Society | Is humor one of our last refuges?

At a time when there is a lot of concern about polarization, when people argue over nothing on social media, is it easier to find yourself laughing? Our columnist went to comedy nights to find out.

A Monday evening in July, at the Annette wine bar, in the Technopôle Angus district. It’s the first time that this establishment, which opened last year, has organized a comedy evening. On the program, two up-and-coming comedians, Josiane Aubuchon and Antoni Remillard. At 8:30 p.m., the restaurant is full. Thirty- and forty-somethings, mostly professionals if I rely on the answers collected by the evening’s host, Charles Pellerin: a video editor, a cook, a social worker, a car salesman, a teacher, a doctor…

“It wasn’t our usual clientele,” says Josée Préfontaine, the bar manager, whom I called the next day. The bar decided to dedicate the first two Mondays in July to comedy because those are the usual dates for the Just for Laughs festival. Given the success of this first edition, Annette may well make it a monthly event.

I also went to the Terminal, on Mont-Royal Avenue, and to the Bordel, in the Quartier des spectacles. Places where they present a humor that I would describe as mainstreamplaces frequented by the average citizen who wants to laugh without necessarily having their cage shaken. My other criterion: a formula open mic, to hear as many comedians as possible.

The goal of my little non-scientific tour: to get an idea of ​​what makes people laugh. An absolutely impressionistic exercise, I admit. Not to mention that I had never set foot in a comedy club of my life. So it is the perspective of a novice that I share here.

First observation: the audience at the parties I attended was VERY homogeneous. White, mostly in their twenties or thirties. While the audience was fairly mixed, it was mostly male on stage: one woman out of three comedians at Annette, two out of six at Bordel and only one out of six at Terminal.

All these comedians have a similar approach: their humor is centered on the individual, personal experience and the observation of everyday life.

“They are of their time,” observes humor historian Robert Aird. “In saying this, I am not talking about their generation, but about their era, which is quite apolitical. We are all very navel-gazing.”

I wonder if this is not a way to avoid the banana peel at a time when, it seems, “we can no longer say anything”… Talking about oneself is safe.

“Talking about oneself is still political,” emphasizes Emmanuel Choquette, researcher at the Observatory of Humor.

Still. We are far from the critical gaze of Yvon Deschamps or the Zapartists who mercilessly attacked power and institutions.

But with the exception of a joke about the Trump-Biden debate, politics was absent from the parties I attended. No doubt my experience would have been different if I had gone to more marginal parties (I am thinking, among others, of the show Quebecers which takes place this Thursday at Ausgang Plaza).

“Humour is very diverse in Quebec,” Emmanuel Choquette, who is also a professor of public communication at the University of Sherbrooke, reassures me. “We can hear anti-capitalist, feminist and environmentalist views on alternative networks. We also see more incisive views from seasoned comedians like Anas Hassouna – who plays on the malaise of white people – or Katherine Levac and Ève Côté, who talk about sexual assault.”

If I didn’t hear any political jokes, I did hear a lot of “ass jokes”. This is THE most common comic device, the one that makes you laugh almost every time, even when it’s more or less funny. Only one person will take the trouble to specify that she’s speaking from a heterosexual point of view. The others all seemed to take it for granted.

Other topics covered include: dating apps, life as a couple, separation, the importance of digital platforms in our lives, adult life, mental health, family, dogs, etc.

We mostly laugh at the little irritants of everyday life and our existential anxieties. And if I rely on the audience’s reaction, we share a lot of the same ones.

“Since the mid-1990s, humor has focused on the intimate and private sphere,” emphasizes Robert Aird, who is the author of numerous works, including The history of humor in Quebec. “It’s normal for comedians who come out of the School of Humor. They’re young, they talk about what they know.”

Otherness, that is, what differentiates us from others, whether it is our social class, our skin color or our sexual orientation, does not seem to be a source of inspiration. We laugh a lot at ourselves, less at others.

The only two comedians who dared to joke about cultural differences were themselves from diverse backgrounds. Of Haitian origin, Mibenson Sylvain made me die laughing when he talked about the education he received from his mother, which he compared to that of his “native” Quebecois friends. Introducing herself as a Muslim, Douaa Kachache hit the mark when she talked about her relationship with men, which was strongly influenced by the education she received from her father.

By the way, I have not heard the word once woke. It feels good…

I repeat, my little investigation has absolutely nothing scientific about it. But during three evenings, in full or overflowing rooms, surrounded by people whose opinions I surely do not share, I was able to see that despite our differences, there was still a way to find each other. By laughing.

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