On Writing Humor
Published
By Laura Hayden
“To appreciate nonsense requires a serious interest in life.”
Gelett Burgess (1866-1951)
Webster defines humor as “that which is comical or amusing.” It’s a flat definition for a concept that has many dimensions. But the challenge to humor isn’t defining it but recognizing and learning how to use it to your advantage.
The First Dimension: Character
Humor can be woven into your work on many different levels, from a secondary character’s endearing quirk, such as the hero’s best poker-playing friend always twitching his left shoulder when he bluffs. Humor becomes a powerful tool to help your reader identify with a protagonist. The trick is to make your reader laugh with the main character, not at them.
Compare the Three Stooges and Charlie Chaplin; both acts involved physical humor. Sure, we laughed at Larry, Moe, and Curly, but we laughed with the Little Tramp. But, more importantly, once Chaplin allowed us to laugh with his character, we were much more apt to cry along with him when the situation warranted it.
The Second Dimension: Pacing
In a romantic scene, humor can be used as an icebreaker. In a mystery, humor can become a disarming tool, a red herring to mask lesser intents. In a scary scene, humor can offer the reader a breather and let them regroup before more terror appears around the corner.
Pacing becomes an intricate and important part of humor. However, you must tailor your humor to the situation. A serious mystery scene shouldn’t be interrupted by the proverbial slip on a banana peel. In Lethal Weapon 2 or 4 or 26 or whatever, Martin Riggs faces down a vicious guard dog by “becoming” a dog, complete with a Milkbone clenched between his teeth.
It’s a comedic scene in the midst of a serious investigation that works because we accept that Riggs is goofy enough to expect success. Although his explosive character evolved from the first movie, he still retains enough of that on-the-edge, maybe-suicidal capacity in the sequels to attempt the impossible. And because he’s supposed to be the hero of the piece, he succeeds.
In Steel Magnolias, everyone’s at Shelby’s funeral. Her mother breaks down in her grief and admits she just wants to hit something. Olympia Dukakis grabs Shirley McClain, pushes her closer, and says “Hit this! Go ahead!” Here, the humor works because it doesn’t make fun of a mother’s grief over the loss of her daughter, but still breaks the tension by acknowledging it in an unexpected way.
The Third Dimension: Plot
Plot humor can be anything from that proverbial banana peel on the sidewalk to an elaborate house of cards which is painstakingly built then knocked down all at once. With the banana peel, it’s the unexpected element which grabs you. In Romancing the Stone, Kathleen Turner plunges down the mudslide. We flinch when she lands. We expect a verbal gag, a snappy retort from Michael Douglas’ quick-witted character. However, he falls right behind her, ending up face-first between her legs. The physical gag is quick, and it surprises the characters as much as it does the viewers. What endears us to them is that they start laughing at themselves, recognizing the absurdity of their predicament. As viewers, we see ourselves on common ground…er…mud with these fictional characters.
With the house of cards, it’s anticipation that holds you spellbound until it explodes in your face. Even though we know what’s coming, it’s still funny. When Lucy Ricardo works at the chocolate factory, we know someone’s going to speed up that conveyor belt. Still, we watch and laugh. Situational comedies are built with cards, one layer depending on another for support.
Sometimes the house/plot becomes so elaborate, we forget it’s not made of brick, but with straw. That happens when the humor is a part of a Long Con. In the Newman/Redford movie, The Sting, we forget that we’re dealing with consummate con men. We’re suckered in by an elaborate scheme and feel devastated when we think we’re watching the plan fall apart. It becomes funny again when we discover we’ve been taken in by an even bigger confidence game.
In Now You See Me, the audience, witnesses constant trickery by the Four Horsemen, and the deceptions are mesmerizing and amusing. But it’s the Big Reveal at the end where the audience learns the secret identity of the real mastermind behind the entire plot. It’s funny—retribution at its finest. But you had to wait for the payoff to get the good laugh at the expense of the real criminal.
Humor is often what makes the Long Con satisfying.
The Fourth Dimension: The Mechanics
The biggest problem with humor is knowing when to stop. In a book, a gag shouldn’t be scene-length unless it sets up a series of events that advance the plot. Some publishers’ guidelines state “no slapstick” because pure slapstick is created for visual media and has little purpose other than to make you laugh. It doesn’t propel the plot forward, define a character, or demonstrate that character’s growth. It doesn’t even really engender sympathy for the butt of the joke.
However, there are writers who can create moments of great physical humor with words alone. Janet Evanovich started her career writing romantic comedies, each of which included at least one scene where a chain of events resulted in a highly comedic moment that bordered on slapstick. She continued that style in the Stephanie Plum books. Her greatest strength as a writer is weaving the setup in the previous chapters which culminates in a mid-book moment of absolute madcap. As an interesting note, she never uses the slapstick situation as a final scene. Rather, she uses them to create consequences with which the characters must deal.
Humor can’t comprise the entire plot. Think of the game, Mousetrap. Your goal is to construct an elaborate conglomeration of junk that will trap the mouse. It’s assembled slowly; some of its functions aren’t readily discernible. However, at some point, it works. BOOM.
A humorous sub-plot can be the springboard to your story. Maybe trapping the mouse is only the beginning of the story; you must figure out how to keep the mouse, decide what to name the mouse, protect the mouse from the cat next door…. You get the drift.
The Fifth Dimension:
You remember them…the singing group from the 60’s and 70’s. Great harmonies?
Cheap shot, I know. I worked hard for a “Fourth Dimension” just so I could go for the gag. I also worked hard to find the esoteric quote to the beginning of the article. Although it’s a nice bit of wisdom, I don’t know who the heck Gelett Burgess is.
However, I do know who Chuck Jones is.
I stand in absolute awe of the fifty-plus years he spent as an Academy Award-winning animation director with Warner Brothers. His Bugs Bunny cartoons are legendary: “Rabbit of Seville,” “What’s Opera, Doc?” and many more. In his autobiography, Chuck Amuck, he stated, “We must all start with the believable. That is the essence of our craft. All drama, all comedy, all artistry stems from the believable which gives us as solid a rock as anyone could ask from which to seek humor: variations on the believable–that is the essence of all humor.”
And if you think I’m going to try to add anything else to the words of wisdom from a master of comedy, you’re absolutely crazy.
BOOM!
Laura Hayden is one of the founders of the Pikes Peak Writers and served as its first president. She’s been associated with PPWC since its inaugural year, 1993. In addition, she’s held the position of PPWC director/co-director for an unprecedented eleven years. We think. We’ve lost count.
She’s published fourteen fiction novels in a wide variety of genres, one nonfiction, and many short stories. She owns Author, Author! a bookstore serving authors.
Website:http://suspense.net
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