Satire v0.1

Satire v0.1

Satire requires a “normal” lead-in. Whatever is exaggerated must have a clear connection to the ordinary world, or it loses force.

At the most trivial level, suppose you want to satirize the supposed greed of the mayor. You could do this by devising a skit about a man who can’t bear to part with a dollar even to buy medicine. So far, so good. Now how does this deal with the mayor?

If he already has a reputation for intense greed you don’t have to do much, because people can guess. But if he doesn’t, or if a lot of well-known people are thought to be greedy, you have to be more specific so your audience knows who you are talking about. You can hang a sign on the actor that reads “Mayor” or dress the actor like the mayor, if that’s distinctive enough, or exaggerate some physical feature—a Pinocchio nose if the mayor has a big one, for example.

But your skit loses any satirical bite if you actor isn’t anything like the mayor. It may be comic enough, making fun of greedy people in general, but it is no longer the specific satire of a specific man that you wanted it to be.

Going further, it seems so obvious that I’m ashamed to even remark that in a satire about a greedy man, he must be doing recognizably greedy things. The key here is “recognizably.” This depends on the audience and the culture: for a poor audience worrying about whether to buy food or medicine is a real problem and not a sign of greed.

Most people will stop to pick up a coin. A greedy person might wade into a fountain to pick one up. This is recognizable, and so you can use this in your play. But a man who uses a backhoe to excavate a yard looking for dropped coins isn’t recognizable anymore, unless you append a plot-killing amount of explanation.

It is worth looking at the fountain example in a little broader framework, in terms of feedback.

Most people regard coins tossed into the fountain as off-limits. There’s a trace of superstitious regard: it seems tasteless—almost not thinkable—to grab for what somebody has thrown away as ‘an offering,’ and it is a cold wet way to acquire a small amount of money. This attitude can change. There’s a connection of the extreme to ordinary life, because your play has used one. Suppose your play is popular, and other writers seize on the same thing: diving into fountains for loose change as a sign of greediness. The shock value of the act starts to decline. It becomes thinkable, and people who want to show off by acting a little “transgressive” will start doing it more often in real life. The culture changes—and in this case changes in a direction of less courtesy and more greed.

You will no doubt complain that this was the opposite of your intention. You wanted to make fun of greediness, not encourage it. But the satire, by becoming part of the culture, changes the balance of things people are accustomed to experiencing. It changes the culture in the direction of what you are trying to satirize. Unless the satire provoked a reaction, this seems like a built-in danger—especially in an entertainment culture like ours.

Take another example: Madonna’s “Material Girl.” She pretty obviously meant it as satire—the “material girl” is intensely selfish. The song became intensely popular: part of the atmosphere and part of the language. Most people went on their usual lives, but on the fringe some took it up as a slogan: some proudly and some with a smirk. The result was a small cultural shift as the satire became an anthem. Not for everybody, but for enough people to “pull the distribution” in the direction of materialism. I didn’t observe anybody taking the opposite approach and becoming less selfish after contemplating the song. (I doubt that Madonna cared much.)

I see a serious danger that satire can provoke the attitudes it is trying to poke fun of.

But we know that satire can be effective and useful.

When doesn’t satire risk being counterproductive?

If people feel compelled to do something about the problem, the satire will be productive. The problem for us is that our culture is an entertainment culture, in which we cultivate an aesthete’s detachment and avoid commitment.

If the satirized characters are clearly vile enough that nobody wants to be like them, the satire may be productive. The problem for the artist is that the audience will laugh more heartily for a sympathetic villain. Madonna’s “material girl” is proud and content—and not shown in an ugly light, so we smile. Nobody laughs at Elmer Gantry. The trick of creating a character that is funny and despicable at the same time is a tough one.

Good satire is hard to do—and even harder when the news is so strange. When I heard the story about the proposal to ban using iPods while walking in the city, I was sure it was from Scrappleface.