Comedy when performed well seems so effortless, so spontaneous.
In reality?
It’s perfect.
Felt.
Precise and calibrated on the spot from one moment to the next.
It’s a bespoke sports coat tailored for the immediate moment, the now with the who where they are.
In clown school, we brayed with boisterous delight:
It’s funny, but is it repeatable?
As we pretended to slap, punch or throw each other down a flight of stairs.
I love comedy most of all because no matter how spontaneous, it’s always a routine.
A routine is always expected.
Tragedy? Adventure?
Not for me at this point. Though they say their a ‘once and a lifetime big deal tragedy’?
They’re structured, set and plotted along the arc of a routine too.
Tragedy as a child used to get ruthlessly teased with chants of ‘Liar liar, pants on fire’.
Sadly, the bullying did not work as intended and Tragedy doubled down on the lying. They became over convinced by their own righteousness and their own self importance.
Tragedy is repeatable, but not funny.
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