Dramatic Importance of Comedy

“If you don’t laugh, you cry” goes the old adage. Whilst this isn’t necessarily true, considering the vast emotional range between ‘happy’ and ’sad’, which includes ‘boredom’, ’smugness’ and ’sitting next to a sleepy and dribbling child on a bus’, it’s still an important part of our culture, and part of the defining argument for the human need for comedy.

Why we need to laugh (and indeed, why we do laugh) is still for the most part a conundrum. Do we have to laugh because we will cry and become terminally depressed if we don’t, or do we have a sneaky chuckle because we actually enjoy humour. Of course, it’s easily argued that we all enjoy a laugh, but comedy itself is elusive in definition as we cannot truly justify in our own consciences that it is acceptable to laugh at a man walking into a lamppost (or a woman, for that matter, I’m a feminist).  Hearing a joke about three men entering a pub is starkly different from the darkly intelligent black comedy The Visit, for example; yet both are classed as comic.

Another question that arises is that of contrast, many authors have comic figures in their works, for example the gravediggers in Hamlet, who serve to provide comic relief during a tragedy, which not only serves to dispel tension but heighten the terror when the tragedy actually strikes. It’s interesting that by contrast, tragedy almost never serves the opposite role of making the comedy seem more hilarious by dint of the same simple contrasting. Perhaps this is because comedy is such a delicate creature; when one goes to see a tragedy and it is performed badly, you will typically grumble but never become truly angry, only disappointed, yet if Ross Noble were to fail to make you laugh (as he does whenever my parents are concerned), he would have to be escorted from the venue with an armed police escort.

Still, you’ve got to laugh, eh?

 

Schadenfreude.

I return, with news of great import…

To some, anyhow.  After returning this morning to a semblance of normal life, I’ve finally managed to return to my electronic home and clear away the dust and the cobwebs (although do not fret, I left enough to provide a theatrical effect).

However, the great news is this: there will definitely be an edition of The Scythe Anthology for 2007, with 25 copies scheduled for publication by the nice fellows at BrokeSpine Press.  Five of these shall be signed first editions, in the spirit of the first ever Scythe Anthology, and fifteen more shall be produced for cost-only sale.

That leaves five.

These final five shall be travelling copies, editions that you find in cafes and pubs and peruse, then take with you and leave elsewhere.  Who knows where the words will end up?  I for one am looking forward to finding out.

The anthologies are currently still a long way from being physically produced, although orders are being taken now.  Email for more details.

It’s good to be back.

Schadenfreude.

Water, water everywhere…

Okay, I admit I have only kept my promise once, but caught in the tides and whirlpools of life is where I have been for the past few weeks.

Sorry about that.

However, I must cut and run immediately, as I have thirty hours of things to fit into the rest of the day, which grows ever shorter.  Eep.

Schadenfreude.

24+7=31. Damn.

Okay, a day late, and no technical problems to excuse myself with this time. However, here it comes, a fleeting update on what my pen’s been scratching recently (no jokes please).

Firstly, Scarlet Memories is creeping slowly into chapter six, delayed by the other two major projects in the pipeline. The first of these is an Elizabethan-style play, with archaic, rosy language, pentameter, the lot. Provisionally titled “Padua”, it is, of course, a tragedy. It’s got a ghost and everything. The third big thing currently is “Sundown” a rollercoaster of a novel, so far through the Genesis stage we’re almost at Exodus (by this I mean we’re on the second chapter, not the second book – don’t be so picky). As you may have guessed from the use of the first person plural, this is a joint project between myself and the stylistically different Duncan Roberts. It’s an incredibly enjoyable experience thus far. The basic plot… well, that’s a secret.

In conclusion (technically, as an addendum), a few thoughts on trust. Why do we trust some people and not others? Is it the way they dress or cut their hair, or perhaps the rising pitch of their voice that makes them seem so capable of keeping secrets or not dropping heavy weights on your head? It’s probably a combination of this and our own subconscious, so I’ll stop there, as there are others infinitely more qualified to deal with the topic. However, one thing I have noticed is that people always begin to doubt someone if they ever say: “trust me.”

Honest.

Schadenfreude.

Something should go here in reference to problems.

Okay, here’s about the fiftieth attempt to post on this blog. The weekly update almost went up, but then either my browser or WordPress died, as did the content of the post. Oh well, I suppose this could work…

Either way, whether this works or not, I’m going out to watch ‘Have I Got News For You’ recorded in London, so I’ll keep this short.

That short, in fact.

Schadenfreude.

I Submit.

Well, ‘I have submitted’ is perhaps a more pertinent turn of phrase.   Last year, the people at United Press sent me an email asking if they could use a piece I had submitted to them earlier that year.  Amazingly, due to incompetence that would astound even Boris Johnson, I’ve just discovered this news yesterday, lurking in the depths of my mail server’s archive.  Truth be told, I’m not incredibly chuffed about that, especially when I consider that I can only blame myself for the mistake.

However, when one door closed a long time ago, a new one may open up at any second, and astonishingly, it has.  By some miracle (or due to someone at United Press being nice), my name has remained on their database system, and they have requested that I submit some more work to them.  This time, learning from my mistake, I have.  Suffice to say, they can’t print it at all if it’s published anywhere else, including here, so I shan’t tell you which rhymes I’ve sent, although hopefully you’ll see them soon.

Whilst this update is only exciting news for me thus far, I feel it prudent to ask you to look out for an article on Top Gear that will be trundling onto this page before the week is out.

Until then, farewell.
Schadenfreude.

Warning! Post below!

I hate failure and broken promises as much as the next internet writer, and thusly I deeply apologise for promising an article once a week, then failing to deliver after one such article. The reasons for this are many and varied, and go from the colourful “I had my operation to recover from” to the plain, dusty “there’s no internet in Essex”. The latter excuse is the more correct one, in the sense that there was no internet I could access. If you’re reading this on the internet, and you’re in Essex, I apologise for any confusion I just caused.

Bad jokes aside, normal service will be resumed (for the next few weeks, at least, whilst I think up some more interesting excuses), so here’s an article that has already been published in the national press. I wrote it after watching three minutes of the ‘entertainment’ show Big Brother, and submitted it to the letters page of every newspaper I could think of, including Private Eye and the Spectator. None of them got back to me for a while, but then I received a telephone call from the Daily Mail, saying that they wanted to make it their lead story (on the letters page, a headline was out of my league back then). In my amazement that anyone wanted to read the trash I produced, I instantly agreed to everything they said, including allowing them to edit it. They did. Drastically. Rather too drastically if I’m honest, to the point where it annoyed me at how much it had been changed. I got my picture in the paper, and that was all well and good – a few minutes of fame (about five, so I’ve got another ten left), but now it gnaws at me that I compromised artistically. I’m now making up for that by placing the entirety of my article below, with the original, fairly cryptic title. I’ll help with the ‘Schadenfreude Code’ by saying that this article was originally penned in 2005.

Nineteen Eighty-Four and Twenty-One

It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen. Winston Smith stood and stared at the high security fence that bound his home. He knew that the thought police would find him, crush his spirit, lower his food rations and attempt to humiliate him beyond all human belief for the sake of The Party ratings. He had been assigned a menial task to do each day that earnt him a few paltry scraps of food. He did not know, even after all these years, as the ceaseless vigil of the cameras oppressed his heart, that he would be an unknown in minutes of his departure. And he thought: “Hey, I’m on TV!”

A camera turned to watch him, and a slight buzzing came on over the telescreen, and a strong accentless voice announced: “This is Big Brother. Winston, come to the diary room.” It was an order, cold, commanding, and merciless. The silent observers leant forward in their seats, engrossed. Any minute now they knew that he would be humiliated. Even those who were disgusted at the barbarity of the ’sport’ watched, for fear of not being on top of the news the next day. The faceless press hung on every word, looking for zippy quotes they could pull to aid The Party, ENDEMOL, in their never ending quest to remain flat and unoriginal, yet still take the over the world in the largest ratings war of all time.

The silent majority knew that Winston had failed in his task to be forcibly sick into a small goldfish bowl twenty-five times in a row, and decided to remain silent no longer. They were appalled at Winston’s foolishness, and rose up and had their say by pressing ‘07′ at the end of the Party Funds Donation/Eviction hotline.

That night, the evicted prisoner was paraded before the world in a frenzy of gnashing teeth, snarling faces and signs that proclaimed, “Winston is soooo Fit.” The Mistress of Ceremonies took control, shouting as loud as she could to hold the attention of the slightly thicker parts of the crowd. One last embarrassing interview, and then he was gone. Killed in an instant. Yet the public bayed for more. There would be more on E4, promised the MC.

As Winston took the long walk of shame he thought, “Is this what we are reduced to? Finding the lives of others more interesting than our own? Losing our intellectual spirit to trash television?” And he looked around him, and knew that society had won, but then wondered at what cost.

“This is Big Brother.” Words that would strike terror into the heart of Winston Smith surely, but obviously words that make the likes of Jade Goody and various other typical ‘Essex girls’ (and boys) dissolve into fits of giggles. And no wonder, for Big Brother was the highest voice of authority, and yet, somehow, still is. If you ever want to imagine the state of authority today, imagine a boot stamping on a human face forever.

 

(C) Philip J Schadenfreude, 2005

NOTE: I am claiming copyright for this article as I am the author, and this version is original and unedited. If you are from the Daily Mail and can prove that the copyright became yours when I sent this piece to you, I will gladly reattribute the copyright and issue an apology, or remove this article from my site altogether. The company name Endemol is used without permission, yet in a “safe” (IE non-libellous) context. If you are from Endemol and wish the name removed, please indicate this to me and I shall edit the article and issue a full apology. Thanks.

It Seems Totally Incredible to Me Now…

As promised, within the week appears another post. Whilst searching for inspiration on what to write, I open iTunes, and play a random song. This song was “The Eve of the War”, from Jeff Wayne’s musical version of The War of the Worlds.

Whilst this concept album isn’t that unknown, it’s often underestimated. The electronic feel to the music, done with the backing of an orchestra, creates exactly the atmosphere needed to communicate the plot. From the deep, unforgettable narration of Richard Burton as the journalist to the piercing cries of “Ulla!” from the Martians, almost every moment in this 1.5 hour feast is aurally perfect.

The initial mood is dramatic, Burton’s captivating narration informing us of the impending invasion of the Earth. Silence falls before the violins stab at the darkness, catching hold of the heart and mind in an instant. From that point, the music doesn’t cease, from the disturbingly simple bassline in Horsell Common, through the fiery guitar of the heat ray and the emotional longing of Forever Autumn; which itself became a stand alone hit. We feel the triumph of the Thunderchild as it defeats a terrible tripod, before saluting its valiant heart as it sinks beneath the surface.

Then the mood softens, and the forcible attack is dulled, as the earth submits to the consuming Red Weed. Burton’s powerfully captivating voice pins the pieces together, preserving their constant flow as he struggles to survive in the defeated world. David Essex appears as the haggard artilleryman, with Phil Lynott making a fantastic appearance as the mad preacher Nathaniel, both of them giving such a strong vocal performance you can’t help but listen as the spirit of man refuses to be defeated.

Of course, there are a few areas where Wayne goes too far – Brave New World manages to go on for too long, and some of the emphasis on electronic effects is overdone (yet never drastically so). However, the extensive musical interludes do not detract from this album, but add to it; we cannot wait to discover what will happen next, yet Wayne makes us wait in the most glorious way possible, with music that really makes the heart beat faster.

We build to the subtle crescendo of Dead London, and we rejoyce in mankind’s escape; only to hear the moral message of the Epilogue convince us how science can be dangerous. It’s certainly a demonstration of how we don’t really learn from our mistakes. If you haven’t heard this album, whatever type of music you’re into, I urge you to give it a try – it’ll surprise you. Other people criticise, true, but they’re just bows and arrows against the lightning.

Schadenfreude.

Freude

Following on from the bad news of the previous post, I finally have some good news to report.  Work continues apace on Scarlet Memories, and chapter five is nearing completion (although, to tell the truth, I’ve done several major plot restructures since I last reported, and thusly the book is almost completely different from the original plan).  Furthermore, I intend to start posting either serious articles or works at least once a week, instead of the spasmodic updating that’s been happening so far.   Okay, it’s not fantastic news, but it’s something to cling onto until the operation, I suppose.  Pax.

Schadenfreude.

Schaden

It is with much regret that I announce the second hiatus of the radio show, “The Game”.  Due to both scheduling difficulties and failing health, I have decided to take a break from the hectic world of student radio.  Hopefully, The Game will still find its way onto your radio at some point in the future, but the project is unlikely to be heard anytime soon.   I wish to offer my apologies to all those who stood behind us, and my deepest thanks to all of those who have assisted on the project thus far.

Schadenfreude