Today the agenda for discussing Colbert at the White House Correspondents’ Dinner is, “Was he, or wasn’t he, funny?”
As any performer knows, humor is intensely subjective; it is brittle, circumstantial; it depends on the moment, what came before, who’s in the room, how much they drank. I wasn’t there in that banquet room. It seems that Antonin Scalia found Colbert’s jokes hilarious; President Bush, along with much of the crowd, apparently did not. Viewing the video after the fact, I happened to find much of it funny. So have millions of downloaders and Bittorrent-ers and Youtube-sters.
But none of that really matters. Evaluating this event on laugh-meter scores is absurd — it’s just one more way of marginalizing and dismissing what actually happened that night. Just for a moment, Colbert brought a heavily sheltered President Bush face to face with the outrage and revulsion that large swathes of the American public feel for him and what he has done to our country. He did so at an event in which a certain level of jovial kidding is sanctioned, but he stepped far beyond. His caricature of a right-wing media toady relied on irony, and irony rarely elicits belly laughs, but at its best, it provokes doubt and incites questions. The ultimate goal of Colbert’s routine was not to make you laugh but to make you think; it aimed not to tickle but to puncture.
In that sense, those observers who have criticized Colbert for being rude to the president are absolutely right. As I wrote yesterday, the performance was a deliberate act of lese majeste. That means it was meant to pop the balloon of protective ritual around Bush and let reality in, so we can see him — along with those in the press who have been complicit with him — for what he is.
Inside the Beltway, humor is supposed to be disarming, “humanizing.” Ever since Richard Nixon appeared on “Laugh-in” and said “Sock it to me!,” suggesting that he was not quite the conservative gorgon that he seemed to be, politicians have wanted to use comedy as a prop in their own campaigns of self-promotion. But that’s a late-20th-century degradation of comedy. There’s an older tradition — stretching back to the commedia dell’arte and beyond, into the medieval court and its “all-licensed” fools — in which the comic seeks the discomfiture of the powerful.
Colbert’s act had less in common with cable-channel comedy shows than with the work of Dario Fo, the Italian iconoclast who specializes in lese majeste (he likes to poke fun at the Pope). In this it resembled Michael Moore’s Fahrenheit 9/11, but it was smarter than that propagandistic montage, and braver — delivered live, as it was, in the belly of the press-corps beast it was skewering.
So now we have the sad spectacle of the media desperately puffing air back into the popped balloon of the president’s dignity, pretending that nothing happened. The Bush impersonator was funnier! cry the pundits. Colbert bombed! Well, they can sneer all they want about whether or not he slayed ’em in D.C. Out here in the reality-based community that increasingly encompasses the American electorate, Colbert hit his targets. And they will never look quite the same.
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