New legends of comedy?

Vanity Fair is making a strong claim in its spread Comedy's New Legends. By "comedy" they appear to mean, quite strictly, only those comedic films produced in Hollywood. Sorry, there are also a few who got their start on TV, also not incidentally produced in Hollywood. So our first take-home point here is that today's legends of comedy happen to be those working in the TMZ (fortunately for TMZ.)

After a brief run through, I was forced to admit to myself that more than a few audible bleats have emitted from my own smiling maw at the antics of several deemed legendary. BC-boy Seth Rogen is prominently featured and I would be a terrible liar if I pretended Superbad didn't strike me as hilarious the first time I watched it. I also saw Paul Rudd dance once and the way he moved his hips seemed pretty funny. Like anyone who has seen that outlandish hilarity, the three seasons of Arrested Development are a breathtaking comet of comedy, so seeing J.O.B. and Michael there was also not infuriating. Actually, none of those pictured - in rather cloying and arbitrary, I mean funny, thematic arrangements - I would deny have been in a Hollywood film which is categorically anti-funny. That is to say, the laughter which is elicited from an audience is preordained by the careful planning and execution of these hardworking entertainers.

But by titling the feature "Comedy's New Legends," readers, or lookers, should be compelled to judge for themselves whether these few white, mostly male, joke-spinners will have successive generational staying power. When my eyeballs are directed towards these images I did not laugh. The production of the photos echos the bloated budgets of the films (even Superbad cost millions) these famous people reap their reputations from. Which is to say that it's hard to tell what the spread is more about, the "comedy legends" or the teams of stylists, hair and make-up artists, set designers and other uncredited behind the scenesters. In one image, newly minted legend Jason Segel pretends his work thus far lends itself to comparison with the great Buster Keaton. That is truly hilarious. It's like comparing my 11-year-old brother's grasp of long division to the math skills of John Nash (cursed game theory positivist nonsense). In another image, Rogen "The Auteur" is depicted as Frida Kahlo. "Like, she totally had an eyebrow mustache and wore the head gear of a Carmen Miranda fan club dork." An iconic Latin American folk hero and an up-and-coming, devil-may-care swear machine. What a hilarious juxtaposition! Oh, the subversion!

Somehow though, for all the fanfare that a ravishing photo spread in Vanity Fair can muster, I'm left feeling hollow and frowning. The word "comedy" here has become withered and shriveled like the testicles of a young steer, just before they fall to the ground with a dull thud left to be trodden and shit on (Rogen would love that one). Does anyone notice the evisceration of the term? Whither the satire? What happened to humor which served as the sugar, making palatable nasty truths. I'd love to see a satire on the Wall Street absurdities. What about the written medium, or do screenplays constitute a writer's sole comedic contribution? I'm currently leafing through a long-since forgotten writer, George Mikes - from whence the phrase "To take the mickey" comes - and I'm struck by the balance that humor and bitter criticism can achieve when wielded with skill. This is exactly the sort of humor which our new comedy legends run away from at impressive speeds.

The creations of Hollywood comedians are for the most part, and for our fledgling legends completely, a purely bacchanal affair. Strip the ladies down to their underwear, get drunk and stoned and see how many subtle variations Seth Rogen can spin with "fuck," "shit" and "cock." Fantastic hilarity for the ages! A comedic box-office success most often depends on its lowest common denominator element. It's not that the film need be complete pandering fluff, but to be financially successful it will need to kick a few crotches and offer a few improbable relationships between endearing, attractive females and "I-think-he's-retarded" males. Perhaps this escapist drivel simply reflects the spirit of the age, providing us with an escape from our vacationing lives. The lighthearted and offensive have become synonyms such that if one doesn't carelessly trample over our dwindling sense of propriety and decency, a legendary comedian he (oh and a few she's) ain't.

Perhaps this combination of "easy going affable lightheartedness" and sour offensiveness is evident most directly in the figure of Russell Brand (unjustly depicted as the demigod Charlie Chaplin). Brand's inimitable eloquence make him a compelling figure, and accordingly the British pop-culture mill has tapped his idiosyncrasies for all the cash value they're worth. But in a recent fiasco on BBC Radio 2, Brand and accomplice Jonathan Ross called up 78-year-old actor Andrew Sachs - "Manuel" on the passe and unlegendary Fawlty Towers - and let him know, ha ha, I can't even get it out it's so funny, and clever, musn't ignore the cleverness of the hilarity: Brand let Sachs know that he "had a go on" the old man's "satanic-slut" granddaughter. Brand and Ross recorded the zany hilarity and broadcast it over the airwaves. The stodgy BBC failed to see the joke and canceled Brand's program. Fortunately opportunities continue to knock loudly at Brand's door, so not to worry, legendary comedy is still on tap!

Legends these actors and comedians may turn out to be, but I can't help wishing an ignoble demise to the mentality which forms at least part of their popularity and success. "Fucking shit! I'm choking on a chicken bone!"