On waxing comedic

The thing with humor is that it’s inexplicably based on truth. The thing with Pinoy humor is that it’s truth with a generous dousing of Datu Puti. And then some.

Aside from the standard forms of slapstick, toilet, and the oft-abused knock-knock joke, there are your “proudly Pinoy” concoctions such as the ADMU-vs-DLSU-vs-AMA college wars; the phonetic massacring of Taglish, jejemon, and other spoken dialects thereof; the ingenious (if not shameless) blending of both local wordplay and global pop culture (Bread Pitt, Elizabeth Tailoring, Mang Donalds, GoldiRocks, Mercy Buko); and, of course, the now-classic, ever-varying, bobong Erap jokes, among others.

In fact, contrary to popular belief, consciousness isn’t always in the mind. The Filipino consciousness, for instance, is so near the funny bone that laughter, alaskahan, and the occasional green joke can’t help but spill out onto everyday life. 

And while we tend to project the stuff of jokes from that funny place deep within, let’s not forget the slightly different, more “in-your-face” kind of comedy that’s been stimulating mirth from without. For while Pinoys are no strangers to rapier-like wit (vis-à-vis corny puns) in drinking bouts with friends, it’s an altogether different experience when you’re relegated to audience status and choking on searing social commentary from someone wielding a mic.

Indeed, the standup comedian could veritably be the prophet that everyone (note: humorless politicians) loves to hate.

But let’s backtrack a little.

I’m not saying the stand-up comedy scene is anything new here in the Philippines. The likes of Gary Lising, Dolphy and Vic Sotto have been around for years, and that’s barely the tip of the iceberg. Given our natural propensity for drollery, I’m sure generations of standup comedians past have graced bars and various restos, tickling the funny bone of viewers since way back when. However, there is a difference in the variety of standup acts both then and now — manifested, I believe, in the style by which most punch lines are delivered.

And while there are a myriad of viewpoints by which this can be discussed, allow me to wax polemic and break it down into two rounds:

Round 1: The Pastiche Versus The Parody

A typical routine by Vice Ganda consists of latching on to a physical defect or lapse in judgment, then milking it for all it’s worth. She/he then follows up with curses from every color of the rainbow, ending with a maniacal guffaw and a sultry swagger of the hips.

And the crowd goes wild.

It’s not hard to love a Vice Ganda. All you need is a proclivity for overly exaggerated movements, a tolerance for cheap, lowbrow shots (insult humor at its best), and a soft spot for the standup drag show-esque type of entertainment. Call it gimmicky, but that’s Pinoy slapstick, and nobody can deny its charm.

That said, it doesn’t discount the fact that this type of comedy is inherently blank. Shallow. Devoid of any real meaning or underlying motive. All bark and no (sociopolitical) bite. Stylistic for the sake of being stylistic. In short, to borrow from cultural critic Fredric Jameson, a pastiche.

Going back to our Vice Ganda example, think about why you’re really laughing the next time you catch (or Google) one of her/his shows. Is it because of the witty, revelatory jokes, or because of the shock factor that goes with the delivery?

And so we move to the other end of the spectrum, where you have comedians like Mike Unson, who, sans gimmicky paraphernalia, overblown antics, and any hint of green jokes, actually manages to crack witticisms that leave you laughing one minute, then sitting in a quiet “oo nga noh” moment the next.

This relatively new wave of Pinoy standup comedy can probably be considered antithesis to the carnivalesque form of slapstick, centered as it is on almost purely verbal humor, satirical social observations, and a confessionist, POV comedic style that gets subtly in your face (if that’s even possible). Because deep down, you know it’s relevant, despite being contextualized by the harsh, unrepentant truth.

In short, again using Jameson’s concept of the term, a parody.

Winner: The Parody

Round 2: West Meets Pilipi(Nis)

The cliché of there being two sides to every coin is really one of the more convenient sayings in life, applicable in this case to my view on the standup comedy pastiche. For while the humor that the likes of Vice Ganda and Pokwang engage in is baseless to a fault — it exists as a true-blue Pinoy construct, an extension of our laugh-in-the-face-of-death attitude, and a reminder that we never really take ourselves seriously anyway.

Indeed (again going with the Vice Ganda example) because comics like Vice Ganda make it a point to deliver punch lines in the vernacular, this style of comedy is made more accessible to the layman. And since straight-facedly making a fool of oneself and acting jologs is never an issue, the average Pinoy’s ability to relate to the farceur onstage shoots up tenfold. Hence, its appeal to the masses.

On the other hand, you have the standup comedy parody, which arguably demands a more elitist, “intellectually sophisticated” audience than the kind you’d normally find at Zirkoh or Punchline. Roughly translated, it means an audience that’s not only adept at “spokening English,” but also an avid consumer of Western pop culture and trends. After all, this kind of socially-involved standup comedy was actually an import from the US. Besides, some might say, who else would be able to comprehend those masterful double-entendres, thought-provoking aphorisms, and astute political commentary if not those from the educated class?

In fact, if you listen to acts like Mike Unson and Rex Navarete, you’ll see how 80 percent of their material is delivered in fluent, no-holds-barred English. The assumption is that the audience knows enough English to grasp the nuanced wordplay; hence its appeal to expats and those in the decidedly upper crust of Philippine society.

Winner: Pilipi(nis)

And in conclusion…

There’s nothing to conclude, really.

The pros and cons of both styles can speak for themselves, because honestly, who wants to live in a Philippines polarized by humor, of all things? As Filipinos, we eat, breathe and live humor. Laughter and Boy Bastos jokes are as part of the Philippine diaspora as the physical bodies that actually make it up. To close the book and pass judgment on either one of these standup comedic forms — as well as on the infinite hodge-podge of standup comedians — would be to completely miss the point.

Do so, and the joke would be on you.