The Aristocrats
Originally Written: August 2005
Most critics seem to be playing this documentary smash from Sundance up as a comedy. Folks, I’ve seen funnier. As a documentary, as a look at how comedians go for laughs through improvisation and go-for-broke bravado, “The Aristocrats”- directed by comic Paul Provenza and produced by Penn Jillette of Penn & Teller- is successful. As “the funniest movie you may ever see,” as some critics are calling it, it works less well.
What is “The Aristocrats?” Simply told, it’s a comic’s joke for comics. A secret handshake rarely told in public, primarily for its’ vulgarity (the film is rated as Unrated after being slapped with a deserving NC-17 for the language), but also probably because, to a casual audience, it’s not really that amusing. Here’s the deal- A guy goes into a talent agent’s office and says he’s got a great act for the agent. It’s a family act. The agent goes, “Well, we already have one, but let’s here your pitch.” The guy goes into the routine, which is chock-full of the most depraved and salicious acts you can possibly imagine a family doing to each other. The agent goes, “Wow, that’s a Hell of an act. What do you call it?” The guy goes, “The Aristocrats.”
Again, it’s not really that amusing. But comics love telling it to themselves because, simply, it allows them to sink to the depths of filth for the art of improvisation. One of the interviewees (“Simpsons” writer Dana Gould) claims to have stretched it out to 2 1/2 hours before screwing up the punchline. The delivery is different with each of the more than 100 comics on display in this vulgar doc, but that’s the point. Like jazz (the common analogy used by the comics in the film), what each performer brings to the table is the point. And some of them are very funny. The highlights for me include: George Carlin, Billy the Mime (yes folks, a mime is truly funny), Bob Sagat, Gibert Gottfried (whose performance of the joke at a post-9/11 Friar’s Roast of Hugh Hefner is the capper and was the inspiration behind the film), Jon Stewart (who doesn’t tell the joke, but speaks naturally endearingly about it), Kevin Pollack (who tells it doing an impersonation of Christopher Walken), Trey Parker and Matt Stone (who use the “South Park” kids for their rendition), and Eric Mead (who tells the joke using a deck of cards). These guys do what the film- at its’ best- is about in that they go for broke, dissect their art and the joke (although Stewart- always the diplomat- wonders if that’s a good thing), and get well-deserved laughs for innovation and imagination.
The fact that only a handful of comics standout among the 100 that appear in the 90-minute “Aristocrats” points to the film’s biggest flaw- it’s too long. This subject would work best as a short film, not a feature doc. Granted, in the deconstruction of the joke and the many different ways to tell it, “The Aristocrats” warrents the length. But some people in it- namely, Britain’s otherwise hilarious Billy Connolly, Eddie Izzard, and Eric Idle, as well as Carrot Top and (tragically) Chris Rock, among others- are not up to their potential, and could have been cut altogether, since they don’t really have anything to offer.
The other big problem is the joke itself. The punchline just isn’t that funny. It’s ironic to be sure, but not really funny. Some of the ways the joke is told are funny in a depraved and demented way. But to the casual listener, the joke itself is just not hilarious. But like the comedians in “The Aristocrats” will tell you, it’s how you get to the punchline, not the punchline itself, that what counts. On that level, “The Aristocrats” works both as joke and as film, and how great that both can exist through the artistic freedom given by our First Amendment. That celebration of Free Speech is probably “The Aristocrats'” greatest gift to the audience.
Actually, there’s another. It’s an “Artistocrats'”-esque joke that a couple of people in the film- notably Robin Williams- tell that’s actually funny in its’ structure. Here’s my version.
OK, so a piano player goes into a night club looking for a job. He speaks to the club’s manager, telling him he plays his own compositions. The club manager goes, “OK, but this is a classy place. Let’s hear what you have.” The first one is a lovely little Classical piece. The manager goes, “That’s a beautiful piece, what’s it called?” The pianist goes, “My Father Licks My Sister’s Tits For Breakfast.” The manager goes, “That’s awful. Do you have anything that’s less dirty? This is a classy place.” The pianist goes, “OK, here’s something else.” He goes into a sly little jazz piece. The manager goes, “That was great. What’s the title?” The pianist goes, “My Son Sucks on His Dog’s Balls.” The manager goes, “Damn, that’s just as bad. OK, the music’s great, so you can play. Just don’t say the names of any of the pieces.”
OK, so it’s his first night playing at the club, and the pianist is bringing the audience to its’ feet. At one point, he goes, “I’ve got to take a little break. I’ll be back in five.” He goes backstage and goes to the bathroom. He comes back out, and doesn’t realize his zipper’s down. Someone in the audience goes, “Do you know you’re dick’s hanging out?” The pianist goes, “No, but I wrote it.”
