Watching the movie Lincoln, Steven Spielberg’s biopic of the 16th U.S. president, I was fascinated by the scenes that took place in Congress. There would be a representative pleading his case, and all the while, a steady stream of gibes and retorts would be flung his way. What struck me most about this constant commentary was the high level of wit and cleverness.
It was called heckling, and this was its golden age.
Now imagine a comedy night at your local bar and a struggling comedian dealing with a bunch of drunks who can barely put a sentence together and can only manage a generic “You stink!” This, too, is heckling, but times and circumstances have changed.
Heckling is the subject of Michael Schultz’s new book, Heckle.
He could be described as cautiously in favour of heckling. He reminds us that it is a democratic medium open to all, regardless of who owns the means of production or, for that matter, the microphone. It is the relief the common man has for the torrent of lies thrust upon him.
It’s the only opportunity to criticize a performance for those without access to the media. It is visceral and immediate. Most importantly, it is honest.
Comedians don’t feel quite so generous on the topic. Most comics hate hecklers and think they ruin their carefully planned shows. Hecklers are oblivious.
When modern comedy clubs sprung up in the late ’70s, one of the main issues was heckling.
Most clubs decided to have a zero-tolerance policy, and the comics were grateful — grateful enough, in fact, to often work for nothing in exchange for a perfect place to perform. Translate that as “no interruptions.”
It’s rarely a fair fight anyway. The comic has the microphone and a sound system. The heckler has only his own voice, which can be drowned out by technology.
But most importantly, the comic is sober and the heckler is usually a bit inebriated.
The heckle comes out slurred, garbled, out of control, which allows the comic to put him down with lines such as “I remember when I had my first drink” or “some consonants would really help.”
Comedy clubs now often steer an enlightened middle path, allowing the heckler to get in a few good punches before interceding on the comedian’s behalf.
Schultz is particularly insightful when he describes how heckling has now become most prevalent on the Internet.
What is Tweeting, really, but heckling about the day’s events. Watch an awards show and open your Twitter feed and you’ll see comments that used to be heard live. “Nice dress, Beyoncé — for a moose!”
Maybe someday, people will long for the days when fistfights broke out in clubs when performers and hecklers went too far. Sometimes, the scene turns vicious, racist and ugly.
Schultz reminds us of the Michael Richards debacle, when the former Seinfeld star went on a profanity-laced tirade after being heckled at a Los Angeles comedy club, but it happens more often than you might think.
It makes me wonder what the manicured wits in Lincoln would make of that.
Post City Magazines’ humour columnist, Mark Breslin, is the founder of Yuk Yuk’s comedy clubs and the author of Control Freaked.
