Steve Martin and the Avant-Garde

I have decided my act is going to go avant-garde.
It is the only way to do what I want.
- Steve Martin, "In the Bird Cage," The New Yorker Magazine

The movies that Steve Martin made from 1979 to 1991 comprise one of the funniest, smartest, and in some respects, touching bodies of work, in any form of popular entertainment. The more distance I get from these movies (and I regularly revisit The Jerk, L.A. Story, Three Amigos, Dirty Rotten Scoundrels, Roxanne, and Trains, Planes, and Automobiles), the better they hold up. For me, what has made these movies incredibly successful has always been Martin's ability to mix innocence and a knowing acknowledgment of the absurd in service of being funny and emotionally honest. The wide-eyed romanticism of Martin's leads paired with the total embrace of the ridiculousness of their situations have allowed Martin to transcend the wink-wink laughs, and create a resonance in exploring deeper themes. The Jerk and, particularly, L.A. Story have been the exemplars of this. The scene in which Martin and Victoria Tennant sneak out during the dinner party, and, as they make love, turn into children walking through a garden -- well, that's always struck whatever romantic chord is buried inside of me.

It was with great interest that I read the essay in the October 29th issue of the New Yorker (abstract online, although I imagine the essay, "In the Bird Cage" will be archived eventually), in which Martin provided a personal recollection of the very beginnings of his comedy career. While I've never quite had the belief or commitment to make it as a performer, I would characterize the way I think about the world as similar to a comedian's, in a lot of ways. Martin's remembrance of finding his way in comedy, and as a performer, have harmonic overtones for the time I spent actively thinking about comedy in college and my early 20s, and relevance to finding life in general. The quote above, written by a 21 year old Martin in the late 60s, lifted from the article, just about sum it up correctly, although even more accurately when paired with the qualification of that quote by a 60-something year old Martin:

I'm not sure what I meant, but I wanted to use the lingo, and it was seductive to make these pronouncements. Through the years, I have learned that there is no harm in charging oneself up with delusions between moments of valid inspiration.

I suppose my lingering delusion is that I am in a protracted moment of charging up, definitely between moments of valid inspiration. Perhaps time for my act to go avant-garde.

If you have an admiration of Martin or an interest in comedy, the article is a worthwhile read: partly because Martin is such an intelligent and articulate comedian, and a decent writer, partly because Martin's comedy blossomed at that wonderful moment in American pop culture when everything else blossomed, after the Beats (and the Beatles), but just before the Summer of Love. For entertainment, I leave you with a few old Steve Martin clips, which will repay in diversion what they cost you in time, and a Lewis Carroll syllogism that Martin quotes in his essay, as a point of inspiration to a young collegian:

(1) No interesting poems are unpopular among people of real taste.
(2) No modern poetry is free from affectation.
(3) All your poems are on the subject of soap bubbles.
(4) No affected poetry is popular among people of real taste.
(5) Only a modern poem would be on the subject of soap bubbles.
Therefore are your poems are uninteresting.