Image by Clker-Free-Vector-Images from Pixabay “Better to be king for a night than schmuck for a lifetime.” – Rupert Pupkin (played by Robert de Niro) “Dark comedy is very difficult. You have to bring the audience in and push them away at the same time.” – Pierce Brosnan I tend to have a rather dark sense of humor. I don’t know exactly when I realized this, but throughout my life I have observed that I generally find movies that can be classified as “dark comedies” or “black comedies” thoroughly more enjoyable than other people in my life. As I’ve grown older, I have struggled to discern where my love of “black comedy” comes from or why this subgenre of storytelling interests me so.
So, today’s blog is dedicated to exploring these questions in an effort to better understand why “black comedy” is so appealing as an approach to comedy in cinema. But first, we must define what exactly a “black comedy” is. To begin with what a comedy film is: a film that emphasizes humor and is designed to induce laughter in the audience through amusement and exaggerating characteristics for comedic effect.[i] Based on that definition, is “black comedy” all that different from most comedic films? I would argue no, but most cinephiles and film historians feel differently and thus differentiate it as its own subgenre with distinctive qualities. Specifically, a “black comedy” film is a film that makes fun out of ordinarily taboo subjects in order to amuse by presenting something shocking and unexpected.[ii] While not always the intention of films in this subgenre, “black comedies” can sometimes also have the purpose of provoking critical analysis and discussion of specific political and social issues. This mode of storytelling traces its roots back to ancient Greek playwrights (notably Aristophanes), but was not part of the popular American zeitgeist until the mid-1960s when several popular authors, from Edward Albee and Joseph Heller, became associated with using what was then called “black humor” in their literature. Some famous black comedy films include Stanley Kubrick’s 1964 political satire Dr. Strangelove, Mel Brooks’s 1967 directorial debut The Producers, and Bong Joon-ho’s Best Picture winner Parasite. Before diving into the films that I chose to talk about today, I want to be transparent about my mindset going into this. I am framing my analysis of these five black comedy movies around the premise that comedy is a tool by which meaning can be discovered, explored, and understood. Thus, I have subtitled each section about a specific movie around the following question: how does the movie’s particular brand of black comedy strive to provoke some deeper meaning? Let’s find out together, shall we? 😊 [NOTE: This blog will contain spoilers for several movies. You have been warned.] Finding Purpose in Nihilism One of the earliest (and more controversial) examples of a black comedy film is the 1971 coming-of-age drama Harold and Maude directed by Utah native Hal Ashby (Last Detail, Coming Home), whose initial name in Hollywood was earned from editing some of Norman Jewison’s films including In the Heat of the Night. This film focuses on the aimless life of Harold Chasen (Bud Cort), the son of a rich, neglectful socialite (Vivian Pickles) whose halfhearted attempts to flesh out his troubled psychoses only form some of the many darkly comedic beats of the film. Harold, simply put, is obsessed with death. From driving around a hearse and attending funerals of people he doesn’t know as a hobby to staging over-the-top, fake suicide attempts to get attention, Harold lacks any drive in and passion for life. That is until he meets a kindred spirit in Maude (Ruth Gordon), an upbeat septuagenarian who shares Harold’s fascination with death and funeral-hopping hobby. Over the course of the movie, Harold and Maude develop an innocent yet odd friendship centered in their mutual interest in each other’s polar opposite perspectives on life. It is through spending time with Maude that Harold begins to open up about his relationship with his mother and the motivation behind his habit of faking his own death. When I watched Harold and Maude for the first time, I struggled to know what to make of it. Throughout much of the runtime, it felt tonally off as if Ashby and his creative team struggled to balance comedic beats about murder and suicide with the increasingly sentimental friendship between its two eponymous protagonists. As a result, the emotional moments intended to be overwhelming and moving fell a little flat for me. For most of the movie, I wasn’t sure if I would end up liking it. Until the climax, when Maude reveals to Harold that she has overdosed on sleeping pills in an effort to kill herself. This was an absolute gut punch that confirmed in my mind how much I empathized with Harold as a character. His initial, but failed, outcries for help and attention were out of a deep-seated craving for connection with another human being that he did not have in his isolated life with his ignorant, pompous mother. And by Maude accepting for who he is with open arms, he not only develops that much-needed connection with someone but also finds purpose for his life. Arguably the most effective retort against the philosophy of nihilism is not that people should discover some inherent purpose of life itself, but that people must make for themselves a purpose for their lives. And that is the deeper meaning of Harold and Maude that its douses of black comedy seek to flesh out. Is it always effective in this regard? No. But, as Pierce Brosnan said in the opening quote of this blog, towing the line between inducing laughter and pushing the audience away with dark humor is never easy for any film. Finding Sincerity in Insanity Most cinephiles would not argue that Martin Scorsese (Taxi Driver, Goodfellas, The Irishman) is one of the greatest filmmakers from the “New Wave” generation of Hollywood. But not all of his films were generously received upon release, and arguably the most damning example of this is the 1983 black comedy film The King of Comedy. This cult classic from Scorsese stars Robert De Niro (The Godfather Part II, The Deer Hunter, Raging Bull) as Rupert Pupkin, a struggling stand-up comedian living in his mother’s basement who suffers from (presumably undiagnosed) mental illness in the form of delusions of grandeur. One such delusion is that he is best friends with the successful comedian and famous talk-show host Jerry Langford (Jerry Lewis), and it is Pupkin’s fixation on breaking into the business with Langford’s help that pushes him to try over and over to meet with Langford. Eventually, Pupkin kidnaps Langford as ransom in order to get what he wants: a primetime slot on Langford’s talk show so that he can do his comedy set. Before watching The King of Comedy, the only Scorsese movie I had ever seen was his 1990 gangster flick Goodfellas. Thus, I wasn’t sure what to expect in terms of the story. All I was sure of was that I would at least appreciate (if not really enjoy) De Niro’s central performance. But I was blown away by how much I loved it from the get-go. He is incredibly infectious yet simultaneously disturbing and pitiful: De Niro manages to pull off the tremendously difficult balancing act of making Pupkin both charming and despicable—often during the same scene. When it comes to the film’s sense of humor, I have yet to discover a movie that better encapsulates the goals of “black comedy” than this one. Scorsese is constantly bringing the audience into the increasingly ridiculous life of Pupkin while also pushing us away from his personality due to his incessant obsession with fame and celebrity. By doing so, Scorsese not only made a great comedy movie and star vehicle for De Niro but, when watching The King of Comedy, provokes critical thought about the revolting aspect of American culture that is celebrity. While the film largely relies on Pupkin’s disquieting charm and absurd antics for its comedy, it is the narrative built up by the funny situations Pupkin involves himself in that reveal the film’s deeper truths. In highlighting Pupkin as an archetype of the fame-hungry artist yet to have his spotlight, he shows that such a desire is deeply human yet surrounded by a popular culture so racked up in making celebrities what they are that said desire is no longer pure at heart. One could say that Pupkin’s motives for fame are purer than most in the real world: his ego is front and center, unabashedly so, and he puts no effort towards concealing it like so many public figures in our country do. Ultimately, The King of Comedy is a tour-de-force of social commentary that transcends its seeming B-movie trappings to make for an incredibly funny film that still remains relevant to this day. Finding Levity in Mundanity Television guru Mike Judge, the creator of Beavis and Butt-Head and co-creator of King of the Hill (alongside Greg Daniels), has directed four feature-length films (including a film adaptation of Beavis and Butt-Head and the increasingly relevant cult comedy film Idiocracy). However, none of his other films (in my humble opinion) top his directorial debut: the 1999 black comedy Office Space. A relatively tame comedy film from the late 90s, Office Space centers on the unfulfilled life of Peter Gibbons (Ron Livingston) whose mundane life as a computer programmer at Initech is largely concentrated around commiserating with his co-workers Samir (Ajay Naidu) and Michael Bolton (David Herman) —NOT THE SINGER! 😊 However, his outlook on life is changed forever when he visits a hypnotherapist Dr. Swanson (Mike McShane) who puts Peter in a trance that relaxes him and boosts his self-confidence. However, Swanson suffers a heart attack before being able to snap Peter out of the trance. With his new outlook on life, Peter puts off his professional responsibilities and seeks new avenues of fulfillment such as pursuing a new relationship with local waitress Joanna (Jennifer Aniston). Upon returning to work, his raw honesty about Initech’s problems with two men (John C. McGinley, Paul Wilson) Initech has hired to downsize the company gets him promoted. And the film just gets more absurd from there. Office Space is such a delight. I have yet to see a sharper critique of modern American work culture that is equally funny and light as it is relatable and melancholic. As a movie, it does feel a little disjointed since the second half feels like a very different movie from the first half. So, in this blog, I’ll be largely focusing on the elements of its first 45 minutes but if you’re interested, I highly recommend watching the move in its entirety. Most of the socially and culturally relevant humor is in the film’s first half and surrounds Peter’s transformation into a blissful, easygoing guy that forgoes his responsibilities at work in pursuit of something more out of life. In showing the audience that journey, Judge offers earnest insight into the frustrating, depressing malaise of corporate work culture in America. He highlights how the “shit-shooting” between Peter and his two co-workers/friends is strongly associated with a psychological need to expel our misgivings about such a 9-to-5 existence. And he offers a brilliantly comical employee-boss dynamic with Peter and his relationship with the smug Vice President of Initech Bill Lumbergh (Gary Cole). Based on the brief plot summary I gave earlier, I’m sure many of you are thinking, “A film like this can’t possibly have some deeper meaning, can it?” In my humble opinion, not only is there potential for such deeper meaning but it’s actually there. After re-watching Office Space about a year ago, I found that—beneath the movie’s overtly zany comedic atmosphere and hyperbolic caricatures that are the characters—is a surprisingly poignant core intended to teach us the importance of not working all the time. Specifically, this is a movie that resonates with me as someone who constantly strives—but sometimes fails—to keep a work-life balance and encourages those around me to put effort towards maintaining that balance. If Office Space teaches us anything it’s that we work so we can live and not the other way around. Given the fact that the oppressive work culture portrayed in the film has only been made worse in recent years, there is perhaps no message more relevant to 21st-century Americans than that. Finding Kinship in Tragedy Some black comedies excel at transcending the subgenre and crossing over into other genres (i.e. Harold and Maude is also a pretty good coming-of-age movie), but many that purport to be dramas either aren’t all that funny or lack any gripping drama to feel satisfying. One of the rare exceptions to this trap is Martin McDonagh’s Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri. While impossible to summarize the plot of this movie without oversimplifying it, I will say that Three Billboards centers on the actions of a middle-aged mother Mildred Hayes (Frances McDormand) whose teenage daughter (Kathryn Newton) was raped and murdered and has yet to learn the true identity of her killer. In order to pressure the local police chief Bill Willoughby (Woody Harrelson) to refocus on her daughter’s case, Mildred rents the advertising space on three billboards along a road into town with the message: “RAPED WHILE DYING. AND STILL NO ARRESTS? HOW COME, CHIEF WILLOUGHBY?” It is Mildred’s provocation of the well-liked Chief Willoughby that serves as the catalyst for the character-driven drama that ensues among the various residents of Ebbing, from the hotheaded and unsubtly prejudiced police officer Jason Dixon (Sam Rockwell) to the well-intentioned and passive little person James (Peter Dinklage) that befriends Mildred over the course of the movie. The tension between these characters is fueled by the town’s susceptibility to gossip and blackmail, which ultimately serve as distractions for what many of them ultimately want: for Mildred’s daughter’s killer to be found and receive justice for his crimes. This may be the most specific plot summary that I can give without giving any details of the actual story away, and that is because Three Billboards is a movie that MUST be experienced with as little knowledge of the plot as humanly possible. Mostly because of its ability to teeter between a drama, a black comedy, and a crime film. Its subversive approach to making the search for the identity of Mildred’s daughter’s assailant secondary to the character-driven plot of the movie is very refreshing, and thus works as a unique crime drama. That being said, much of the drama of Three Billboards comes from the sardonic nature of the interactions between our core cast. McDormand is at the center of much of this. Her varied relationships with the townspeople are one-sided in terms of who holds the power over whom. This makes for some fantastic comedic beats to alleviate the tension between Mildred and the people she mocks, taunts, and aggressively confronts to get what she wants. In many respects, however, this is the least funny movie of all the black comedies I’ve talked about in this blog thus far. While on a recent rewatch I wished for a few more gut-busting laughs, I also appreciated how intensely human the film is because it does not rely on comedy merely for laughs but for fleshing out characters and their relationships to other characters and to themselves. [NOTE: If you have seen the movie, feel free to read further. But if not, I highly recommend you watch it beforehand so that one of the emotional and thematic cores of the plot is not spoiled for you.] But how does the film’s comedy serve a deeper meaning? I think that the cynically wit in the screenplay of Three Billboards serves two specific characters the most: Mildred and Dixon, specifically the unlikely bond they form over seeking fulfillment over eliminating the scum of the Earth from the Earth. In many ways, they are foils to one another: they both suffer tremendously for their actions (or inaction), and both are ultimately driven by their loyalty to and love for people in their loves they have lost. It is this unforeseen yet perfectly sensible bond between McDormand and Rockwell’s characters that makes Three Billboards not just a good black comedy, but a great one. I challenge anyone to prove otherwise. 😊 Finding Love in Antipathy Flower is a movie that I had never heard of until listening to a podcast where someone listed it as their fourth-favorite film of 2018.[iii] I looked up nothing about it, and just decided to go in cold when I watched it. And, without a shadow of a doubt, it was one of the most laugh-out-loud viewing experiences I have had in a while. So once I decided to write this blog I just knew I had to include this movie on the list of ones to talk about. A stripped-down synopsis of Flower goes like this: teen vigilante Erica (Zoey Deutch) commits acts of delinquency with her friends involving blackmail so that she can save up money to bail her father out of jail. After meeting and developing an unlikely friendship with her mom’s boyfriend’s mentally-ill son Luke (Joey Morgan), the two end up hatching a plan together to get revenge on the schoolteacher (Adam Scott) whom Luke claims molested him when he was younger. Arguably, Flower is the most flawed black comedy out of all the ones I’ve written about today. It’s structure is somewhat disjointed, its pace feels arrhythmic at times, and I personally found the resolution of the narrative something to be desired. But I still love this movie for so many other reasons that make me recommend it as a prime example of what black comedy can do. First off, the characters are incredibly likeable in spite of being flawed and misguided. Much of this charm comes from their age; I find teenagers in movies generally more sympathetic than adults (especially when their actions are based on questionable ethics) because a defining element of adolescence to be navigating the moral complexities of adulthood. In that respect, the “Bonnie & Clyde”-esque journey that Erica and Luke go on throughout the movie is both entertaining and enticing because their genuine struggle to decide on what to do about their predicament is relatable in spirit (though not in practice since I’ve never attempted the things they do). Unsurprisingly, Deutch is the center of attention for good reason. Not only is she charming, warm and sensational, but her personality and attitude feel fresh and unique in spite of how so many other teenage girls are written in other movies. In some sense, I compare her to the eponymous protagonist of Juno in which Elliot (formerly Ellen) Page is written not as a stereotype of a teenage girl but as a real human being who is smart, clever, and feels emotions in an honest way. Perhaps less than any of the other black comedies discussed in this blog, Flower also lacks an incredibly profound message. But it does have a universally inspiring one: love conquers all. Cliched? Sure, but it’s executed so well that (in my humble opinion) my investment in the two main characters’ evolving relationship overcomes any hesitancy about the essence of their story. Comedies can unashamedly be simpleminded, laugh-inducing affairs without seeking to flesh out grounded or powerful themes. I have no problem with those types of movies. But I really enjoy when a comedy makes me think, too, and I’ve found that—more than any other subgenre—the “black comedy” is very effective at this. Whether it be portraying an unorthodox romance to explore the meaning of life in Harold and Maude or the day-to-day misadventures of office workers to highlight the oppressive nature of corporate culture in Office Space, these kinds of comedies will never stop fascinating me due to their ability to make me laugh and think at the same time while enjoying both of these elements in equal measure. What are some black comedies that you feel are worth watching? What style of comedy is your favorite and why? What opinions of mine do you find absolutely ridiculous? Let me know in the comments below. Until next time, this has been… Yours Truly, Amateur Analyst [i] https://www.filmsite.org/comedyfilms.html [ii] https://www.studiobinder.com/blog/what-is-black-comedy-definition/ [iii] https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GyFkhAArnP0
1 Comment
Derek McManus
8/15/2021 08:21:13 am
I do not always get to read all of your blogs, what this one was very educational about black comedies. Nice work!
Reply
Leave a Reply. |
Austin McManusI have no academic or professional background in film production or criticism; I simply love watching and talking about movies. Archives
May 2024
Categories
All
|