Searching for something to laugh about

Jan. 2, 2002

Dear Patty,

Sitting in the audience at sold-out Fox Theatre in St. Louis last weekend, I suddenly felt very alone. Could I be the only person in the world who doesn't like "The Producers?"

This was the same musical, minus the big movie stars, that won 12 Tony Awards in 2001.

Getting to "The Producers" was a production itself. Four cars were required to get DC's family and my family to the matinee performance. We had lunch beforehand at the Hard Rock Cafe. Jimi Hendrix's coat was there. The nieces from Neosho all wore feather boas.

I knew what to expect from Mel Brooks. I'd seen the movie that inspired the musical. I'd seen "Young Frankenstein" and "Blazing Saddles." His humor is crude but relentless, and only politely crude by today's standards.

But I found myself imagining Nathan Lane and Matthew Broderick up there instead of the touring company actors. Nathan Lane must have given crass Max Bialystock enough self-awareness that the audience forgave his Machiavellian side. Broderick must have been so excruciatingly uptight that audiences rooted for him to break rules.

Instead we were left to laugh at the flaming gay assistant, at a chorus line of lusty old ladies with walkers who danced so synchronously in the big production number, at the dumb-joke blond secretary, and at the Nazis. At least Nazis are laughable.

I sat there wondering if comedians who make fun of other people are just getting back at the world for their own hurt feelings. Gays and the aged and stupid beautiful women and Nazis must be on Brooks' list of the unforgiven.

In the lobby during intermission, elderly people who really needed walkers to get to the bathroom stood out.

I don't want political correctness in art and entertainment. I do want people and stories that make me understand. There is no understanding in "The Producers."

True comedy invites us to laugh at ourselves. When that happens, we forgive ourselves for being human.

It turns out I am not the only person in the world who doesn't like "The Producers." After the curtain, my mother was the only one in the group who said she enjoyed the show. I suspect she was just being nice.

I want to feel enlivened and enlightened by art. "The Producers" left me tired of the same old jokes and prejudices.

Sunday was the final sermon for DC's minister, a retired pastor who pinch hit for 20 months while her church searched for a new minister. The congregation loved this man but he would be with them only for a short while.

He made a flying motion from the pulpit indicating this was his swan song. That finally made me laugh. He talked about the power of forgiveness, the release and healing that occur for both when one person says to another, "I'm sorry." He spoke of the bitterness that grows when forgiveness is never asked or never granted. Life is robbed of its joy.

After midnight on New Year's Eve, we stopped by a club for a nightcap. Only a few people were there. The owner, a friend of ours, said the evening was supposed to have been a big birthday party for his daughter, but they'd had harsh words over a misunderstanding a few days before. He didn't have to tell us how sad he was.

Imagine all the people you have hurt through thought, word or deed forgiving you and you forgiving everyone for all the harm that has ever been directed toward you. That would be a happy new year. There would be so much to laugh about.

Love, Sam

Sam Blackwell is a staff writer for the Southeast Missourian.