joaquin, i'm in your corner

...
Been on a comedy kick of late.

It all started last week with Joaquin Phoenix’s appearance on the Letterman show, which was either--take your pick--a masterful, Kaufmanesque performance art piece or a very public cry for help. You’ve probably all seen the clip, but I’ll post anyway for those who missed it:



No one seems entirely certain whether Phoenix was putting us on or not, though the fact that he granted a lucid, coherent interview to CinemaBlend.com in the a.m. of that same day points to the former. I’m convinced Late Show Phoenix knew exactly what he was doing, an opinion further bolstered by my discovery of the documentary-in-progress about Phoenix’s curious transition from film to rap music. (Director: Casey Affleck.)

Pieces begin to fall neatly into place. What better way for one to assure himself water cooler mention across vapid, tabloid-crazy America than a barbitural meltdown on national television? Those eleven awkward, sweating minutes oughta generate swell publicity for his forthcoming doc(mock?)umentary and rap album, don’t you think? Joaquin, I applaud you...and that ain't sarcasm. You done well.

Whether you believed it to be a calculated gag or a frightening reflection of his inner state, Phoenix’s interview recalled the antics of deceased funnyman/performance artist Andy Kaufman (pictured).

Kaufman was essentially an anti-comic; many of his stunts baffled and/or irritated audiences, not to mention challenged their very notions of the nature and definition of comedy. He was enigmatic, to say the least. Kaufman didn't even consider himself a comedian, though I’d argue a man that funny doesn’t have a say in the matter. He wasn't a joke teller, sure, but then are jokes a prerequisite? Let's split a few hairs here. If we're to put any stock into, say, Merriam-Webster's definition (comedian: noun 2: a comical individual; specifically: a professional entertainer who uses any of various physical or verbal means to be amusing), Kaufman misdiagnosed himself. The man was a comedian, actor, artist and entertainer of the highest order.

He once curled up in a sleeping bag onstage and took a nap before a puzzled (and, one would assume, pissed) audience, which calls to mind composer John Cage's 4'33" (1952), a four minute and thirty-three second exercise in silence. In both instances, the real "performance" comes from the audience as they respond (with murmurs, throat-clearing and the like) to this vexing absence of sound and movement.

Then there’s the time Kaufman folded back the cover of F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby and began reading aloud from page one. Understandably peeved, the crowd heckled and booed and yawned and probably muttered things like “Aw geez, c’mon!” before Kaufman finally--after a few bloated, interminable minutes--paused his reading and offered up an ultimatum. “It’s either this or I’ll play a record for you. What’ll it be?” (Not an exact quote.) They chose the record, of course, which ended up being a recording of Kaufman reading The Great Gatsby.

[ed. 2/19: I don't mean to suggest that Kaufman was reviled by all who witnessed his act. Quite the contrary. He no doubt had his dissenters (you either "get" the sleeping bag bit, or you don't), but I'd imagine the majority of his audience appreciated his aesthetic, even if it sometimes took them a few moments to understand his particular brand of humor. Comedy that progressive is bound to discourage a few traditionalists. A parallel example from the music world might be Miles Davis' Bitches Brew (1969), the first true jazz/rock "fusion" album, which was generally hated on by conservative listeners but embraced by those eager for a new, enlivened jazz.]

Here's one of my favorite Kaufman sketches:



Lastly, I’ll leave you with an uncomfortable Norm MacDonald clip in which he plays on audience expectations during a Comedy Central Roast of Bob Saget. Something tells me Kaufman would have approved: