapolating a little here. It's somewhat shocking for a man to do/say ‘those’ things, but it’s outrageous when it’s a woman (outrageously funny, too, quite often). Her approach to political humour is often to assume the bigoted ignoramus and make exaggerated arguments for/against something ('uncle' Ruckus from The Boondocks is a good archetype). It is subversive but more importantly it avoids the self righteous tone that could subdue the critique's potency.

Meanwhile comedians in Tamil television continue to do groundbreaking material by impersonating 'Rajini sir' and 'Kamal sir'.

Found this

idhellam eppudi mudiyudhu?

About my 'Roast of Sivaji', someone has the following to say.

Why don't you look at some of their talents, thoughts, creativity and so. At least they have the talent to fool you, destroy your expectation, your dream... And you publically admit saying that you are a fool and you have been fooled, cheated. Don't you feel ashamed to share them in your podcast. They know how to make you fool but what do you know? Your podcasts show that you can be a fool, joker?

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