Most kinds of humor depends upon the old switcheroo: You expect one thing and get another. Puns work this way by deliberately confusing two very different words that sound the same. Oscar Wilde's The Importance of Being Earnest might be one of the most sublime expression of puns in literature, order with “earnest” alternating between name and adjective to serve the needs of the story's hilariously Byzantine plot. Slapstick goes a long way with switching things as well. People are supposed to stand, viagra not fall down. They're supposed to eat pies in pieces coming at them two miles an hour, nurse not all at once and at twenty. Subtext also works wonders in this regard. Remember the SNL Colonel Angus skit? Those aristocratic Southerners waiting for the good Colonel to come home from the war kept talking about one thing. But by the way they pronounce Colonel Angus's name in that highfalutin Southern drawl, you realize quickly that they're talking about something completely different. And the clever way in which this pretext is maintained snowballs the humor for a good five minutes. The list goes on, of course. My purpose here however is to discuss another kind of comedy, a kind that rarely gets discussed but should. I call it the Indiana Bounce. It's inspired by Indiana Jones' reaction to a joke in an often overlooked scene in Raiders of the Lost Ark. French Archaeologist Rene Belloq is about to bury Indiana Jones in a crypt filled with snakes and shouts down before sealing it: “Who knows, Doctor Jones? Some day even you might be worth something.” Jones' only response is a laugh which quickly dissolves into a curse: “Ha ha haâ€¦son of a…” The switcheroo here is going from the Funny to the Not-Funny and back to the Funny again. Hence the term “bounce”. Belloq, that annoying French archaeologist who wants seal Indiana Jones to his doom, cracks wise about is his soon-to-be erstwhile colleague. And it's a funny crack. You see, the two were students together in archaeology school. They knew each other. And, as men are wont to do, they vie for the alpha position by seeing who can deliver the most devastatingly clever putdown of the other. Belloq does three things here. A) Asserts that Indiana Jones is a poor archaeologist (the point of the barb, so to speak). B) Suggests Jones' only hope of accomplishing anything in the field is to be buried in a crypt for a thousand years, and then get discovered like any other artifact. (Funny! Ha ha!) C) Wraps the entire delivery in the guise of a compliment. (Boy, those French are a sophisticated bunch, aren't they?) But if you think about it, Belloq actually delivers his putdown in reverse order, from C to B to A. And this is important for reasons we will discuss in a moment. But first, let's step back a bit. Typically, such insults are not meant to hurt. They are delivered so flippantly and pleasantly they can't possibly be genuine, and the recipient should realize this. For example, I once witnessed a conversation between an aspiring filmmaker and his poet roommate. The poet entered the apartment while the filmmaker was screening one of his early efforts to some friends, a low-budget, ultra-violent farce with lots of gore and unmotivated hysteria. Clearly, a piece of questionable quality, even as schlock. After watching for a few moments, the poet asked the filmmaker how it felt to have accomplished his greatest work at such a young age. The filmmaker laughed. Despite being told in front of his friends that he was a bad filmmaker, he still laughed. Why? Because the poet's jibe, like Belloq's, was a putdown artfully disguised as a compliment. This is why Indiana Jones laughs as well. Only he soon realizes that the joke is on him in the most permanent possible way and is therefore Not Funny. Plus, he's an ophidiophobe about to die in a snake pit. Hence the reduction to profanity. Remember when I mentioned the importance of delivering the putdown in reverse order? It's important because Jones has to wait until Belloq finishes his graceful insult before realizing that he is indeed the butt of two jokes: He is a bad archaeologist and soon to be a dead one. This is why Jones laughs and swears at the same time. Supposing Belloq had instead said the following before sealing the crypt: JONES: Belloq! BELLOQ: You know, Dr. Jones, you always were a bad archaeologist. In fact, the only way I can imagine your having an impact in our field is if you are buried here and then your remains are discovered in a thousand years with other artifacts of our age! You can thank me later! Ha! Ha! JONES: That's not even funny! Exactly. There's nothing for Jones to laugh at here and no descent into the Not-Funny because the scene never rises to the Funny to begin with. Belloq's revised parting shot says the same thing as what's onscreen, only it's inelegant and obvious. It's not funny, and so under these circumstances there is no switcheroo to make it funnier. Therein lies the humor of the Indiana Bounce. Taking something funny and making it funnier by making it not funny. Or, put more intuitively: a condition that plummets from the Funny to the Not-Funny, and then bounces back to the Funny as soon as the audience hears the splat. One instance I can remember of the Indiana Bounce being used to great effect in a sitcom was in an episode of Hogan's Heroes. The bette-noir of all the Nazi officers, the one thing they never liked to talk about, of course, was the dreaded Eastern Front. So when a visiting general threatens to send Colonel Klink there, someone informs him that “you don't go to Eastern Front. Eastern Front come to you!” The look of horror on the officers' faces as they contemplate the unfunny ramifications of this little witticism is preciously funny. Another that I remember is from the Johnny Carson Tonight Show when Carson was interviewing a very young Drew Barrymore, probably right after the release of E.T.: The Extra-Terrestrial. Carson asked her if her parents ever watched the Tonight Show and Drew responded naively that, yes, in fact, they did watch the Tonight Show. She knew this for a fact because they had it on one evening while she was up after bedtime throwing up. Carson's look of dread as he pretended to contemplate people throwing up while watching his show was perfect. He looked up above his guest and raised his eyes even higher, as if appealing to a greater power while knowing that no such appeal is even possible. This, I call the Carson Glare, and I use it in conjunction with the Indiana Bounce whenever I can. And if you can humor me for one more paragraph I shall provide an example. Once I was a soccer coach for a team of four- and five-year-olds. In one particular game, they were getting outplayed, but just barely. So it was a frustrating, painful loss with the score ending up
to be something like 4-2. Then, with seconds left, our three best players allowed a completely unnecessary goal. Basically, one of the other kids kicked lame little grounder that wasn't even on its way to the goal. But in a series of Keystone Cop moments of utter incompetence, my kids guided the ball into their own net. They did this by tripping on the grass, falling on the ball, and crashing into each other all at the right moments. The ball stopped short the moment it eked its way into the goal. I couldn't believe it. It's funny thinking about it now. But then, wellâ€¦ The kids all looked to me to see how I would react to such a pathetic display. And so I looked up above them and raised my eyes even higher, as if appealing to a greater power while knowing that no such appeal is even possible. And the kids laughed. They laughed because of the Carson Glare and the Indiana Bounce.