If she’s so unlikeable, why am I laughing?

A friend took me to see Sarah Silverman – Jesus is Magic yesterday. On the one hand, it felt terribly nice and indulgent as I, who never see a film from one year’s end to the next, got to see a non-blockbuster sort of film. Not like Jesus is Magic is overly indy, mind you (although it probably is limited release), but it wasn’t, y’know, Pride and Prejudice. And although reading the blurb in last week’s NYT about her and the film, I had no expectations, except that everyone thinks she’s really funny. And she is. Although about a third of the way through the film I landed in that film-watching zone where there are two tracks playing in my head.

Track one: Ah ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha. That’s funny. Hey, cute outfit. Hey, cute makeup.

Track two: I would hate this woman if I met her at a party. Saying doodoo is not automatically funny. Are post-show bong hits really still amusing and shocking? Is it funny to mock incredible narcissism and still be an incredible narcissist?

You get the idea.

Then I wonder what the function of comedy is. Is it to make us laugh or to make us feel uncomfortable? Ideally (probably) both, in the tradition of the court jester who could say what needed to be said and not get beheaded. Mostly. So I should admire her forthright comedic attacks on 9/11, racism, the holocaust and so on. Except that nothing she said actually made me squirm. Mostly, it seemed to shock because she could and isn’t it edgy (her term) for a pretty Jewish girl to say penis. Or rape.

This sounds more critical than I actually feel. Mostly, I just wanted more of the inserts and less of the standup and I liked her songs very much and she is funny. But it also reinforced for me something I don’t want to be true: that to be this kind of success you have to be a (thin, pretty) bitch. Say it ain’t so. Sarah.

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