Mel Brooks once said, “Tragedy is when I cut my finger. Comedy is when you fall into an open sewer and die.”
If that quote doesn’t make you smile, you just might be a sociopath. Then again, those of you who grinned might be as well. It’s too soon to tell.
Theories about why something is funny date back to Aristotle, who suggested that the real secret to humor is surprise. Aristotle and especially Plato argued that laughter comes having scorn for the person suffering, a feeling of superiority over someone else. This might support the Mel Brooks thesis, or it might suggest that Greek philosophers lacked empathy and, you guessed it, were all sociopaths. It all depends on what you think is funny, and why.
Mystery, suspense and humor are often considered sub-genres, but the books and films that I’ve always loved somehow find a way to blend all three. One moment you’re on the hunt for clues, and the next your favorite character is in jeopardy—but before disaster can strike, you find yourself laughing out loud.
Real life is like that, so why not crime fiction? Our daily commutes, office encounters or grocery trips are filled with smiles, frustrations, boredom and minor tragedies. (If you count taking the wrong train or stepping ankle-deep into a flooded pothole as tragedies.) In the moment, those incidents might seem mundane or frustrating, but in hindsight they feel human, relatable and, yes, funny. Especially when we turn them into stories we tell our friends.
Only a handful of crime writers seamlessly incorporate humor into their stories. Despite the number of mysteries published each year, a small cadre of writers seem to find mirth amidst the mayhem. Not all the time, and to varying degrees of hilarity, but a subversive smile always lurks below the surface, and there is something about the characters, even the villains, that you just love.
Elmore Leonard, Donald Westlake, Loren Estleman and Ross Thomas are masters of complex plots driven by unforgettable characters whose moral ambiguity makes them equally comfortable on both sides of the law. When it comes to unbridled mayhem with a splash of social commentary, you can’t beat Carl Hiaasen, and for reckless misadventure, try Tim Dorsey or D.P. Lyle’s newest series featuring Jake Longly.
Are they writing crime fiction or humor? By now you know the answer is yes. Both. And stop asking.With characters that include cops, PIs, gangsters, spies, corrupt politicians, professional killers and tragic victims, all these authors deal with life and death situations, serious crimes and real-world events. But they also deliver biting social commentary, with an irreverent insistence that justice be done despite the law, and a unwavering willingness to call bullshit on hypocrisy, especially if it stems from someone in power.
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So what do you call this sub-genre of mystery? My own novels have been called comedic thrillers, comic noir, and even “zany” by reviewers, and I’ll be the first to admit the elaborate plots tend to go sideways at every turn. My editor refers to them as capers, and I think that’s the best description, because all the stories involve heists perpetrated by characters more than capable of getting in their own way. A great plot isn’t propelled by things going as planned, but by things going horribly wrong.
That’s because in fiction, as in life, people make mistakes.
This gets to the heart of crime fiction, which remains the most popular literary genre not because of the action and suspense, but because of empathy. There is something remarkable that happens when ordinary people find themselves in extraordinary circumstances. Their mettle is tested, their choices carry real consequences, and their true natures are revealed. Humor helps us relate to these characters, see their flaws and quirks as our own, and bond with them in a way that only friends can do. That’s why great mysteries often outlast so-called literary fiction in our cultural memory. Not only are they more fun to read, they ultimately carry more meaning.
Consider the rapid-fire dialogue or sardonic voice of the narrator in any novel by Chandler, Hammett or Ross Macdonald. Think of the conversational collisions between Holmes and Watson. Or the deflecting wit of James Bond. Humor makes these characters accessible, relatable, and most importantly, real.
Not to get overly academic, but sorrow as an catalyst for humor dates back to Greek tragedies, and let’s not forget about Shakespeare. His three most tragicomic plays are arguably Cymbeline, The Winter’s Tale and The Merchant of Venice, but even the pure comedies involve convoluted plots driven by human error, high drama, and major stakes in love or war.
More contemporary examples can be found in film and television, especially since streaming services created a platform for all the brilliant writers that Hollywood overlooked. Killing Eve, the series based on the Villanelle novels by Luke Jennings, is mesmerizing thanks to the darkly comic adaptation by Phoebe Waller-Bridge. The new Amazon series The Patriot operates in this vein, and anything by the Coen Brothers remains quintessential, as all their films manage to make you laugh and squirm at the same time. Watch a play or movie written by Martin McDonagh if you want to find humor on the dark side of the human condition, or check out The Guard, a movie written and directed by his older brother, John Michael McDonagh. And don’t forget Get Shorty, the Barry Sonnenfeld adaption of the classic Elmore Leonard novel, or Guy Ritchie’s Snatch, which remind us that most thieves are not rocket scientists, and a good crime drama is really just a comedy of errors.
As for the science behind it all, there are plenty of theories on humor—where it comes from, how it works, and what purpose it serves. (The top three are relief, incongruity and superiority in case want to impress your psychology professor.) Countless scientific and academic papers are written on the subject, and some psychologists work in “humor labs” to diagnose and define what’s funny. That in itself seems tragic to me, but millions are spent annually by TV and movie studios to try and predict what audiences will find funny, and let’s face it, they’re usually wrong.
That’s because Aristotle was onto something, and humor does come from surprise. The problem with most unfunny comedies or lame rom-coms is that they’re trying to be funny. They are planned, canned and stale on arrival. By contrast, most authors of humorous mysteries don’t outline their plots, so they’re as surprised as you are when something goes haywire. And the key to it all, the thing that always gets overlooked, is that to the characters caught in the crosshairs, it’s not funny at all.
Watch a classic comedy show that actually works. Deconstruct an episode of I Love Lucy, Seinfeld, or Friends. The characters get themselves into trouble and feel embarrassed, anxious, scared or stressed, and yet we’re laughing our asses off. Why? Because we can relate to the honesty of their reactions, and the actors, like the characters in a great novel, are playing it straight. You find sympathy in their situation, but because it’s their tragedy and not yours, you feel relief, and that’s where the laughter comes from. Not such a mystery after all.
So Mel Brooks got it right, and you’re not a sociopath. Neither was Aristotle.
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