The highlight of my week happens on Thursdays at 11:00 am. That’s when my clowning class meets. I’m blessed to be in walking distance of Stagebridge — a performing arts school for adults 50 and older. A life saver and a God send.
For an hour and a half, I get to don bright mismatched colors against the gray of the day. I get to prance around like a three-year-old and squeal, squawk, and make fart noises. And most of all, I am supposed to fail and fail big!
Why study clowning at 66? Why not? I don’t just study, I celebrate!
For one thing, who couldn’t use more comic relief? Some days it can look pretty grim out there. What with the current administration turning our world upside down, climate change, nuclear annihilation, and terrorism keeping our spirits down, we need all the levity we can get.
Entering this fray as a clown, comic, or fool is a brave thing to do. And so healing. As Luke Barber, Ph.D. philosopher has said, “Tragedy is the question, comedy is the answer.”
La Fool, C’est Moi!
Where would we be without our late-night commentary comics — Stephen Colbert, Trevor Noah, Seth Meyers, and Jimmy Kimmel. The late-night fool can be counted on to show us that what’s really going on even as we laugh. That saying, we laugh to keep from crying fits here. I don’t know about you but these folks keep me from going completely off the deep end into the looney bin. We desperately need them. They keep us sane.
According to master clown artist/teacher, Jan Henderson, “The character of The Fool is an essential ingredient of human society — a universal archetype found in some form in all cultures and in all times. The Clown is the “puer aeternus”, the eternal child in all of us — the innocent who sees things as they really are and not as convention decrees, who can be counted on to tell us, in the loudest possible voice, that the emperor’s not wearing any clothes.”
Think of it like a volcano blowing out through a side vent, the kind of pressure relief that keeps one from blowing their top completely. My classmates and I come to class for a break from the world, to relax, to play, to let off steam, to release our tension and stress through physical humor.
That tension otherwise lodges in the body and builds up toxicity. Releasing it through practicing pratfalls and dancing silly dances or playing Ru Paul runway models is soooo healing. And so much fun.
The art of failing
Our study of clowning is all about making an art form of failing. From tripping over our own feet, to running into walls and looking surprised — -how did that get there? — we explore the nuances of being unable to do the simplest of acts.
For example, we were learning how to trip by hooking the toe of one foot over the heel of the other. We could all do it okay in slow motion. But then we had to pick up the pace to make it look natural.
I did it fine in slow motion, but my body refused to go there at a normal walking pace. It was doing what I want and need it to do every day — keeping me safe. I wanted to honor that, and yet still be a “good clown student.”
I struck a pose with my upper body leaning to the left, hung my head, frowned my lips, and broke into pretend sobs. “But, but, but we take…sniff sniff…fall prevention classes.” I succeeded in failing, but in my own safe way!
Our instructor raced over and reached toward me with outstretched ta-da arms, proclaiming, “There you go! That’s your clown persona! You nailed her!” And so I did, with my booty intact. No broken bones or egos. We were free to move on, learning to walk into walls, which I aced.
This humility has universal resonance.
It’s got a bittersweet quality to it, like laughing through tears. According to Jan Henderson, the clown lives in the place of laughing and crying at the same time. This vulnerability is very healing.
I’m a huge fan of physical comic actors. Through the years I’ve adored Danny Kaye, Charlie Chaplin, Buster Keaton, Johnny Depp as Buster Keaton and Captain Jack Sparrow, Carol Burnette, Tim Conway, and Tracy Ullman among so many others.
But there’s a special place in my heart for two gentlemen of the silly walks who were born on my birthday. Well, actually, I was born on their birthdays.
My Fellow Silly Scorpion: John Cleese
First and foremost is that Minister of Silly walks of Monty Python and A Fish Called Wanda fame, John Cleese. He is the classic fool, spoofing businessmen and bureaucrats, making fun of officialdom, and speaking truth to power. He can be completely silly or very, very erudite. This delicious combination can even happen in one scene.
Case in point, my favorite moment in A Fish Called Wanda. His character, Archie Leach, has brought Jamie Lee Curtis to the house he’s sitting for a starchy family. She goes orgasmic at the sound of foreign languages. In an earlier scene, her boyfriend turns her on by repeating the names of Italian pastas — mostaccioli, spaghetti, rigatoni, etc. it doesn’t take much obviously.
But Archie is a barrister. And an educated erstwhile lover man. He prances around the living room, doing a slow strip tease, reciting a Hamlet soliloquy — in perfect Russian. No stroganoff. The real deal.
Up in the loft, Jamie Lee is writhing and moaning in uncontrollable orgasmic ecstasy, practically mounting a rope strung at the edge. Just when Archie throws off his underwear, the starchy family walks in the door, returning early from their vacation.
Ah, I just so happen to have a clip. Enjoy:
My Other Fellow Silly Scorpion: Roberto Benigni
My other esteemed clown prince is the Italian writer, actor, director, and poet, Roberto Benigni, most famous for the 1999 film, Life is Beautiful. Before making that film, he made three with director Jim Jarmusch. An outspoken critic of right-wing political leaders, his work also spoofs officials.
His love of poetry led him to create and tour with Tutto Dante, his 90-minute exploration of current events and his past through the world of Dante’s Divine Comedy which he recited from memory.
Benigni has a big heart and it comes out in his films. Look at the way he honors children. His character Guido in Life is Beautiful risked everything, up to and including his very life to protect his son from the horrors of the camp and pretended it was all a game. To the very end.
In The Tiger and the Snow, his character risks his life to find his estranged wife in war-torn Iraq. But before all that — played with heartfelt drama and slapstick humor on the back of a wayward camel — he’s a poet, passionate about teaching. Striving to convey that passion and passion for living life itself to his students. Not afraid of looking buffoonish, or rolling on the floor to make a point, he lays it all out in the classroom. Take a look…
I am so glad these scenes and insights are a click away. I appreciate how there is a way for me to participate in the madcap magic short of being thirty years younger and signing up for San Francisco’s Clown Conservatory or the Comedia D’el Arte school in Blue Lake, California. Though if I was, I would.
At my age, at my level, with my inspiring co-conspirators, I get to learn about and practice being the clown who lives in the place of laughing and crying at the same time. And pointing out the emperor’s fashion non-sense. You’re welcome to join me!
Marilyn Flower writes humor to laugh the changes she wants to see and make. She’s the author of Creative Blogging: Ninja Writers Guide to Character Development and Bucket Listers, Get Your Brave On. Clowning and improvisation strengthen her resolve during these crazy times. Stay in touch!
I enjoy your mix of personal experience and cultural analysis. Sacred clowns unite!