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In the mid-1990's something strange happened to Martin Lawrence, an exceedingly successful Hollywood comedian. He engaged in a violent outburst and drug abuse on the set of "A Thin Line Between Love and Hate." Increasingly erratic behavior culminated in an arrest for waving a pistol and screaming at tourists on Ventura Boulevard in L.A. The answers to psychological mysteries such as this are usually a combination of nature and nurture, of self and environmental forces interacting in a precise, perfect storm sort of way. Indeed, there may be a combustible relationship between a comedian's mindset and the social world of Hollywood success. In "Funny People," Judd Apatow attempts to flush out the backdrop of the Lawrence meltdown. The skilled filmmaker reveals a surprisingly somber and complex profession that attracts surprisingly somber and complex individuals. Comedy and tragedy are married in this film as the humor of a funny joke is on full display along with the dark, underlying need to tell the joke.
In the performance of his career, Adam Sandler plays George Simmons a comedian who has long since made it in show business but has yet to make it in the happiness business. He is sad and alone. On top of that we soon learn that he has an inoperable, terminable blood disorder. He is also funny. His wit has broken the box office and is the envy of young start-up comedians everywhere. But his humor and the environment in which his humor is fostered stems from a dark and dysfunctional place. From the very beginning there is something off about George. It is hard to describe but it seems to expand before our eyes in slow, systematic outbursts. There are hints that George is beginning to be enveloped by that "thing" that overwhelmed Martin Lawrence. This "thing" is articulated in the final scene of the film when George says, "It is taking some time for my brain to catch up to my body." He has fully healed from the physical illness that threatened his life, but continues to suffer from the psychological illness that has always threatened his sense of happiness.
Too little information is provided to properly analyze the destructive mechanisms of his mind, but what does seem apparent in George is an entrenched inability to attach meaningfully to others. Throughout the film George fumbles and fails in changing this interpersonal status quo. Surprisingly, the more George spins his wheels in the mental mud, the stronger the dramatic tension, because we increasingly come to expect growth and positive change. Every time he is on the verge of learning from his near death experience and reconnecting with members of his personal life he does something stupid or selfish. Specifically, in pursuit of momentary, personal satisfaction he almost sabotages his friendships with Laura (his ex-girlfriend) and Ira (his newfound friend and assistant). These are his symptoms.
What makes him a successful comedian, I believe, is the same thing that makes him unsuccessful at life. His insecure attachment to the world intertwines with his brilliant humor. In an earlier post I discussed how the television show "The Office" is Grimace funny. Meaning, we laugh because we want to avoid the discomfort of self-destruction. George Simmons embodies Grimace Funny. He makes us laugh, in part, because he is socially self-destructive.
Clinical psychology researchers have increasingly explored this "double-edged sword" notion of mental illness, mining the dark recesses of patient's brains not just in pursuit of psychological burdens but psychological gifts as well. In George's case, interpersonal struggles and comedic effectiveness seem to be inextricably intertwined. But the list goes on and on. For instance, increased empathy has been linked to the intense stress of people with concealable stigmas, such as being Jewish in Nazi Germany. One study found that such stigmatized individuals acted more mindfully in social encounters: they recalled greater detail about the exchange and took the other's perspective with greater accuracy. In many cases genius can be an overlooked by-product of schizophrenia. In "A Beautiful Mind" John Nash, the Nobel Prize winning Schizophrenic establishes profound insights about invisible FBI agents AND mathematics. The narcissistic drive for unrivaled glory can cause tremendous interpersonal friction as well as greater occupational achievement. Think Terrell Owens, the egocentric, celebrity wide receiver. And the many sociopaths whom manage to evade the jailhouse can be found in the upper-echelon of the sales and marketing industries, having ridden the coattails of anti-social psychiatric symptoms (i.e. deception, manipulation and disregard for others).
So, how does George's attachment weakness inform his comedic strength? For starters, his inability to view others as potential friends deserving of care and confidence shapes an interpersonal lens through which others appear as superficial shells of folly to be cynically dismissed - perfect fodder for stand-up routines.
Quite fittingly his comedy cash crop is also the primary instrument through which men romantically attach to others - the penis. For a securely attached individual one might expect the word "penis" to associate to uniquely meaningful, peak emotional experiences. But for George there is no specific and special meaning. On the one hand, this implies loneliness. On the other hand, his mind is free to associate to bizarre, unexpected and interesting concepts. He connects "penis" to such seemingly irrelevant activities as gardening, observing that his personal gardener must have a big cock because only a man with big cock can plant such beautiful roses. The intersection between pathology and punch line crystallizes even further when George utilizes penis humor in a defense from the anxiety of intimacy. When he reconnects with Laura, an old flame for whom he has newfound romantic feelings, he tells her he might be dying. She cries. He tells her he regrets cheating on her. She cries some more. But when they clasp hands, instead of psychologically traveling to a more intimate place, he recalls how her lovely hands always made his cock look so small.
Humor is also about shock and surprise, the ability to associate to funny things in inherently unfunny moments. Some of the films funniest moments occur in the doctor's office. He zings one-liners at the German doctor for being way too German, including bearing a striking resemblance to the villain in "Die Hard." Here, his jokes are shocking and surprising simply because he tells jokes instead of discussing how to survive his life-threatening illness. This lack of focus and concern for self circles back to attachment with others, because a healthy sense of self depends on a healthy sense of others. Attachment research has long shown that we come to know ourselves through the reflected image of self based upon social feedback. George is alienated to the point that he has only a mirror to which to turn. This is why George turns to the doctor and entertains while most others might turn to a loved one and cry.
It makes theoretical sense that attachment issues might correlate with heightened comedic ability. There is a potential bridge of moderating factors: the tendency to self-deprecate, a need for the spotlight and a superficial view of relationships. Hence, a natural pull or undertow into the world of comedy might exist for the insecurely attached. This is psychologically problematic because in the world portrayed in "Funny People" attachment issues are exacerbated, not resolved. Thick skin, a hyper-competitive outlook and the ability to never be serious is required. The comic's primary goal is not to befriend but to one-up the other, to be witty instead of compassionate. His most intimate relationship is with his audience, the easy to dissatisfy, difficult to reciprocate masses. The comic becomes ever more detached and difficult to attach with, polarizing the psychological gifts and burdens that landed him/her there in the first place. Mental illness can indeed become a double-edged sword. On stage George was a success. This makes it easier to not only miss signs of mental struggle but also to ignore that fact that in significant psychological ways the better he does onstage, the worse he does offstage. "Funny People" teaches a dark lesson in laughter - it highlights the kind of frequent, forced laughter that arises in a confrontational therapy session. Sometimes, to tell a joke is to hide from others, and to laugh in response is to unintentionally push the jokester further away. Sometimes, the therapeutically effective thing to do is refuse to laugh. This film provides great value as well as entertainment in teaching us that although George is funny we should stop laughing.
