Taking Back the Laugh: Comedic Alibis, Funny Fails
2016; University of Chicago Press; Volume: 43; Issue: 2 Linguagem: Inglês
10.1086/689658
ISSN1539-7858
Autores Tópico(s)Shakespeare, Adaptation, and Literary Criticism
ResumoPrevious articleNext article FreeTaking Back the Laugh: Comedic Alibis, Funny FailsWilliam ChengWilliam Cheng Search for more articles by this author PDFPDF PLUSFull Text Add to favoritesDownload CitationTrack CitationsPermissionsReprints Share onFacebookTwitterLinked InRedditEmailQR Code SectionsMoreEighteen days after 11 September 2001, a new season of Saturday Night Live premiered on schedule, making big headlines given how most other television programs were getting replaced by round-the-clock news coverage. The NFL and MLB called off games, the Emmys were doubly postponed, Rockstar delayed the release of Grand Theft Auto III (set in a fictionalized New York City), and Disney’s parks closed their doors.1 Entertainment across the United States—sitcoms, sports, rollercoasters—screeched to a halt, ground to zero. For SNL producer Lorne Michaels to reboot his laugh factory was saying something.2Specifically, Michaels wanted the host Reese Witherspoon to say “fucking.”3 He told her to work the word into the opening monologue’s punchline, declaring he would happily pay whatever Federal Communications Commission (FCC) fines came their way. Although Witherspoon chickened out at the last minute (replacing the teleprompter’s fucking with the word balls for her joke, leaving the audience none the wiser), Michaels’s original plea conveyed how the arbitrary taboo of an F-bomb could feel ridiculously immaterial compared to the fire and brimstone a few miles away. With the world crashing down, a little uncensored fucking—scandalizing everyone but, really, no one—would have rhetorically embodied what all of the talking heads were claiming anyway: the country had been forever changed, no going back, no take-backs. After abundant media jabber about the death of irony, Michaels wished to send the message that, for at least one night, all bets were off and all laughs fair game.4Fast-forward to 18 June 2015, the night Jon Stewart ran out of jokes on The Daily Show.5 As Stewart told a stunned audience, he couldn’t bring himself to write funny material in the wake of the previous afternoon’s massacre of nine black worshippers at a church in Charleston, South Carolina. Stewart’s silent treatment made loud news. The moratorium on comedy flashed across the internet as sagacious testament to the stupefying effects of tragedy.At the time, the respective acts of foreign and domestic terrorism sent shocks through the citizenry’s collective funny bone, exploding entertainment’s permissions and proclivities. SNL dared to make ‘em laugh; The Daily Show dared to desist. Lorne Michaels wanted to take back laughter (to retrieve it and return it to the nation’s viewers); Jon Stewart sought to take out laughter (solemnly hushing the audience and flipping the studio soundscape on its head). Opposite tacks, yet both got away with it, snatching praise and publicity for good measure … funnily enough.Laughing out of CourtRemember the last time someone told you to lighten up? It’s a gut punch, a low blow. Accusations of “why so serious?” feel like serious attacks, striking at a core failure of character in societies ruled by laugh tracks, witty tweets, and punny headlines.6 Even (or especially) in times of strife, humor should presumably serve as fantastic armor against no-good realities. But this armor is not so much iron as it is ironic; for within neoliberal logics, people who endure systemic oppression (blacks, queers, crips)—who might have the least reason to lighten up arbitrarily—tend to be the ones who are most exhorted to gain a sense of humor, to take a joke, and to laugh things off. A quotidian illustration involves men who goad women to smile, as if an unhumored female countenance (Resting Bitch Face) were an affront to physiognomic aesthetics and social mores.7Yet when disenfranchised people do appear overpeppy or do laugh out loud, they can get slammed anyway. On 22 August 2015, eleven women (ten black, one white), part of a book club called Sistahs on the Reading Edge, were kicked off the Napa Valley Wine Train because they allegedly made too much noise while celebrating a member’s birthday. For the record, when the laughers asked the maître d’ whether passengers had voiced complaints, he replied: “Well, people’s faces are uncomfortable.”8 In other (or no) words, the maître d’ addressed the noise violation by reading into the passengers’ silent expressions. The incident birthed the hashtag #LaughingwhileBlack, a spin on #DrivingwhileBlack. For a persecuted population to laugh, this meme suggests, risks circumstantial vulnerability and sanctions. Because minoritized individuals bear higher evidentiary loads for propriety, mirthful outbursts can sound amplified to suspicious or envious ears. Laughter may be damning not only for the chronically marginalized but also for anyone in temporary hot water—a child being lectured by parents, a student in detention, or a defendant on trial.Consider the 1988 appellate proceedings of State v. Parker, in which the court found the defendant unremorseful based on his laughter during the prosecutor’s statements. Although laughter can bubble up from all kinds of feelings and conditions—nervousness, despair, incomprehension—this court’s litigious hearing of the defendant’s laughter pegged the act as evidence of impenitence or even evil.9 Alternatively, take the case of Sgt. Robert Bales, currently serving a life sentence for murdering sixteen Afghan civilians in 2012. During the trial, prosecutors played a phone recording of Bales and his wife laughing as they discussed the case—again, a putative blow to claims of remorse.10 In these instances, courts assumed that laughter spills secrets, always saying something. To extrapolate from Miranda warnings, anything you say—and any laugh let loose—may indeed be used against you in court. Most recently, the public doubled down on its vilification of former pharmaceutical CEO Martin Shkreli, who, when testifying before Congress in February 2016 (on charges of price-gouging drugs), repeatedly pleaded the Fifth Amendment while smirking and looking “as if he were about to burst out laughing.”11 Here, just the look of suppressed laughter—no less so than any sound of laughter—sufficed to cement Shkreli’s reputation as “the most hated man in America,” racking up accusations of immaturity and douchery to boot (fig. 1).12Figure 1. Martin Shkreli testifying before Congress.View Large ImageDownload PowerPointOr rewind to the biblical story about the birth of Isaac. God tells Abram and Sarai, who are one hundred and ninety years young respectively, that they will bear a child. Incredulous, Abram falls facedown and laughs, enacting the first ROFL in Hebrew scripture. Later, when God repeats this prophecy, Sarai laughs to herself. God asks her (rhetorically, since He obviously knows the answer), “Is anything impossible for the LORD?”“I did not laugh,” says the fearful Sarai.“Yes, you did laugh,” God replies.[Genesis 18:14–15]It’s a classic case of He said, she said, except there’s little room for negotiation here; the He in this case is the final Word, the divine rule of law. Although Sarai tries to retract her laugh, God operates under the schoolyard principle of no take-backs. “Once laughed, a laugh persists,” points out Anca Parvulescu in her reading of this Bible passage. “God would not hear of it.”13 (Or, rather, God would not not hear of it.) Notably, both Abram and Sarai laughed, but God gave the latter a harder time. Gender politics aside, this discrepancy may owe to how Sarai laughed quietly (whereas Abram LOL-ed), as if attempting to get away with it. And if there’s one thing God can’t stand, as the Old Testament certifies, it’s people who underestimate his omniscience.Such stories about laughter’s liabilities run counter to more common portrayals of laughter and humor as subversive, free, and empowering.14 Comedians and laughers, after all, often demand get-out-of-jail-free cards by professing something to be just a joke.15 The just in just a joke serves double duty, meaning not only only, but also fair, as in “all’s fair in love” and comedy. A homophobic punchline or an act of sexual harassment might dodge censure if the case can be made that it was performed in good fun.16 This is comedy’s signature alibi. Alibi hails from Latin’s alius and ibi, roughly meaning “someplace else.” With a license to kill, comedians are expected to boast, “Oh yes, I went there!”—there, meaning “someplace else,” out of bounds and beyond the pale. Comedy’s anything-goes exemptions conjure the Bakhtinian carnivalesque, a state of upheaval where “serious matters are suspended, things do not count, absolution is offered ex ante.”17 Comedic alibis can be so powerful that they drag errors and faux pas into the realm of respectability, enabling even the most egregious ethical or aesthetic failing to pass for … well, passing.18 Given how critical alchemy can turn just about any catastrophe into comic gold, the arena of risibility in today’s media appears virtually boundless.For how many of us can claim immunity to comedy’s exculpatory rationales? Even Christie Davies, who has spent decades researching jokes and humor (in effect, studying why jokes matter), peppers his work with disclaimers concerning how jokes might not matter, noting that they do not “have any significant social consequences or express profound moral or existential truths.”19 Against the familiar notion of rapier wits, Davies insists that most jokes neither embody nor engender antipathy.20 A set-piece joke, he says, “cannot be used as a sword; it is merely decoration on the scabbard. Jokes are entertainment only, a mere laughing matter.”21 This said, excuses about levity don’t always succeed. Telling someone to “lighten up!” or “take a joke!” can fetch the killjoy retort that “you can’t joke your way out of this!” (an appeal against effectivity) or “you hurt my feelings!” (an appeal to affectivity). So while comedic alibis have potential to excuse failings of aesthetics and ethics, they might fail unto themselves—not least in the face of a hostile jury.A familiar saying is that “against the assault of laughter, nothing can stand,” a Mark Twain gem uttered today in inspirational contexts (despite the lesser-known fact that it’s spoken by Satan in Twain’s novel).22 Beyond its advocacy of using mirth against malevolence, however, this quotation can be read another way: that when our bodies are assaulted by our own impulsive laughter, we show our cards and lose our moral credibility, leaving no leg—nothing—to stand on. If you snicker at a comedian’s racist joke, it becomes that much harder for you to scramble onto high ground because, listen, you laughed; the evidence is in the vibrations, right here (not someplace else, no alibi). Yes, you may argue after the joke that you were laughing cynically and knowingly at the structural racial injustices that fuel such cruel comedy, but by this point you’re necessarily on the defensive, carrying the burden of proof. In any case, having to say something was just a joke already implies that court is now in session, that some possible offense lies in need of retraction or explication. Complicating every aspect of the comedic alibi, furthermore, is the fact that people don’t always know (how to describe) why they laugh.23 And just as people hate explaining jokes, most loathe having to rationalize their laughter out loud.In this article, I perform an acoustemology of comedy’s alibis in contemporary media. I listen for means by which laughter—its emission, contagion, suppression—can serve as audible barometers of how alibis either fly or bomb. A paradox emerges from the ways spontaneous-sounding laughter can simultaneously free us from societal scripts while shackling us within our own telltale, tittering bodies. A laugher’s accountability poses a moving target precisely because so much of comedy’s generic success relies on procedures of failure, impropriety, and breakage. Through three progressive cases, I delve into modern technologies of taking back laughter via the breaking and hacking of cultural texts. Each case features a do-it-yourself (DIY) phenomenon that exposes the stakes and choreographies of comedy’s consumer sovereignties: first, television fans who, through techniques of editing and recomposition, remove laugh tracks from comedies (The Big Bang Theory, Friends) or, inversely, add laugh tracks to dramas (Breaking Bad, The Wire), using the silence or surplus sound to break the show’s original mood; second, a YouTube game show that tries to make contestants break into smiles or laughter by presenting them with outrageous videos; and, third, Apollo Theater audience members who, through brash laughter and boos, use their collective judge-it-yourself authority to make or break the dreams of hopeful performers on amateur nights. All three of these examples hinge on the breakage of norms and the breaking in of new normals, embodying or eliciting laughter that may variously sound ambivalent, uncomfortable, or out of line. Lending a musicological ear to laughter’s stubborn materialities and technical hackability opens resonant perspectives into some of comedy’s funniest alibis. I conclude with a tribute to laughter’s Debbie Downer cousin: the groan.Hacking Laughs: Big Bang BombingBombing is the sonorous metaphor for the devastating silence that greets a floundering comedian. A maw of muteness engulfs the performer, turning an atmosphere of optimistic joybringing into cringe-worthy desperation. Just as bombs blast away landscapes, so bombing demolishes the ideal soundscapes of comedic call-and-response.One domain of comedy where bombing remains virtually impossible is a television show with either a laugh track or a cued-to-laugh studio audience. So long as there’s no audio malfunction or audience reticence, every gag and punchline should fetch reliable, lively chuckles. But although producers have historically used laugh tracks to bestow this sense of liveliness and liveness, the tracks can strike a deadening tone. Slavoj Žižek says he experiences both catharsis and unease when he watches a show with canned laughter. “Even if I do not laugh,” he declares, “but simply stare at the screen, tired after a hard day’s work, I nevertheless feel relieved after the show …: my most intimate feelings can be radically externalized; I can literally ‘laugh and cry through another.’”24 Canned laughter—or, as Ron Rosenbaum calls it, “Mirth Muzak”—is as flat as funny gets.25 Ontologically, a recorded or synthesized laugh track is all surface, a veneer of jocund artifice; amplitudinally, decibels for canned chortles versus canned guffaws vary minimally, since television audio requires volume equalization according to the FCC, the European Broadcasting System, and comparable national broadcast-safe standards. Even at live tapings for sitcoms and stand-up comedy specials, audiences face flat-out restrictions in terms of how they’re supposed to sound. Audience members may be instructed to laugh and cheer as they normally would rather than in attention-grabbing ways. At a shooting for The Big Bang Theory, a producer told the audience, “Your mission is simple tonight—all you need to do is to sit back, relax; please do not identify your laughs.”26 This audience’s task was to mesh like a musical ensemble, to produce an orchestrated simulacrum of a laugh track (recorded, remixed, refined) for the benefit of home viewers, whose patronage remains, of course, what really matters in terms of ratings and revenue.With either obedient studio audiences or synthesized sound files, a sitcom can opt for laughter as a formatted failsafe. No need for alibis, no risk of comic failure. But similar to Žižek, Jean Baudrillard has expressed bemusement at how “laughter on American television” resembles “the chorus in Greek tragedy,” such that “it is the screen that is laughing and having a good time.”27 For some critics, a laugh track already embodies affective alienation and failure. It epitomizes the potential falsities of laughter more generally, masking the fault lines of the homogenizing pleasure industry and its ransom promises of happiness. Technically, sounds of other people laughing in no way preclude ourselves from doing likewise. Yet this laughter, if heard as distracting or paternalistic or counterfeit, can seemingly yank the laughs out of our own mouths. Like a flat soda, a flat laugh track might leave a weird feeling on our tongues—all sugar and no pop, empty calories for the ingratiated body.Although Žižek’s and Baudrillard’s hifalutin criticisms sound like familiar brands of Adornian spoilsport commentary, canned laughter has, since its inception, polarized popular audiences as well.28 One of the most picked-on sitcoms today is none other than The Big Bang Theory, which contains frequent and over-the-top laughs. Pushing against the show’s egregious laughter, fans (or hate-watchers) have lately experimented with taking out this laughter through basic sound editing and scene splicing. These tinkerers scrub out the laughter while leaving the visuals and narrative progression intact. The result of this DIY détournement is that characters’ japes crash into silences. A YouTube user named Sboss has released a series of such videos with the explanation: “Due to my hatred for the television show ‘The Big Bang Theory,’ I expose how unfunny the show actually is when you take out the laugh track.”29 According to Sboss (essentially a Big Bang truther), canned laughter is the shoddy alibi for the show’s comedic failings, both breeding and excusing unfunniness with a sonic smokescreen. Below is the transcript of a clip made by Sboss, a scene involving a drunk Raj on a horrendous first date with Lalita, an acquaintance from childhood.30RAJ.[Smiles.] I can’t believe I’m sitting here next to little Lalita Gupta. [1 second of light laughter replaced by 1 second of silence, and so on.]LALITA.[Smiles.] Well, you are.R.[Smiles.] Little Lalita. That’s kind of fun to say. Little Lalita, little Lalita, little Lalita. [1 second of light laughter removed.] You should try it.L.[Smiles.] No, it’s okay. [2.5 seconds of medium laughter removed.]R.You have lost sooo much weight! [2 seconds of loud laughter removed.] It must have been difficult for you because you were so, so fat! [2.5 seconds of medium laughter removed.] Do you remember?L.[Smiles.] Yes, I do.R.[Smirks.] Of course you do. Who could forget being that fat? [1.5 seconds of medium laughter removed.]L.[Smiles.] Well, I’ve been trying. [Half second of light laughter.]R.So you’re a dental student. Are you aware that dentists have an extremely high suicide rate? [Half second of light laughter removed.] Not as high as, say, air traffic controllers, but then, there are far more dentists than air traffic controllers, so in pure numbers, you’re still winning! [Half second of light laughter removed.]L.[Smiles.] Yay, me. [1 second of medium laughter removed.]Especially for viewers who have seen the original episode, this minute-long segment’s omission of a laugh track can be earsplitting and mindbending. In total, thirteen seconds of laughter-turned-silence (almost a quarter of the clip’s runtime) blow a lot of dead air, a conversational vacuum made all the more awkward by Raj’s clueless giggles and Lalita’s politely rueful smiles. Without the noise of loyal laughers, Raj’s quips about obesity and suicide sound downright cruel. Barbs wither on the vine, and any imagined alibi of just joking! fails because no one is laughing. The gaping silences, however, cause the scene to fail so spectacularly that it stands to become funny on another level. No longer an aesthetically sensible text, the scene can tease laughter anew from the YouTube viewers who may find the metatextual manipulation absurd and subversive. Rather than laughing with the drunk Raj, we laugh at the laugh-deprived show. A taken-out laugh track enables viewers to take back their laughs, to reassert sovereignty over the choice of laughing and, moreover, to find humor in the bleak laughlessness.On The Big Bang Theory and other laugh-heavy shows, part of what makes laughter sound fake is the rigidity with which it punctuates onscreen events: a character will say or do something funny, and laughter ensues (then stops); another character replies, and more laughter follows; and on it goes. Producers cannot afford to let laughter drown out the dialogue or excessively stall a scene’s pacing. Yet in real-life scenarios, people do not pause for laughter every five seconds, nor do laughers perfectly synchronize their outbursts. (Granted, if a friend tells a truly hilarious joke, it might cause everyone to crack up for a prolonged period of time, requiring people to catch their breaths; the point is, however, that these moments of dramatic hysterics are rare.) Tightly edited (or, with studio audiences, thoroughly instructed and choreographed), the laughter that erupts from sitcom one-liners boasts a sonic cleanliness in homogenized start-stop motions. At the same time, it is exactly these neat starts and stops that easily enable a sound-hacker to snip out the laughs without interfering with dialogue.Even easier than removing a laugh track from a show is adding a laugh track using sound superimposition. One user did just this for the drama Breaking Bad. Besides interjecting laughter, the DIY video “Breaking Bad as a Sitcom” includes an upbeat musical intro, whooping cheers, a sentimental aww, genteel applause, and a cheery outro.31 The original scene is supposed to be unfunny, with Skyler White calling the cops on her estranged drug-dealing husband. Solely through sonic reframing, the affect short-circuits. Just a dash of well-timed laughter makes the scene funny. People have similarly added laugh tracks to shows and films such as The Wire and Schindler’s List (dir. Steven Spielberg, 1993), as well as to touchy scenes in sitcoms: Laura Winslow finding a racist slur spray-painted on her school locker in Family Matters; Will Smith getting reabandoned by his father on The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air; and little Stephanie Tanner mourning her deceased mother on Full House (fig. 2).32Figure 2. Serious moments overlaid with (and undercut by) laugh tracks on (left) Family Matters (season 2, episode 20) and (right) The Wire (season 4, episode 3).View Large ImageDownload PowerPointPopular descriptions of laughter as a contagious force break down in instances where others’ laughter (canned tracks) make us less inclined to laugh or where we laugh largely in response to nonlaughter (redacted tracks).33 Such affective flip-flop bears out in an episode of the dramedy Ally McBeal, when Ally goes on a first date with a man named Dennis, who, it turns out, has a low threshold for what he finds funny and, what’s worse, sports a massive braying laugh. In fact, during the date, he laughs and snorts so loudly that he draws the attention of nearby diners, who stop their conversations to stare. Ally, meanwhile, doesn’t laugh; she is embarrassed. The next day, Ally tells her friend Elaine, “I spent the rest of the date either talking about AIDS or the Holocaust or Linda Tripp, the most unfunny, horrible things I could think of: anything just to make him not laugh again.”34 Ally, in sum, was trying to use her words to remove the laugh track—the overbearing sounds of Dennis’s inexplicable (and admittedly machinelike) vocalizations. Alas, she failed to mute or hack him. His automatonic mirth had no off switch. So later, in the company of Elaine and another coworker named Nelle, Ally finds Dennis and tries to do the next best thing—goad him into laughing so that her skeptical friends can at least hear firsthand how terrible he is. After the women tell several jokes—eliciting several fake outs along the way, leading Dennis to chuckle only lightly—he finally lets loose his obscene, gargantuan laugh. As Dennis howls, the three women are stunned into silence, albeit with mouths likewise agape (fig. 3). Dennis’s dramatic exhalations (laughs) and inhalations (snorts) suck up all the oxygen in the room, while Ally, Elaine, and Nelle remain motionless, breathless, speechless. The three women fail to stop his outburst once it starts, yet it is also this very failure that’s intended to tickle the show’s viewers, who stand to be moved, like Dennis, to laugh out loud.Figure 3. Dennis, Nelle, and Elaine in Ally McBeal (left to right).View Large ImageDownload PowerPointFor Ally, Dennis’s laughter turns out to be a deal breaker—unsurprising given that he breaks with conventions of polite conduct, breaks up flows of conversations, and sounds broken when he’s guffawing. Canned laugh tracks are bad enough. But a walking, talking laugh track? Inexcusable.Laughable GamesAlly disapproved of Dennis not because he happened to laugh at offensive or discriminatory jokes (a would-be moral flaw) but rather because he laughed offensively and indiscriminately (apparently a far worse crime in the games of courtship). Confronted with Dennis’s outbursts, Ally and her friends understood neither what he found so funny nor why he laughed so much. Laughter indeed doesn’t always reveal accurate or actionable information. Its alibis and liabilities depend on legibility. A “laughing face,” says Murray Pomerance, “can indicate not mirth or release but secrecy, darkness, surrender, derision, and improbability.”35 Yet the point remains that when people laugh, their sonic and physiognomic excess tends to draw attention and thus to invite scrutiny. Because laughter can be hard to stifle, its leakages purportedly speak volumes, gurgling with confessional authenticity. The assumption is that people who are laughing may do so despite themselves, unintentionally revealing something in the process.36 For even when someone appears about to laugh (say, Martin Shkreli testifying before Congress), we might presume to know what they’re all about. Imminence of laughter telegraphs immanence of character … or so believed the tweeters and YouTube commenters whose hatred for Shkreli intensified at the mere sign of his smirking face.Leave it to none other than YouTube—Broadcast Yourself!—to popularize the recursive spectacles of stifling laughter. Fine Brothers Entertainment’s React Channel initiated a recent series of YouTube videos called Laughing Challenges, which task contestants with suppressing smiles and chuckles while watching trending clips on YouTube. The slightest grin or chortle gets you booted from the competition. The winner is whoever keeps a steely face against the onslaught of humorous prods. For each contest, the camera cuts between twelve contestants and keeps an inset display of the footage that they are required to watch. Although, for the sake of fairness, all contestants watch the same series of videos, they will sometimes defiantly shout, “That’s not fair!” upon breaking into grins or laughter at an irresistibly (unfairly) uproarious video. In one challenge, the contestants are shown a YouTube clip of a young man shrieking with laughter; some contestants manage to maintain a stony expression, but others don’t last long. The off-camera producer coyly accuses a young contestant: “Sydney, you smiled!” And like the Bible’s defensive Sarai (responding to the likewise disembodied voice of authority), Sydney tries to get away with it, protesting: “No, I didn’t! I didn’t! I didn’t! I didn’t!”37 Pleading to no avail, she is removed from the competition (fig. 4).Figure 4. We (YouTube viewers) are invited to laugh at Sydney trying not to laugh at an inset video of a man laughing. Besides the laugh factor, the mise-en-abyme operates medially and geometrically (rectangular screen within screen within screen).View Large ImageDownload PowerPointThe bankable purpose of these challenges is primarily to attract and to amuse YouTube viewers, who are encouraged to laugh at contestants attempting—and failing—to refrain from laughing. Watching someone aiming desperately to preserve a straight face can be a funny yet disquieting experience. As the Laughing Challenge contestants try to keep from smiling or laughing, they show bulging eyes, flaring nostrils, quivering cheeks, pursed lips, and other compensatory contortions (think of sci-fi scenes where an alien is about to burst out of someone’s face). The gestural excesses born of suppressed laughter end up visually sonifying this laughter anyway, as pressures that normally would escape from one’s throat find weird release from alternate orifices and pores. But for all of their funny fails, contestants may occasionally astonish us with how adeptly they succeed in curating a staid, blank expression. “I seem like a really cheerful person,” a winner named Becca declared darkly, “but when I want to, I can be dead inside.”38 If Becca took any aesthetic pleasure in the carousel of funny clips, she let nothing show.In the age of YouTube, remarks Sianne Ngai, “what we might call Other People’s Aesthetic Pleasures have become folded into the heart of the artwork.”39 Affective responses refract and percolate through a palimpsest of spectators and spectacles. Ngai parses the case of the famous Double Rainbow video, in which the natural wonder of a double rainbow became upstaged by the effusive response of Paul Vasquez, who recorded it; Vasquez’s response was subsequently upstaged by millions of delighted YouTube viewers, parodists, and media commentators. “Aesthetic artifact and affective response,” Ngai points out, “were thus conflated in a way that ended up doubly short-circuiting the original object of aesthetic appreciation and leaving it behind.”40 Watching a Laughing Challenge, we likewise redistribute our attention and affects among a panoply of funny things. Were we to describe the laughing game with the stock preamble, “The funny thing about this is …,” we would
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