Waiting for the Punchline: Comedy can be an incredible coping mechanism


(Katie Zhao | Daily Trojan)

“Everybody makes mistakes. Everybody has those days. Everybody knows what I’m talking about. Eh-eh-everybody gets that way.”

Hannah Montana wasn’t lying when she penned these lyrics in 2007, and her words ring truer than ever as we fend off this collective depressive social isolation. Everybody is having those days right now, and for the foreseeable future, we still have many of those days to come.

Despite how cringe-worthy that opening might have been, it brought a genuine smile to my face to write it out and imagine 90% of people stopping right about there. Having a sense of humor is about all we can do in times like these. I mean, hell, almost all other forms of distraction have been canceled or postponed for at least another month or two. 

Comedy has always been a go-to coping mechanism for many — and for good reason. If you’re someone who laughs or makes jokes when you’re going through something, you already know what I’m talking about. The very essence of comedy is about taking the wrong parts of life and finding the silver lining that doesn’t occur to us right off the bat.

So much of good comedy is about pain, mistakes and honest reflection of the two. It’s not about blocking out the pain or ignoring your feelings — it’s quite the opposite. Good comedy forces us to embrace the pain and glean the understanding that allows us to grow from it or not. There’s so much good material in stunted growth. 

Good comedy is also hearty and soulful. The pleasure you feel from it extends far beyond the slight involuntary chuckle you make when understanding a joke. Good comedy induces a deeper, more cathartic pleasure in your chest and throughout your body, similar to that evoked by listening to a great jazz or blues composition. It’s the sensation of healing and understanding that makes a work of art meaningful.

Whenever I try to compile a list of my all-time favorite stand-ups, I find it’s littered with people who make me feel less alone in this world more than people who purely make me laugh — although there’s usually a ton of overlap. Our heartiest laughs don’t usually come from comedy that thrives on simple, easily digestible concepts that don’t move or challenge us. They come from the well of deep pain and worldly curiosity that we don’t often express in our daily interactions.

David Isaacs, a professor in the School of Cinematic Arts and longtime comedy writer for shows like “M*A*S*H*” and “Frazier,” would always repeat this mantra to our writing class: Tragedy plus time equals comedy. I’m still not sure where this phrase originated, but it’s one of the most essential rules in the creation of good comedy. 

If there’s one positive thing about the conditions we’re living in, it’s that they’re forcing us to reconsider what’s important and necessary and what’s not. I myself have started to wonder why I spent so much time caring about things that are truly harmless and insignificant in the grand scheme of life. I’ve also started to think about things I should have been focusing on more this entire time — like my future and my loved ones.

We can only hope that other people will have these revelations as well. When the world kicks back into gear, it’s truly not worth having an uptight demeanor about everyone and everything. If something in the world really bothers you, go and do something about it — be the change that you want to see. Don’t internalize and wallow in the things that upset you, and don’t put the weight of the world upon your shoulders. It will keep on spinning with or without your concern from afar.

To tell the truth, there’s really nothing all that funny about a global pandemic threatening the lives and livelihoods of millions around the globe. But it is funny to think that TSA wouldn’t let me bring toothpaste on a plane for 13 years, only to toss the rule aside without a second thought about two weeks ago. 

I guess what I’m trying to say here is this: Try to have a sense of humor about things. Laugh more, write more, talk to the people around you — from a safe distance of at least 6 feet of course. This coronavirus panic won’t go on forever. Unfortunately, the trials and tribulations of life will, and the least we can all do is have a laugh about them.

Matthew Philips is a senior writing comedy. His column “Waiting for the Punchline” runs every other Thursday.