It's the pain we find funny
My sticky notes from Berserker! by Adrian Edmondson:
On slapstick:
Slapstick has always had a poor reputation, even in the days of commedia dell'arte. People call it 'puerile.' Puerile comes from the Latin word for boy -- puer. Which, rather curiously, is an anagtam of the word pure. People only ever use puerile in a derogatory way to suggest slapstick is the kind of humour that would make a young boy laugh, which they think is unworthy. [...] The reviews for Bottom when its first broadcast in the early nineties are mostly scathing, and often use the word 'puerile' as an insult. Perhaps reviewers fear that enjoying slapstick might make them appear lacking in intellect. [...[ I'm not trying to claim our work is highbrow, but you can't dismiss the urge to laugh at slapstick as simply puerile or lowbrow. Especially when we put so much bloody adult effort into it.
On violence:
And our slapstick has a vicious streak to it that is perhaps new. It's often mean-spirited, never accidental, and it's meant to look painful. It's the pain we find funny. The more it hurts, the funnier it is. It isn't cosy. It's not Benny Hill slapping the bald bloke's head. It's not the classic wallpaper routine at the panto. It comes from a new strain that we've noticed in Monty Python's Fish Slapping Dance; and in John Cleese's abusive treatment of Manuel in Fawlty Towers.
On being funny but not being a comedian:
Every single member of The Beatles was a funny guy, but they never wanted to take up comedy as a career.
On the comedy environment of 1978:
The stereotypical live comedian when we leave university in 1978 is a fat, white man in a DJ who tells jokes about his mother-in-law, Irish people, and people with a darker skin tone than his. He finds Pakistanis particularly hilarious, and homosexuals are a scream. It's not really comedy at all, it's more sharing insecurities about things with people who are similarly affrighted.
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On comedy today:
I don't think there's enough stupidity in comedy these days. Comedy's broadly changed in Britain from people being stupid and making fun of themselves, to people being clever and making cruel observations about other people. I prefer the former.
On comedy writing:
Real comedy has something to do with hysteria. The writing's just a code for something to be doing while you pump up the hysteria.
The line between success and failure can be exhilarating. Its where thinking disappears and funny can take over.
On novelty vs history:
I see our double act as part of a line going back through Pete & Dud, Morcombe & Wise, and Tom & Jerry, all the way to Laurel & Hardy.
On sitcom writing:
Essentially [Ben Elton] teaches us one of the fundamental truths of sitcom: you don't have to start from square one every time. You don't have to start with the big explosion. Its the characters that are funny. Take great care over creating your characters, and if they have conflicting desires, and the audience knows the characters well enough to anticipate those desires, hilarity should prevail. A lot of it is giving the audience what they're expecting and making them feel clever about it at the same time.
On comedy stunts:
"I run across here," I say, "and I dive through this window." [...] It's made of sugar glass, which breaks very easily but can scratch you quite badly. It's more opaque than actual glass. I peer through it. Our set reaches the edges of the Victorian concert platform and my landing spot is down the narrow stairs that lead up to the stage. It's a drop of about six feet. There are a couple of mattresses there to break my fall and the grinning figure of our tour manager, Ian Day, who's there to catch me if I "overshoot" -- he's a rugby player, which is why he's chosen for the job. During a live show I do this with consummate ease and a fair degree of relish. It always gets a good cheer. Looking at it in the cold light of the walk-through, I can see why -- it's absolute bloody madness. They're laughing because you'd have to be clinically insane to do this.