Clown Truth

Since the dawn of humanity clowns have danced a closely intertwined dance with truth. This dance is a fundamental feature of their timeless attraction. Truthfulness is, behind the mask of grotesque ridiculousness, what makes a clown. When a clown comes from a place of authenticity the clown can say things others wouldn’t dare. 

The clown is a liminal character, polarized between the lowest social standing and a unique position of receiving attention, which in and of itself is a form of social status. Attention not just from common people but also from the rich and powerful. In medieval times the court jester was a clown in service of a King or some other elevated noblemen. In this role jesters had unique access to, literally, the most powerful persons in the land. On top of that he had a unique permission to speak the truth.

The jester’s freedom to mock or contradict rulers is described in records from all over the world, throughout history. India, Persia, China, and Europe all had their own versions of it. Aztec regent Montezuma II (1502-20) said of his jesters: “They frequently pronounced some important truths,” and in Erasmus’ (1469-1536) Praise of Folly he writes: “They’re the only ones who speak frankly and tell the truth, and what is more praiseworthy than truth?”

We must assume Kings were fully aware of this aspect of their fools role. So they would take great care in selecting their court jester. To gain the privilege, of being taken care of and to possibly assert influence, the clown had to deserve it. Only masters of their craft would have gotten the honor of becoming court jesters. They would have had to be able to improvise and have a broad palette of skills to draw upon and combine as they in essence would perform to the same crowd repeatedly. Obviously they would also have to be compatible with as well as being stimulating to the individual King’s humor, taste, and temperament.  

From the Jester or Clowns point of view an important part of their education and development is to discover and develop a truthful representation of themselves. A character which can fall down, juggle, sing comic songs, tell stories or what have you, and  come across as being truthful and himself through it all. They need to be able to pretend without pretense. 

“The clowns who are masters are themselves. They make something wonderful out of who they truly, deeply and simply are. They don’t hide or conceal themselves in clown character, to appear as someone else, or someone good, or someone right. Yes, they borrow routines, shtick, and ideas from one another and their predecessors, and, true, they frequently belong to a long performance lineage and have learned, as apprentices, specific techniques that perpetuate a certain tradition. And yet whatever material they perform, whatever character they present, they enter into their clown persona as a way of being more generously themselves than they might be under usual circumstances. Every time we watch one of them, we don’t view a form or a character or a concept. We see, simply, them.” (Ezra LeBank and David Bridel, Clowns: In conversation with Modern Masters.)

There were of course particular, if unwritten, rules for the way these transgressive expressions of truth could be presented. Guised in silliness, displayed and expressed from a grotesque and lowly state of dignity, the King would be free to take from it what he wanted and discard the rest as jest and absurdity. If the King sifted out a grain of truth from the jesters rants and chose to take the it to heart it was more likely for the grain to fall on fertile ground. 

The jester could speak truths, but the telling of truth is not just a matter of stating facts.  “Earth is not the centre of the solar system,” might have been a fact when it was first uttered, but it was not experienced as such by the vast majority. The type of truth best expressed by jesters and clowns is not factual truth, what German film maker Werner Herzog calls “accountant’s truth,” but rather what he calls “ecstatic or poetic truth.” 

“If facts had any value, if they truly illuminated us, if they unquestionably stood for truth, the Manhattan phone directory would be the book of books.” (Werner Herzog. A Guide for the Perplexed.)

Facts might reflect objective reality, but they do not illuminate. Only truth illuminates. Poetic truth is an experienced truth, greater and more powerful than any fact. It is a process of communication where a recipient experiences someones expression as a deeper and more visceral truth. Poetic truth is not separate from human participation. It is not something which is, it is something which happens between humans. Poetic truth is artificial, meaning “made or produced by human beings rather than occurring naturally, typically as a copy of something natural.” (New Oxford American Dictionary.) A poetic truth is fact artificially crafted to make emotional connection.

For poetic truth to happen there needs to be trust between the presenter and the receiver. The King would have to trust his fool. For this trust to develop the fool had to express his self. If the King felt his jester spoke the opinions or truths of ministers or bishops, chances are the fool would have his privilege revoked, possibly by having his tongue ripped out or head chopped off.

 The process of telling truth is a delicate business. As a clown attempts to do so there is always risk. Risk of failure. Not the kind of failure which is mimicked in a clown’s performance, which in actuality is only imitation of failure so well crafted it really is a success, its rather a failure of communication, failure of connection and understanding. If any of these three factors fail; the truthfulness of the clown, the particular truth expressed, or the King’s experience of either, the clown risks death. The historical jester who’s truth broke down could probably face literal death. Todays clowns risks dying on stage. Certainly not as bad as death, anyone who isn’t a clown would say. Yet, the clown’s truth is the clown’s soul.  When a clown dies on stage the truth of his self fails, without which the poetic truth of his message can no longer happen. What dies, when a clown dies on stage, is his soul. Without it the clown is reduced to a soulless clown zombie. Wandering undead in greasepaint with a red nose being but an empty shell. A fate on par with death by royal executioner. (It’s zombie clowns like this, roaming shopping centers and birthday parties which is giving clowns a bad name.) 

 The truthfulness in the jesters persona is the key to his privilege as truth teller. When a clown successfully acts from his heart, the wellspring of poetic truth, truth can happen and rings true. In this subtle, yet powerful, process comes great power. Laughter and levity lowers the minds defense mechanisms, and as cynicism and distrust recedes, the listeners own heart becomes exposed, fertile ground. In such moments the heart of the jester can speak directly to the King’s heart and under these peculiar circumstances a lowly clown can plant a seed of poetic truth in the Kings heart. A seed which has the potential to sprout into governmental reform. If a clown whispers his truth to the King’s open heart, change becomes a possibility. Change of heart. Change of mind. Change of world.

the Citizen Kane of Alcoholic Clown Movies!

Shakes the Clown. A clown movie about the seedy side of children's party clowning portrayed in all its dark glory. 

Not heard of it? fair enough it was a bit of a flop at the box office when it came out in 1991. But here at the Illuminated Showman we do love a drunken clown with a good heart.
The movie was written, directed and starring as lead clown Bobcat Goldthwait. Bobcat (born May 26, 1962,) is an American comedian most widely known for his high pitch voice during his comedy acts. Some of you might remember him as a new recruit in Police Academy 2 - Their First Assignement, this was his first big movie role. For those a little younger you might recognize his voice as the voice of Spongebob Squarepants.

This black comedy chronicles the fall of one of the world's most unlovable clowns as he plies his trade and tries to survive in Palukaville a town where everyone is more or less a Bozo. Shakes loves women and more than that, he loves his booze. Like many of his painted peers, ol' Shakes likes to hang out at The Twisted Balloon, the favorite local pub where he hoists a few, beats up on mimes (the lowest caste in Palukaville) and causes trouble with his girl friend Judy, a woman who cannot say the letter "L." Because the slovenly Shakes can't seem to make it to birthday parties sober and on time, he is fired from his booking agency, causing him to go on a big drinking binge. Later, Shakes awakens and learns that Binky, a lousy TV-clown, is framing him for beating up Shake's former boss with a juggling pin. Now poor Shakes must clear his name. He must also rescue "Juwee" who has been kidnapped by the nefarious Binky, and he must come to grips with his alcohol problem (perhaps the film could be therefore titled "Clown and Sober?"). Keep an eye peeled for cameos by Robin Williams, as a mime instructor, and Florence Henderson as one of Shake's illicit sexual conquests. 

~ Sandra Brennan, Rovi

Here is the trailer to tease you

and here is a few scenes as Shakes' clown friends performs what AA calls an intervention on his drinking.

- and finally from Hidden Gems a ten minute video-cast about shakes the clown. 

the Future Imperfect of Physical Theatre

In this article John Towsen ponders the difference between recorded media and the live experience, with a heavy preference for the latter. Or as he says

 "...loudly extolling the many virtues of live (physical) performance over "artificial" technology-aided media.' 

These are some excerpts from 'With your Brains & My Body: the Future Imperfect of Physical Theatre.' John Towsen is the author of Clowns. I found this on his great blog All Fall Down.

Some twenty years ago (when transistor radios were still the rage),Norman Mailer wrote that it was better to step out to a local club to catch a little known jazz quartet than to stay home listening to the world's finest jazz recording on the most expensive hi-fi. To sit in that jazz audience is to be party to the performing contract. Live jazz, with its insistence on improvisation and embellishment, its call-and-response structure, its vocal audience, is as good a model as any for modern comedic and movement theatre. Rather than passively tuning in from the safety of one's living room sofa, ready to switch channels at the flick of a remote control, the jazz audience is engaged in a dialogue by the performers, and plays a far more active role than it imagines in the experience.

Audience members are often the last to realize the crucial effect they have on a live performance. But performers are keenly aware of it. It's their business. The performer understands far more than laughs, applause, and hacking coughs. The performer has a sixth sense that monitors audience chemistry, offering instant feedback on energy levels, depth of focus, eye contact thresholds, attention span — the whole gamut of good and not-so-good vibrations that constantly bombard the stage like so many invisible gamma rays.

The faith of the live performer is that though he/she may be only reaching 75 people at a time, the experience is more "real" because it is live, communal, visceral, three-dimensional, riskier, and ultimately more memorable than the television sitcom that reaches75 million. Through their willingness to risk all with body and soul,they keep alive a vital performance tradition that engages the audience, that is neither chewing gum for the mind nor opiate for the masses.

A graver threat to physical theatre, but one we can exercise some control over, comes from within. The danger is that our art will too infrequently transcend its technique, contenting itself with dazzling displays of physical and/or comedic virtuosity, growing more and more isolated from the world we live in. Too often the tricks performed seem far riskier than the artistic statement. Too often the amount of homework that goes into mastering the craft dwarfs the amount of time spent exploring and evolving an artistic vision. 

 You can read the whole article here.

Clown Apocalypse

"Put simply, physical comedy is the art of revealing what is vulnerable, imperfect, and laughable about man — not through argument, not through discourse, but through the body, through the picture that is worth a thousand laughs."

Looking deep into the history (actually the first post) of John Towsen's great blog We All Fall Down I found this this brilliant article which brings our attention to the inherent folly in human endevours. How we can't escape, we will never be in full control, for that, life is to grand and intricately complicated. We know that those that say they know what's going on are misinformed. He begins with Murphy's Law a perfect point of origin for the philosophy of Clown, and takes it to Illuminated heights.

Some of you might recognize the name of this author from his authoritarian history of Clowns: A Panoramic History of Fools and Jesters, Medieval Mimes, Jongeleurs and Minstrels, Pueblo Indian Delight Makers and Cheyenne Contraries, Harlequins and Pierrots, Theatrical Buffoons and Zanies, Circus Tramps, Whitefaces, and Augustes. A great, detailed history of the Craft of Elegant Chaos. For those that aren't familiar with either his book or blog. I recommend you peruse them at first opportunity.
As a kick start here is a superb article by Towsen which might just wet your appetite for his musings.
The following excerpts are from the article Zen and the Heart of Physical Comedy: The Revenge of Murphy's Law.   (The article in full below.)

“That the fruit of four and a half billion years can be undone in a careless moment is a fact against which belief rebels,”

Those of you who remember some of the details of what happened that faithful day in Ukraine when the Chernobyl power plant exploded you will appreciate the accuracy of the details in the following excerpt.

"This Russian two-reeler is full of laughs as our Fiercely determined technicians, Laurelovitch and Hardyofsky, end perfectly good reasons to turn off the emergency cooling system, remove all but a few control rods while leaving the reactor operating, and disengage all safety systems designed to implement automatic shutdown.
When Mrs. Hardyofsky — in this version played by a Soviet nuclear expert — returns home, she is shocked beyond belief to learn that the menfolk have deliberately disabled so many safety and warning systems, then run the reactor in a very unstable condition. But they did, and our little tragi-comedy ends with the prospect of millions of people, even the unborn (politely referred to as third- and fourth party victims), paying the price in sequels yet unfilmed."

"Whatever can go wrong will go wrong in a big way. Who could better tell this simple truth about ourselves than the clown? The clown revels in the mundane, celebrating the ever-recurring awkwardnesses inherent in our daily struggle to maintain equilibrium. The clown’s world of naivete is but a microcosm of our complex universe."

"By nature a physical comedian, the clown catalogs and insists on re staging man’s inevitable mishaps and miscalculations, and then really rubs it in by irreverently depicting the ego’s involvement in the struggle: not just the pride that goeth before destruction and the haughty spirit that precedes a fall that Solomon First warned us about, but also the terrible embarrassment that follows, and the noble attempts at cover-up.We trip on the sidewalk. In a revealing moment of truth, our eyes blink, our cheeks blush, our breath shortens, our muscles tense, our stomach churns. Furtive sideways glances check the scene for eyewitnesses. We attempt a quick return to normalcy. Denial, denial, denial.
But while we are taught to hide error and above all maintain our cool, the clown is humanity’s lie detector test and safety valve. The clown shows us that precise moment of cover-up, the instant when one’s self-assurance is stripped away. “It really isn’t the trip itself that’s funny,” explains Bill Irwin. “It’s the gestures and motions afterwards, the looking back at the spot, the trying to make an excuse for having tripped.”

Read the full Article here or right here:
Zen & the Heart of Physical Comedy