Being serious, thoughtful, introspective all the time can be dull; evocative and provocative at times, yes, but dull. All work and no play makes Jack …, etc.
Sometimes it’s necessary to be just plain silly. To engage in nonsense has its benefits for the soul.
“It’s okay to be absurd, ridiculous, and downright irrational at times;
silliness is sweet syrup that helps us swallow the bitter pills of life.”
― Richelle E. Goodrich, Making Wishes
Whether it be high comedy, low comedy, satire, parody, whimsy, silliness or farce, any combination of these can cause our lips and cheeks to crack into a smile at the drop of a hat, even elicing outbursts of guffaws occasionally. It could be situational, real people in absurd situations, absurd people in real situations, or the strangest yet, absurd people in absurd situations; the last being most diametrically opposed to drama. But one often finds that one to have certain elements of creepiness. Appreciable art does have some boundaries, after all.
Real-life silliness goes beyond simply trying to entertain small children, however. Pratfalls are squarely a part of the domain, and the practitioners of silliness play primarily to that wee audience. Except for Chevy Chase, who managed to raise slapstick to an art form, a la Three Stooges or Chaplin. Their humor has managed to bring out the child in all of us.
The real-life silliness found in real-life situations that we individually deal with, sometimes on a daily basis, have the effect usually break up an otherwise mundane task with a brief visit to the intricacies of fatuity. And it always has the benefit of causing us to not take ourselves or our situations too seriously. It’s the pause that refreshes. And it follows the predictable comedic course, even if only staged for us privately: setup and punch-line.
Years ago, while living in Westminster MD, we had a family friend who we encountered around town at random and ended up having a great affection for, having her to the house for dinner several times. We always found it a highly enjoyable to speak and interact with her, a true delight. She was a character, who always amazed us with her spry wit.
Her name was Miss Addie, and she was in her late 70s She originally hailed from the hills of West Virginia in the midst of the great depression. A sober woman but with the ever-present twinkle in her eye, and a vivacious energy that was no less than amazing. We never could figure out if she knew how naturally funny she was, although we suspected she did.
She was old, but still energetic enough to run circles around us. She had the childlike silly in her. Miss Addie had one of those infectious, cackling old-lady laughs, every crack and vibration genuine. And she would whip it out without a moment’s notice.
She would tell us that she was so poor growing up, they only had dirt to eat. Then deadpan us for the perfect comedic pause, and then burst into laughter, once she saw we were grasping the awkwardness of pitying her youth. We never really quite knew if she was serious.
She once confided to us that whenever she sees someone trip and fall, she would laugh. It sounds cruel on the surface but there wasn’t anything malicious in her glee, and she certainly never wished to see anyone get hurt; I think it is some of the “been there, done that” sort of stuff. The kind of thing we’ve all done at one point or another (I personally have drunk from that well probably more than most, the well itself sometimes having something to do with it), and the ways we react in embarrassment and try to play it off.
It was in anything or anywhere, really, that she could find humor. And she knew how to milk it for all it was worth, playing on her aged appearance, letting us think she might be a bit of a dim bulb. Then she’d zing you.
She lived a hundred lives in her lifetime, and although poor and scraping by, was full of the wisdom of experience. She also was full of zest and outwit and pull a gotcha on people half her age.
The key is, according to her, to play. A lot. That’s what keeps you young at heart, and with enough vim to get up and keep moving.
Yes, Miss Addie taught us a lot about being silly. It was serious business.