Dave Thornton asks: Can cancer ever be funny?
by DAVE THORNTON
I remember talking to an audience member after a gig and he was about to cry – and not the laughing till you cry thing – actually cry. That is not usually the kind of reaction a stand-up comedian is looking for after a show.
As a comedian, our fragile yet inflated egos conjure up ideas of being chair lifted off stage and possibly asked to run for Prime Minister. But reducing someone to tears? Not so much. I kept telling myself it was the beer prices at the venue that sent him off the edge…
I bring this up for two reasons. The first is that this situation occurred while I was performing at The Edinburgh Fringe Festival, which is happening in Scotland as I write this blog. The second reason is that on the weekend I read a story about American Comedian Tig Notaro. She performed stand-up comedy to a packed room in LA and talked openly and frankly about having breast cancer. Not only that, she was brave enough to talk about loosing her mother – all in the SAME YEAR.
From all reports she had the crowd in fits of laughter and of course, tears. After exposing herself (and I do mean that because to talk about these things reveals someone, like a male one hundred meter sprinter shot in slow motion from the waist down) the crowd gave her a standing ovation….. and no doubt chair lifted her off stage and asked her to run for President.
Recently I’ve found that when it comes to comedy it is literally, open slather on ripping into anyone and everyone. Social media means people get a bit of keyboard courage and all of a sudden #youresh!t is trending. Don’t get me wrong, handing out a bit of a ribbing is something I do myself but after reading too many notice boards online, you really can start loose faith in humankind. We forget though that comedy can be inclusive and cathartic. What Tig did may have been dark, it may have been brutal but she owned that problem and for her to confront it and alchemise the situation into comedy fodder is simultaneously brilliant and inspiring.
Tig Notaro
Oh yeah, that brings me back to the gentlemen crying. It was in Edinburgh a few years ago and I was performing a show all about my father’s death (that occurred when I was 19 years old). I know what you’re all thinking – that must be fertile ground for a good knee slapping! Let the chuckle fest begin! (Note: my manager says I should mention that the show is on DVD called ‘A Different Type of Normal’ you can find at my website but I said that kind of self promotion is not needed in this kind of forum)
Talking about something so personal was a first for me. I spoke of my father’s death, my brother being adopted and of my failed relationships. It puts you in a strange performance mind set – I mean, stand-up comedians are supposed to have witty quips to denigrate the most ardent heckler and yet when you’re talking about personal things you do feel unprotected. I contemplated bringing in a cattle rod for hecklers.
During this particular night’s show I talked to a father and his 15-year- old son in the front row. The father distinctly hated the interaction. His expression screamed ‘Id rather stab myself in the face with a bus than keep interacting with this lanky mo fo’.
Afterwards I saw the family out the front of the gig and the before unnoticed mother told me she loved the show. Her husband kept his austere disposition. Then he nodded and I saw he was holding back tears. Crying? Was that how much he hated my show? (Remember the beer prices, Thorno.)
His wife then leaned in and said ‘he loved the show- he only recently lost his father’. The gentlemen then shook my hand and said ‘thank you’. I was taken aback. I’d misread the situation – he didn’t hate me at all.
Tig showed on the weekend that it’s brave to confront your problems with humour and she did it live and in front of an audience. It took me 10- years to confront my father’s passing yet Tig is tackling something SHE’S GOING THROUGH AS WE SPEAK. I can be snide, I can be cynical, I may even have laughed at an old person falling over once but reading about Tig’s gig reminds me what comedy is capable of.
Dave Thornton is one of the hosts of Mamamia Today (that’s right! We’re on the radio!) and is known for his free flowing humor and extensive experience across TV, radio and stage, including regular appearances at the Melbourne International Comedy Festival.
Have you ever lost someone close to you? How did you deal with the grief?
Comments
30 Comments so far
I too was 19 when my father died from cancer. I am #6 of 7 children and I remember we were all standing round his bed, he died at home, waiting for the Doctor and Priest. My brother says “now don’t be frightened if he suddenly sits up and exhales. These things can happen”. Well we were all in hysterics. Might seem strange, but 18 years later I still giggle at that moment.
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I’m a cancer nurse and I think humour is necessary. I’ve had many good chuckles with patients. One young guy got lymphoma when he was engaged and had to postpone the wedding. He ended up losing 30kg over the course of his treatment and then went on to get married. We were joking afterwards that he took his pre-wedding weightloss very seriously and how all the celebs will be onto it next year, using chemo to lose weight. It was pretty funny, but v dark.
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I love this post, Dave.
The deeply personal is so often universal. And comedy is often a great way to deal with horrible topics.
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I was at a comedy gig a few years ago. It was fathers day and I was there with a friend whose dad had only recently died. With the full knowledge of having lost my own dad a number of years before I’d suggested we go, “Let’s go to a comedy gig”, I’d said, “We’ll have a good laugh & forget about fathers day”, I’d promised.
So, we were sitting in the second row, there were various comedians and a lot of fun, then the final guy got up. He kicked-off with something about fathers day, he looked straight at me & asked what I did to celebrate, “Oh, nothing” was my reply & so he delved: “Don’t believe in fathers day then?”, me: “Oh, umm, well, he’s dead”. “Right” he said. Poor guy, I thought.
Then he looked straight at my friend and asked, “So, what about you – did you celebrate with your dad today?”
It was so bad it ended up being hilarious, she has a great sense of humour and doesn’t take herself too seriously. But the guy never really got into his rhythm for that set…
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Dave, I’m terrified of having to say goodbye to my Dad. He and I have become so much closer over the last 2 years as his marriage to my mum disintegrated, and I just don’t know what I’ll do without him. But I so, so hope that I’ll remember how much he loved a laugh, and that I’ll be able to have a laugh, thinking of him.
Thanks so much for sharing this with us, I think you’re spot on and laughter is the best medicine. I have your dvd and really love it (I should be able to comment in Myriad pro) and will never forget a night when I felt so down, and happened to catch the show on tv, and laughed and laughed. You really helped me that night – and you didn’t even know it! I told you on facebook, and was touched by your reply.
For me, whenever I’m in a situation where I can laugh or cry, I always try to go with laugh. It feels better, makes the world better and everything seem so much brighter.
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I started my breast cancer adventure with a farewell to the boob party and have shared the surgery and chemo ride with friends/ family with a blog that at times has had myself and my readers wetting themselves from laughter.
I like to have a good belly laugh every day and would love to see Tig Notaro’s performance. Power to her!
Not sure if I can ad a link here but here is one of the funniest posts – it was by the hubbie – he’s irish – need I say more?
http://glynnandbearit.wordpress.com/2012/06/09/radioactive-man-guest-post/
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I can’t imagine how these topics could be made a funny part of a standup routine but laughter is often an excellent way of dealing with grief and trauma – and discussing them in an open way is helpful.
Was there no one to proof-read this article though? Sorry to mention it but they jump out at me…
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I work in cancer research & I can safely say that having humour, black or otherwise is totally necessary. Laughter makes you feel better on the inside…& this is one avenue of being able to cope with such an ugly and tragic disease.
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I think the whole cancer/death topics can be funny, depending on how you go about it. As long as you’re tactful and not offensive (well actually, a lot of comedy is offending SOMEONE so maybe just not downright rude) I think it’s fine. And often quite funny.
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As a four time cancer survivor, I often make light of my illness. Some say too much. I guess for me it’s a coping mechanism.
I say things like:
- I’m cancer’s noxcious weed – it cant kill me!
- Cancer’s my b!tch
- you can’t be mean to me, I have cancer.
- I’m not dead yet coz God knows when I get up to the pearly gates there’s gonna be a serious sh!tfight.
These are all JOKES.
Sometimes, even at the worst times in life, you have to just have a laugh, even if it’s at your own expense. I intend my funeral to be practically a stand up comedy routine at my own expense. Laughing is a way to celebrate life and I am pretty sure the dead person would rather be alive and laughing with you.
Sure, there are lines that get crossed and it’s important to stay good natured and kind. But in that instance, I’m OK with it.
My grandad died 7 years ago of the same cancer I had. He used to tell us to save money on the undertaker, load him in the wheelbarrow and wheel him over to the cemetery. It was next door to his farm.
Honestly, there’d be very little any comedian could say about my cancer that I haven’t said 10 times worse about myself.
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My husband recently finished 6 months of treatment for cancer. He finished the day our gorgeous son was delivered. Believe me, there were days when humour- black, black humour was all that got us through! We’d joke about whose hole was going to cause more pain- not that hole- he had a feeding tube inserted in his stomach and I had an elective caesar to ensure he could be there. By the way I won, because he peeked over the blue screen too early and saw our dear doc elbow deep! I’m sure there are times when humour would not have been the antidote for our pain, but what I’ve learnt is that laughter really is the best medicine…that and love!
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Penny you’re brilliant! I love hearing how laughter can push through hardship.
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Sigmund Freud believed that humor allowed people to release part of their repressed subconsciousness in a socially acceptable way. Humour can certainly dissolve many boundaries.
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Humor after a death …
My father dropped dead at a council waste dump … nuff said!
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I think it was a you had to be there moment to appreciate it?
Talking of crying this made me sad on twitter
Kyle and Jackie O @kyleandjackieo
Our exec producer Gemma thinks overweight women who have kids, are just as bad as women who smoke during pregnancy. Would you agree? #KJshow
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The replies would have been interesting.
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I honestly can’t fathom Kyle Sandilands being anything but a constructed persona.
No-one can really be that awful, can they? I mean, really?
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I apologize for being off-topic but I just needed to say Dave Thornton you are HOT. Just wanted you to know that
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Sounds like a sexist comment to me ?
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Definitely but that doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate the sensitivity of the article. Can’t I have my cake and eat it too? If not, apologies all round.
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A close friend has recently lost her husband after a long battle with cancer. It’s been so tramautic for everyone – especially my friend as it’s still so raw. The thing that has gotten everyone through is laughter – laughing at memories of him, laughing at ourselves, making inappropriate jokes at inappropriate times and being completely non PC. It’s been a very important part in the healing process.
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I don’t find the “I have a life threatening disease” or “I recently lost a close member of my family” type of humour funny. Not at all.
Death can be amusing in the context of a film such as “Death At A Funeral”.
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I’m interested to know why those two categories aren’t funny? Do you find them too solemn or dark?
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I just find death of illness funny as stand-up.
In the context of film, death can make for hilarious visuals.
Guess I prefer a good sight gag rather than someone prattling on about the subjects.
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True and funny death story:John, young dad of 3 kids, diagnosed with bowel cancer, 6weeks to live. Horrible situation.
A close friend visited, doing the ironing shortly before his death. John is on the couch. Friend is ironing a pair of his trousers.
John says “Don’t bother too much with those, I’ll be buried in them.”
“Right, I’ll just iron the front then, will I?” she asks.
How is that not funny?
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I think it depends on the individual in that context. If John thought it was funny, then it’s funny.
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When my brother committed suicide it was a terrible terrible time. But even during the worst of it, funny things would be said and we laughed. Sometimes finding the humour in the darkest times is all you have keeping you sane. If the humour is honest and meant kindly, then go for it I say. Life goes on, after all.
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Thank you Dave.
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The day my mother died, my siblings all came to my house and we somehow ended up watching funny you tube videos. We would go from hysterical laughter then back to crying. It was such an emotionally extreme day but that’s how we coped.
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I lost my grandfather back in February, after a long battle with cancer. Honestly, I didn’t really cope well when we got the news- I kind of went into shock.
But it was the little things that got me through it. The day after it happened the whole family got together, and I found myself with my siblings and cousins as my sister read jokes about Mexicans off Google (don’t ask). It wasn’t much but they made us laugh.
Of course there were good things and bad things- I’m a hugger, my silbings aren’t. The younger two made an exception for the occasion, my other sister punched me in the stomach. So… ouch.
There’s good days and bad days since. My birthday was hard, getting the first card that said “love Grandma” instead of the usual “Grandma and Grandad”.
And then the other night I was listening to one of Delta Goodrem’s new songs, called “Wish you were here”, written for one of her best friends who died; and then I was watching STEPMOM, where of course, Susan Sarandon’s character had cancer. (That was a BAD idea).
But I always cry at weird moments. I was Singapore in April seeing WICKED the musical, which I had seen four times in Australia and saw it three times total in Singapore. It was the second show, my 6th time seeing it total, where I didn’t breathe in the latter half of “Defying Gravity” and bawled my eyes out all through intermission. Why? No idea. Embarrassing? Hell, yes.
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