September 2009. It was on a hot, sticky Florida afternoon that I stood on the lawn of the Cruzan Amphitheater in West Palm Beach at the Blink-182 concert for my best friend's 18th birthday. While I was excited to hear that one Blink-182 song that was always stuck in my head when I was in middle school, the band I was really happy to see was the All-American Rejects. Not only do I love quite a few of their songs, but after seeing their lead singer, Tyson Ritter, in the movie "House Bunny" I couldn't wait to see him in person. But after some really strange behavior on stage, I almost wished my impression of him had remained just the one from watching the movie.
Everything seemed normal until Tyson walked out on stage. He was wearing a white lab coat and a cast, and was being supported by "ninja assistants." He tried to joke around with the crowd while discussing how he just had surgery on his leg to to remove a cancerous tumor but told the doctors who tried to get him to cancel the concert, "F*** you doctor" because he loved his fans too much. I had no idea what to feel: appreciation at his dedication? Disgust at joking about cancer (if he was in fact kidding about the leg)? Confusion was the only emotion I could be sure about. As he danced around with his ninjas, I wasn't sure if the ninjas were just show-props or actual physical aids. Whether or not the story behind his leg was real, it was clear by his wild dancing and theatrics that he was trying to joke around with the audience and get us light-hearted and laughing. He certainly didn't get the response he was looking for from me.
While a lot of jokes are actually funny because they're based on reality, it's clear that they're meant to be jokes. In this case, the situation very well could have been realistic (in fact, to this day I still don't know whether or not he was kidding), but Tyson's actions made his intent unclear. On the one hand, he spoke very seriously about his leg, yet on the other hand his antics on stage were pretty wild. With such conflicting behavior, it was impossible to determine whether he was joking. Because of this uncertainty, I found nothing to laugh about.
In order for a joke to be funny, there must be some clear indication that laughter is the appropriate response. While laughter does indicate that the audience finds a joke or situation funny, you first need a cue to actually signal the laughter. This becomes difficult with realistic jokes or laughing situations because it's hard to distinguish where reality ends and where the joke or source of comedy begins. This, in turn, makes it tough to determine what exactly you're laughing at, and when it's ok to laugh. In this case, if Tyson were serious, we would be insensitive and unfeeling if we laughed, even if Tyson was making light of his situation. However, the fact that he was joking around seemed to signal that it was ok for us to laugh, whether or not he really did have a tumor. And yet, it felt wrong to laugh in either situation.
So what does this imply? Are some situations always off-limits to laughter? Is cancer so serious that we should never use it as a source of amusement, even if the person suffering is laughing? Or do we just need to lighten up?
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