Volume Two: Clowns get tense too.
tl;dr: Red Buttons, Suspended Disbelief and Four Additional Things
Well, hello there!
I…lied. I said this issue would be early, and it’s absolutely not. A programming note: You can expect one issue of It’ll Be Nice To Meet You Tomorrow during the first(ish) week of each month, so none of us get overwhelmed. If you’re new, welcome! You can catch up by reading Volume One.
Now that that’s over with, it’s time to play pretend. Remember that game? You probably played it during a recent family phone call or when a potential significant other sent you a bad song recommendation on Hinge. Non-participation isn’t an option. You’re already a pro. We’re all pros.
Work with me here.
You just received your acceptance to a prestigious institution in Paris where you’ll have the opportunity to catch the dream you’ve been chasing since childhood. This is the kind of dream that turns your eyes starry and convinces your heart to rent an apartment on the same block as your sleeve. One day, you’ll finally take the stage as a publicly acceptable caricature of yourself. And goddamn, it’s going to feel great.
Your goal is all-consuming. Your nose is bulbous, bright red and came with a warning label that said it may melt in extremely hot weather. You’d be walking on air if you weren’t so worried about tripping over your slightly-too-large shoes.
Have you guessed what kind of institution this is yet? No? Next week, you’re starting your official first week of clowning classes.
“The reason I’m quote-unquote ‘fearless,’ is because nothing can be worse than what I did in mime school.”
I’ve been calling my friend Casey fearless during rare evenings when our geographical locations eclipse for about three years. She is a multi-hyphenate of the highest order. As her alter ego, Lola LaColombe, she sashays through hearts and minds as a burlesque performer, dancer, mime, acrobat, figure model, francophile and self-professed dilettante.
At a recent rare evening, she said this section’s leading sentence and went on to reveal that her foray in Parisian mime school came after a foray in Parisian clown school. The former stuck, the latter did not.
Yes, dear readers, I know someone who has journeyed through the depths of clowning and back, and, now, so do you.
Sometimes clowns get tense too.
After some strategic questioning that went along the lines of, “PLEASE TELL ME ABOUT CLOWN THEORY; I NEED TO KNOW IT NOW,” Casey kindly walked me through a quick course in theoretical slapstick.
Every clowning scene is built around one central tension. Often this tension, mimicking much of life, runs along the lines of, “I want to, but I can’t.” Some clowns spend whole lifetimes shaping one scene, one tension-bound thesis. In practice, this could look like, “I want to hit the red button. Something keeps preventing me from hitting the red button. Will I eventually hit it? What will happen if I do?”
Bodies talk first. Once the story has been defined, it’s time for choreography. Map out how much of it can be told through physicality alone—movement, facial expressions and contortion. Yearn for the red button, come close to hitting the red button, but don’t resolve the tension just yet.
Inanimate objects talk second. Everything on the stage must be used in your act, so choose your props mindfully. Here, you might want to actually invest in a red button.
Then you can talk, I guess. Only when there’s nothing else to be pantomimed, interacted with or shown, a tenured clown will finally add words to the story. Sometimes, they don’t need any at all.
Yes, writing that last bit felt hypocritical.
This neuesletter is, after all, diving in words-first.
Self-professed superclown Jango Edwards says on his Absolutely Bizarre Website that the goal of clowning is to use the absurd as a vehicle for audience members to better understand themselves. Introspection by way of physical hyperbole and curated context. A shortcut that makes very familiar, very human struggles like, “I want to, but I can’t,” less scary (even if you still think that clowns are) using far fewer letters than I’ve typed today.
Though I’m more partial to written red herrings than worn red noses, I think there’s something incredibly admirable about that.
After you’re done reeling from my organic use of the phrase “self-professed superclown,” let’s cut the tension between us with four other things for your clicking pleasure:
Something old: ME. Notoriously, I am a different age than the last time I published this neuesletter. My thoughts on it, via Patrick Lenton’s brain:
(I am the oldest gen z.) Also, these year-2007 musings from Steve Martin, on comedy writing, “Any line or idea with even a vague feeling of familiarity or provenance had to be expunged. There could be nothing that made the audience feel that they weren’t seeing something utterly new.”
Something in tune: A slapstick playlist (Note: not a playlist that slaps) from my ears to yours.
Something borrowed: My… entire persona, apparently. This piece felt too close to home. Do I have to change my name/premise? LMK.
Something impossible to eschew: Geese.
Thanks for playing along. As always, it’ll be nice to meet you tomorrow.
-- N. Graney I
P.S. Lucky penny for your thoughts? I’ve been thinking almost exclusively about Friday Night Lights lately. Email me your musings (or an on-theme song addition for the playlist), and I’ll give you a cent for your two cents.