newcritics

The funniest comic film/TV moment I can think of is, ironically, in a blatantly commercial and successful movie from the 80’s, Naked Gun starring Leslie Nielsen. I’m talking about the Umpire Moondance scene, of course, and the reason this is the funniest comic moment I can think of is that it best exemplifies two notions that seem to be at the core of comedy: surprise and levity.

Surprise is what gives humor its convulsive power. Following philosopher and psychologist William James, we should seek to understand our emotions by examining their physical roots, and so to understand comedy, we must first understand laughter. A close analysis of the physical act of laughter shows how much it revolves around the tension and release of surprise. Say you’re sitting in a quiet classroom and a friend suddenly looks you in the face with crossed eyes, goofy smile and tongue sticking out, then quickly turns back and faces the teacher with a sober expression. The sudden contrast between the quiet, serious environment of the classroom and the weird goofiness of your friend’s “funny face” spikes your body into a paroxysm of tension and surprise, which is then involuntarily released by a spasmic exhalation of breath and a tingling rush of adrenelin.

But the funniest surprises are the ones that do not arrive suddenly but instead gather, that sneak up on you, that percolate impossibly over time. That’s how Leslie Nielsen’s signature performance in Naked Gun feels to many people, mainly because he plays a role of such bottomless and perfect contradiction. His sturdy build, steady gaze, square features and deep manly voice could not be more ill-fitted to the dumb, childish, happy-go-lucky character he is playing.

This character is police detective Frank Drebbin, who towards the end of the movie dresses up as an umpire at a California Angels baseball game in order to protect the Queen of England from an assassin. The problem is, Drebbin neglected to prepare for the role of home plate umpire, and a look of panic comes over his face as he takes position behind the catcher and stares up at the stadium full of eager baseball fans, with no idea what to do.

The first pitch crosses the plate, and the entire stadium falls silent for a long tense moment until Drebbin extends his right hand and mumbles “Strike?”. The crowd cheers with appreciation, and we see Drebbin’s face change as he realizes they are applauding because he called a strike. The next pitch comes over the plate, and now suddenly Drebbin remembers how an umpire moves, and calls another strike with the confident jerky pumping motion of a seasoned ump. He then pauses the game to bow, elated, to the happy fans. The next pitch comes, and before it even crosses the plate he calls the strike, basks in the adulation and breaks into a spontaneous moondance for the cheering crowd.

You probably had to be there, but I was (and hopefully you were too, or you can be) and it was funny.

Another notable characteristic of this moment in Naked Gun is the utter levity: Frank Drebbin is in the middle of an important mission — in fact, this scene is the climax of the entire movie — and yet Drebbin completely forgets his purpose in dressing up as an umpire. He is so intoxicated by the crowd that he even forgets about the Queen, and totally fails to consider the fact that doing a moondance during the first inning might call attention to his clandestine identity. This lightheadedness is something to be admired.

In fact, Frank Drebbin’s misdirected purposelessness recalls that of a more commonly acclaimed master of comedy, Groucho Marx, whose characters in various Marx Brothers movies were often working on some elaborate scheme or plan, but could never be bothered to stick with the plan if there was fun to be had instead, or somebody to insult. Attempting to seduce the rich dame invariably played by Margaret Dumont, Groucho’s characters could never resist an opportunity to say the completely wrong things, and he would frequently look directly at the camera with an expression that says “Well, wouldn’t you?” before diving in.

In this sense, I’m also reminded of Bugs Bunny, who was clearly modeled after Groucho Marx (it surprises me that this fact hasn’t been remarked on more often, since so many of Bugs Bunny’s attitudes and moves can be traced directly back to Groucho — just watch Groucho’s “waiting for somebody?” entrance at his welcoming ceremony in Duck Soup, for instance, and remember howmany times Bugs Bunny has pulled off the same entrance trick). Like Groucho, Bugs will often go to great trouble to set up a deception, and then blow his cover because it’s too easy, and because he’s just too bored to care.

Surprise and levity, Leslie Nielsen and Groucho Marx and Bugs Bunny. This adds up, for me, to the essence of the comedic attitude in life.