The Joke's On You -- Who Should be the Butt of Your Jokes?
This article was prompted by something I heard (second hand)
about the performance of a local magician at a child's birthday
party. Now, granted, this wasn't done by a clown, but I've seen
clowns doing similar things. As one of his tricks, he has a
child (a young girl approximately 9 years old) holding two
handkerchiefs knotted together. He pulls her hands apart, and
instead of a third handkerchief appearing (or a flag, or
whatever else) he has a pair of ladies' panties appear. The
magician received the reaction he wanted: the audience laughed
loud and long at the discomfiture of the young girl. She,
however, was on the verge of tears, having been publicly
humiliated, for having done nothing more than helping on stage
when asked.
As I say, this prompted some thought on my part. The first
thought I honestly had was about the insensitivity of this
particular magician. My next thought was empathy and sympathy
for the little girl. And my third thought was about how
differently a clown would (or should) have handled that entire
routine.
People think that a clown is someone who dresses foolishly, and
does foolish things. This is correct, as far as it goes. It's
also been said that a clown is a living cartoon, a Looney Tunes
come to life, who sees and thinks differently than the 'normal'
people. This, too, is true as far as it goes. But there's
something deeper about being a clown.
As Floyd Schaffer puts it in his wonderful book, "If I Were a
Clown", a clown is someone who lowers himself, in order to lift
someone else up. This is not limited to any sort of theological
context. David Ginn, one of my favorite authors, and a wonderful
kid's magician, uses the same premise over and over in his book
"Clown Magic" with his 'clown-in-trouble' routine. In short,
when a trick doesn't work, it's never the fault of the child --
it's the clown who looks foolish. The child is the one who makes
the rabbit appear, makes the ropes repair themselves, etc. We
performers are the foolish ones, who should have pie in our
faces, who are the ones humiliated, who are 'brought low.' It is
our audience, children or adult, who should be empowered,
triumphant, lifted up.
For example, when I perform at birthday parties, I'll typically
do a very old routine, making spring flowers appear inside a
chick pan. As part of that, I'll have several assistants from
the audience at various stage, including one where I use a
breakaway wand. For the uninitiated, that's a wand that, unless
it's held the proper way, seemingly breaks in your hand. Since
we performers are the ones who should bear the blame for this, I
take the blame myself, handing a normal wand to the child, and
holding the breaking wand myself. Who broke the prop? Me! Who
looks foolish? Me, not the volunteer. He's there to enjoy the
birthday party, not to be a scapegoat.
In short, if only that magician had pulled the 'underwear out of
thin air' when he was holding the scarfs, what would have been
different? The child volunteer would have laughed as well
(assuming that he'd previously had the trick work in her hands),
the audience would have laughed as well, and the magician would
have been remembered a little bit fonder than he was.
As Benjamin Franklin said, we have to learn from the mistakes of
others; we won't live long enough to make them all ourselves.
So, let's learn to make ourselves the butt of the joke, not our
audience. After all, we're being paid to be foolish; the
audience's job is to enjoy it. Remember, the joke's on you -- as
it should be.