NOT LONG ago a good friend of mine made a comment about a project I was working on. I was attempting to interest the National Film Board of Canada in a documentary I wanted to do on Native erotica, to which my white friend replied, somewhat disdainfully, “Why? You guys do ‘it’ just the same way we do.”
“Except our tan lines are a little less obvious,” I responded.
Some people have wondered the same thing about Native humour. Is it fundamentally that different from Jewish humour, African-Canadian humour, Lithuanian humour, Icelandic humour and so on? As somebody on the inside looking out, I can safely say yes. But not exceedingly. We’re talking nuances, subtleties. It’s as if chicken is the joke, but the sauce or the unique flavours of the joke’s humour come from various cultures. You’ve got tandoori chicken vs. chicken cacciatore vs. a McChicken, if you get my meaning. Generally, what makes you laugh will make us laugh. We’re not exactly from another planet, though I can’t vouch for all Aboriginal people. I base this observation on twenty years as a professional writer and forty-two years as an Ojibway—or, since I’m a half breed, technically maybe that should be twenty-one years as an Ojibway and twenty-one years as a white person.
In putting this book together, I approached noted Anishinabe storyteller and author Basil Johnston with an invitation to participate. He declined, stating, “I don’t know what useful purpose an analysis of ‘Indian humour’ would serve. I’m afraid that any analysis would just leave mistaken impressions in the academic world; too much of Indian humour rests in the language.” Basil has always advocated the importance of indigenous languages, so his comment comes as no surprise. As for his hypothesis: maybe, maybe not. I do acknowledge that a different level of humour can be appreciated in the applicable indigenous tongue. Tomson Highway deals with that topic admirably well in his essay in this book. But like the air in a worn out tire, the humour can and does leak out in many different places.
If you want to complicate the issue further, try looking at Native humour from a nuclear subatomic perspective (yes, there is a correlation). In one of our discussions on the subject, Thomas King and I considered the possibility that Heisenberg’s uncertainty principle might apply here. It was Heisenberg’s belief that the art of observing alters the reality being observed. Maybe putting Native humour under the microscope changes its effects or its impact. I don’t know. I was always weak in physics.
Several years back, I wrote and directed a documentary for the National Film Board on Native humour. The film is called Redskins, Tricksters and Puppy Stew. It was great fun to do, and it provided me with the unique opportunity of being paid to hang out with all my friends and talk funny. And talk about being funny. And talk about what is funny—from an Aboriginal perspective, of course. That’s where I got the inspiration for this collection.
Humour requires intelligence. It calls for the ability to take in information, deconstruct it and reconstruct it in a new, improved, refined format. The humorist then reintroduces that information to the world to achieve a completely different reaction. Humour also requires surprise. Generally speaking, if the punchline is something you’re expecting, then it won’t be funny. Of course there are exceptions to every rule. In comedy, repeating something three times (but not successively) is a time-honoured way to structure a joke, with each successive repetition getting a bigger laugh. And there is seldom anything new or surprising in sitcoms. In fact, it’s their familiarity that audiences often find comfortable and amusing. Comedy, like many other things in life, can be contradictory. It seems the Creator has seen fit to place us in an unpredictable world. But here I go again, pretending I know what I’m talking about.
In Me Funny you will find many different ideas about the nature of Native humour. You may agree with some of them. You may disagree instead. I don’t care—you’ve already bought the book. Let’s just say I hope that when you have finished reading it you will be scratching your head from thinking a lot and holding your belly from laughing a lot. That’s a good mixture where I come from.
Oh, by the way, what did the Indian say when he walked into a bar?
“Ouch!”
DREW HAYDEN TAYLOR