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The overwhelming presence of canned laughter makes us blind to its core paradoxOn April 8, Charles R. Douglass, even as it undermines our natural presuppositions about the state inventor of our innermost emotions. Canned [[canned laughter marks a true “return of ]] — the repressedartificial jollity that accompanies comical moments on [[TV]] shows — died at 93 in Templeton,” an attitude we usually attribute to “primitivesCalifornia.” Recall, in traditional societies In the early ’50s, he developed the weird phenomenon of “weepers,” women hired [[idea]] to cry at funerals. A rich man can hire them to cry and mourn enhance or [[substitute]] live audience reaction on his behalf while he attends to a more lucrative business (like negotiating for the fortune of the deceased)[[television]]. This role can be played not only by another human being, but by a machine, as idea was realized in the case guise of Tibetan prayer wheels: I put a written prayer into a wheel and mechanically turn keyboard [[machine]]; by pressing on different keys, it (or, even better, link the wheel was possible to a mill that turns it)produce different kinds of laughter. It prays First used for me—or, more precisely, I “objectively” pray through it, while my mind can be occupied with the dirtiest episodes of sexual thoughts.<bri>The Jack Benny Show</i>and <bri>I [[Love]] Lucy,</i> today its modernized version is present everywhere.

Douglass’ invention proved that The overwhelming [[presence]] of [[canned laughter]] makes us blind to its core [[paradox]], even as it undermines our natural presuppositions [[about]] the same “primitive” mechanism works also in highly developed societies[[state]] of our innermost [[emotion]]s. When I come home in [[Canned laughter]] marks a [[true]] “[[return of the evening too exhausted repressed]],” an attitude we usually attribute to engage “[[primitives]].” [[Recall]], in meaningful activitytraditional societies, I just tune in the weird phenomenon of “weepers,” [[women]] hired to cry at funerals. A rich man can hire [[them]] to cry and mourn on his behalf while he attends to a TV sitcom; even if I do more lucrative business (like negotiating for the fortune of the deceased). This [[role]] can be played not laughonly by [[another]] [[human being]], but simply stare at by a machine, as in the screen[[case]] of [[Tibet]]an [[prayer wheel]]s: I put a written prayer into a wheel and mechanically turn it (or, tired after a hard day’s workeven better, I nonetheless feel relieved after link the showwheel to a mill that turns it). It is as if prays for me — or, more precisely, I “[[objective]]ly” pray through it, while my [[mind]] can be occupied with the TV were literally laughing in my place, instead dirtiest of me[[sexual]] [[thoughts]].<br><br>

Yet before one gets used to canned laughter, there is nonetheless usually a brief period of uneasiness. The first reaction is of mild shock, since it is difficult to accept Douglass’ invention proved that the machine out there can “laugh for mesame “[[primitive]]” [[mechanism]] works also in highly developed societies.” Even if When I come home in the program was “taped evening too exhausted to engage in meaningful [[activity]], I just tune in front of to a live studio audience,” this audience manifestly did [[TV]] sitcom; even if I do not include melaugh, and now exists only in mediated form as part of but simply stare at the TV show itself. However[[screen]], with timetired after a hard day’s [[work]], one grows accustomed to this disembodied laughter, and I nonetheless feel relieved after the phenomenon show. It is experienced as “natural.” This is what is so unsettling about canned laughter: My most intimate feelings can be radically externalized. I can if the TV were literally laugh and cry through anotherlaughing in my [[place]], instead of me. <br><br>

This logic holds not only for emotionsYet before one gets used to [[canned laughter]], but also for beliefsthere is nonetheless usually a brief period of uneasiness. According to a well-known anthropological anecdote The first reaction is of mild shock, the “primitives” since it is difficult to whom one attributes certain “superstitious beliefs,” accept that they descend from a fish or from a bird, the machine out there can “laugh for example, when directly asked about these beliefs, answer, “Of course not—we’re not that stupid! But I was told that our ancestors did believe thatme.” In short Even if the program was “taped in front of a live studio audience, they transfer their belief onto another. Are we ” this audience manifestly did not doing include me, and now [[exists]] only in mediated [[form]] as part of the same TV show itself. However, with our children? We go through the ritual of Santa Claus[[time]], since our children (are supposed one grows accustomed to) believe in itthis disembodied laughter, and we do not want to disappoint them; they pretend to believe not to disappoint us the phenomenon is experienced as “[[natural]].” This is what is so unsettling about [[canned laughter]]: My most [[intimate]] [[feelings]] can be radically externalized. I can literally laugh and our belief in their naiveté (and to get the presents, of course)cry through another.<br><br>

This [[logic]] holds not only for [[emotion]]s, but also for [[belief]]s. According to a well-known [[anthropological]] anecdote, the “[[primitives]]” to whom one attributes certain “[[superstitious]] [[beliefs]],” that they descend from a fish or from a bird, for example, when directly asked about these [[belief]]s, answer, “Of course not — we’re not that stupid! But I was told that our ancestors did believe that.” In short, they transfer their [[belief]] onto another. Are we not doing the same with our [[children]]? We go through the [[ritual]] of [[Santa Claus]], since our children (are supposed to) believe in it, and we do not [[want]] to disappoint them; they pretend to believe not to disappoint us and our belief in their naiveté (and to get the presents, of course). In an [[uncanny ]] way, some beliefs [[belief]]s always seem to function “at a [[distance]].” For the [[belief ]] to function, there has to be some ultimate [[guarantor ]] of it, yet this guarantor is always [[deferred]], [[displaced]], never [[present ]] in person. The [[subject ]] who <i>directly</i> believes [[need ]] not [[exist ]] for the [[belief ]] to be operative: It is enough merely to presuppose its [[existence ]] in the guise of, say, a [[mythological ]] [[founding figure ]] who is not part of our [[reality]].<br><br>

Against this background, one is tempted to [[supplement ]] the fashionable [[notion ]] of “interactivity” “[[interactivity]]” with its shadowy and much more [[uncanny ]] [[double]], “interpassivity” “[[interpassivity]]” (a term invented by [[Robert Pfaller]]). Today, it is a commonplace to emphasize how, with new electronic media, the passive consumption of a [[text ]] or a work of [[art ]] is over: I no longer merely stare at the [[screen]], I increasingly interact with it, entering into a dialogic [[relationship ]] with it, from choosing the programs, through participating in debates in a [[virtual ]] [[community]], to directly determining the outcome of the plot in so-called “interactive narratives.”<br><br> Those who praise the [[democratic]] potential of such new [[media]] generally focus on precisely these features. But there is another side of my “[[interaction]],” which the [[object]] of interaction itself deprives me of: my own [[passive]] reaction of [[satisfaction]] (or [[mourning]] or [[laughter]]). The [[object]] itself “[[enjoys]] the show” instead of me, relieving me of the need to [[enjoy]] myself. Do we not [[witness]] “[[interpassivity]]” in a great [[number]] of today’s [[public]]ity spots or posters that, as it were, passively enjoy the product instead of us? [[Coca-Cola]] cans bearing the inscription, “Ooh! Ooh! What taste!” emulate in advance the [[ideal]] customer’s reaction. When a man tells a tasteless bad [[joke]] and then, when nobody around him laughs, he bursts out into a noisy, nervous laughter, he has found himself obliged to act out the expected reaction of the [[public]] for them. This supplied laughter is similar to the [[canned laughter]] of the [[TV]] set, but in this example, the [[agent]] that laughs instead of us (i.e., through which we, the bored and embarrassed [[public]], laugh) is not an anonymous audio track claiming to laugh for an invisible [[public]] — the “[[Big Other]]” — but the narrator of the joke himself. He does this in order to ensure the inscription of his act into the “[[Big Other]],” the [[symbolic]] [[order]] of all those around him. His [[compulsive]] laughter is much like how we feel obliged to utter “Oops!” when we stumble or do something stupid. If we do not say “Oops!” — if we do not inscribe our acknowledgement of the error onto the [[public]] [[order]] — it is as if, by allowing an [[imaginary]] dialogue between ourselves and the “[[Big Other]]” to remain incomplete, we commit ourselves to [[symbolic]] oblivion.

Those VCR aficionados who praise [[compulsively]] record hundreds of movies (myself among them) are well aware that the democratic potential immediate effect of such new media generally focus on precisely these features. But there owning a VCR is another side of my “interaction,” which that one effectively watches less [[film]]s than in the object [[good]] old days of interaction itself deprives me of: my own passive reaction of satisfaction (or mourning or laughter)a simple [[TV]] set without a VCR. The object itself “enjoys the show” One never has time for TV, so, instead of melosing a precious evening, one simply tapes the [[film]] and stores it for a [[future]] viewing (for which, relieving me of the need to enjoy myselfcourse, there is almost never time). Do we So, although I do not witness “interpassivity” actually watch [[films]], the very [[awareness]] that the films I love are stored in my video [[library]] gives me a great number of today’s publicity spots or posters thatprofound [[satisfaction]] and, as it wereoccasionally, passively enjoy enables me to simply relax and indulge in the product instead exquisite art of us? Coca-Cola cans bearing doing [[nothing]] — as if the inscriptionVCR is, in a way, watching and enjoying them for me, “Ooh! Ooh! What taste!” emulate in advance the ideal customer’s reactionmy place.<br><br>

When a man tells a tasteless bad joke and thenIn the [[interpassive]] arrangement, when nobody around him laughs, he bursts out into a noisy, nervous laughter, he has found himself obliged I am passive through the [[Other]]; I accede to act out the expected reaction of [[Other]] the public for them. This supplied laughter is similar to the canned laughter passive aspect (of the TV setenjoying), but in this example, the agent while I can remain actively engaged — that laughs instead of us (i.e.is, through which weI can work longer hours with less need for “nonproductive” activity, the bored and embarrassed public, laugh) is not an anonymous audio track claiming such as leisure or [[mourning]]. I can continue to laugh for an invisible public—the “Big Other”—but the narrator of the joke himself. He does this work in order to ensure the inscription of his act into the “Big Otherevening,” while the symbolic order of all those around him. His compulsive laughter is much like how we feel obliged to utter “Oops!” when we stumble or do something stupid. If we do not say “Oops!”—if we do not inscribe our acknowledgement of VCR passively enjoys for me; I can make financial arrangements for the error onto deceased’s fortune while the public order—it is as if, by allowing an imaginary dialogue between ourselves and the “Big Other” to remain incomplete, we commit ourselves to symbolic oblivionweepers mourn in my place.<br><br>

VCR aficionados who compulsively record hundreds One should therefore turn around one of movies (myself among them) are well aware that the immediate effect commonplaces of owning a VCR is [[conservative]] [[cultural criticism]]: In contrast to the notion that one effectively watches less films than in new [[media]] turn us into [[passive]] [[consumer]]s who just stare numbly at the good old days of a simple TV set without a VCR. One never has time for TV[[screen]], so, instead of losing a precious evening, one simply tapes the film and stores it for a future viewing (for which, [[real]] [[threat]] of course, there new [[media]] is almost never time). So, although I do not actually watch films, the very awareness that the films I love are stored in my video library gives me a profound satisfaction andthey deprive us of our [[passivity]], occasionally, enables me to simply relax and indulge in the exquisite art of doing nothing—as if the VCR is, in a wayour authentic passive [[experience]], watching and enjoying them thus prepare us for mindless frenetic activity — for me, in my placeendless work.<br><br>

In the interpassive arrangementSo then, I am passive through the Other; I accede would it not be a proper funeral for Charles R. Douglass if a set of sound-machines were to the Other the passive aspect (of enjoying)accompany his coffin, generating whispered laments, while I can remain actively engaged—that ishis [[beloved]] surviving relatives enjoyed a hearty meal, I can work longer hours with less need for “nonproductive” activity, such as leisure or mourning. I can continue to perhaps got some work in the eveningdone elsewhere? Far from finding it offensive, while the VCR passively enjoys for me; I can make financial arrangements for [[think]] perhaps he would appreciate the deceased’s fortune while the weepers mourn in my place[[recognition]] of such a burial.<br><br>

==Source==* [[Will You Laugh for Me, Please?]] ''In These [[Times]]''. July 18, 2003. <http://www.inthesetimes.com/site/main/article/88/>