That's Not Funny!

Henry Fonda and Emmet Kelly

Hello. Welcome to the Weekend Gene Pool. I want to talk a bit about the impact of the election on humor. It hasn’t been pretty.

Originally, we were going to publish right here, today, the names of the four winners of the contest to get a free one-year paid subscription in return for the funniest answers to the challenge: “What is your greatest hope for the future of America?” We got a good response — nearly a hundred entries — but only two or three were usable because almost none of the entries were … funny. People simply ignored that dictum and wrote earnest, overheated pleas, such as “I hope we can find some peace and solace over the next four years by appreciating flowers and the laughter of babies and that somehow, in the middle of this Stygian disaster, our dear, dear republic for which so many died to protect and defend, survives the depredations of a wicked, swinish….”

(We’ll be running a new, anxiety-proof contest later in this column, to fill out the final four free subscriptions. )

The humorlessness, alas, is part of a much broader trend. This year, at Thanksgiving, virtually every witty Substack host but me wrote a column about What We Should Be Thankful For. In these parlous times, they were intended to be uplifting and entertaining. They were as uplifting and entertaining as a ruptured appendix. They featured apocalyptic-style advice to, like, hug your children, or take joy in small victories and incremental, inch-by-inch achievements against the overpowering influence of the ignorant tyrant and and his jackbooted minions. If you read a few, you will stick your head in the toilet and flush.

Mostly, though, I want to talk about late-night TV and the usually funny people who run it. By my observation, day after day, their shows have taken a big hit in humor; they haven’t yet quite figured out how to deal with the politics of the day, or at least how to make despondent audiences laugh. The comics seem tentative. The audiences seem stupefied. Its a slow dance in blandness, suspicion, and hesitancy on both sides.

On SNL, four days after the election, the host was comedian Bill Burr. This guy is funny when he burps. Burr is a joyful misogynist who is so charming and self-deprecating that even many women love his shtick. On this day, he flopped like a fish dying in the Sahara.

He told women that they would never win the presidency if they don’t figure out that “they gotta whore it up a little. No more pantsuits. Tease ’em a little. Make a farmer feel like he's got a shot.” There were laughs but they were sparse and pained. Too soon! Or something!

Burr didn’t start getting big laughs until he abandoned politics and switched to celebs. He found it ridiculous that Shaq was selling Buicks: He says they’re roomy. He’s sittin’ in the car, head tilted back, forehead crammed against the roof, one leg out each front window …. THAT got the roars. It was safe.

It’s something of a crisis. As I wrote after 9/11 and humor sites had closed down for a week: When people are filled with grief, they need to cry. When people are filled with fear, they need to laugh.

I think what has happened is an unfortunate synergy between audience anxiety and performer uncertainty about how to proceed.

Mostly the damage has been done to the nightly late shows, the ones that must interact instantly, on hurried scripts. By and large, they have been going at the big story obliquely, almost psychiatrically — understanding, I think, that the audience is beset by an existential doubt, even guilt: Is it MY fault? Did we screw up here?

That’s only my theory, but I think I’m right.

Seth Meyers mentioned that the new director of the NIH will be a doctor who opposed school closings for Covid. Then, wanly: “Congratulations, bird flu.” Lately, Meyers has been getting laughs mostly when he makes a joke about how his previous joke fell flat.

This timidity has leached through to non-political stuff.

From Stephen Colbert, trying clumsily, extremely unsuccessfully, to change the subject:

“Everyone's still in a state of shock. We are concerned for the future of our institutions and whether the country we all love is ever gonna be the same and sadly, these dramatic changes have already begun, because TGI FRIDAYS HAS FILED FOR CHAPTER 11 BANKRUPTCY. What are we going to thank God for now? Wednesday? No, we are too busy humping.”

At best it was lame. At worst, it made no sense at all.

(Colbert’s new flatness is not helped by the inexplicable designation of his bandleader, Louis Cato, as his official miked sidekick. Cato is a gifted, versatile musician — Colbert has said of him “Give him an afternoon, he'll learn how to play Mozart on a shoehorn" ^— but apparently is incapable of spontaneous banter. Mostly we just hear his laughter offstage after a Colbert joke.)

After Colbert did his tepid shtick on TGI Fridays, he said this and then turned to Cato:

Colbert: “Delicious. You ever been to one?”

Cut to Cato.

Cato: “Yeah.”

Camera lingered on him for a second. There was apparently nothing more. Camera fled desperately back to Colbert.

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You need to watch the clips of the shows yourselves to see what I mean; the blandness of the humor pervades. Perhaps the best template for how to proceed is Jimmy Kimmel, who has made the choice to triple down. His stuff remains witheringly denunciatory of Trump and his minions, and backed up with hilarious clips of hypocrisies, blatant lies, inexplicable inconsistencies, and such. He’s Trump’s most hated late-night host, for a reason. He’s still funny.

I am sorry this post has not been funny. But … you know.

I’ll try to make up for it below.

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Yesterday, I was walking in downtown D.C. when I saw a woman heading toward me, walking a dog, a hound-type. As they passed me I smiled and said, “Good-looking dog,” and walked on. She didn’t. She stopped in her tracks, as though she’d been shot, and turned around. I saw this out of the corner of my eye, and turned around too, to face her. She seemed … upset.

“WHAT did you just say?”

“I said ‘good-looking dog.’”

She considered this for a moment, then burst out laughing.

“What did you THINK I said?”

“Good-looking, doll!”

Now we both were laughing.

Now, you guys know me. I am a gentleman, and I decided to, you know, further defuse the situation. So I said, “YOU’RE not THAT good-looking.”

A moment’s pause, and then she laughed harder, as did I.

Finally she delivered the perfect last line.

“You’re Gene Weingarten, aren’t you?”

Made my day, and, I think, hers.

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Okay, since this is the Weekend Gene Pool, we deliver the weekend challenge for you to humiliate yourself for our use next week.

I recently realized that I have a disgusting little habit that, thankfully, occurs only when I am alone. I do it so mechanically I was barely aware I was doing it. I follow music in my head by swishing saliva in my mouth to the cadence of the song. I believe no one has ever seen or heard this except me, but it is still revolting and embarrasses me; what kind of person does this?

Do you have any habits that are similarly eccentric or disturbing or downright disgusting, whether you practice them alone or in the company of others? Of course you do. Send them to the button below. This will be anonymous unless you specifically request that it not be.

Next, the Gene Pool Gene Poll.

And finally, the new anxiety-proof mini-contest to fill out the final four free- subscription winners.

Tell us a joke that you love that is not generally known. The odder the better. We will choose and publish the best of these. Send them here:

And include your name and email in the body of the post. I won’t publish them but I need to know how to reach you. If, instead, you prefer to try again with a hope for America, fine. Make it FUNNY.

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Finally, as always, send all other questions and observations here. It is the same button, going to the same place, but I am fooling you by labeling it otherwise.

See you on Tuesday.