I love Mark Twain. I revered him to the point that when I was a child of ten, becoming Mark Twain was my life’s ambition. Sadly for me, it didn’t work out, but he still inspires me to this day, not only with his witty writing but his keen eyes focused on the human race. Not much has changed since his days on the big river, or so I thought.
I attempted, and somewhat succeeded, to watch portions of a streaming salute to the black comedian Kevin Hart on Netflix. Filmed at the bastion of liberal theater, the elitist government-funded “The Kennedy Center.” He was being awarded with the Mark Twain Prize for American Humor.
I like Kevin Hart; he’s a funny guy who is not afraid to dig into squeamish subjects. But he is strictly adult comedy: crude, foul-mouthed, racist, and mean at times. He has his place in clubs, streaming specials, and R-rated movies, not on the stage of the “Sacred Cow Kennedy Center” in front of a mixed audience of wealthy Hollywood folks jiggling their jewelry and rich old ladies who were clearly put off by the humor he and his roasting guest comedians spat out. The F word seemed to be the most favored of the night, and they all used it for maximum value.
Jerry Seinfeld, the king of clean comedy, introduced the show and praised Kevin for his body of work. Kevin, in the king and queen box, yuked it up, kissed his kids and wife, and wiped away a few tears; it was a touching tribute until Seinfeld left the stage, and that is when the show went to comedic hell in a “Jackie O Handbasket.”
I know how to cuss, learning it from my father’s side of the family and from my sainted Cherokee mother, who could string some of the better words into a formidable tirade. The F word and a few more, are in my vocabulary, and lately, watching the maddening news on television, I find myself screaming adult language at my set. But that is in my home, in front of Momo, who can cuss as well as I can, sometimes better. We don’t dare say bad words in public or in mixed company or around our family, especially the grandkids. So why is filthy, foul-mouthed thuggish language acceptable for an audience at “Jack’s Palace?” You could see Jerry Seinfeld cringe when the camera panned to him. I’m certain he has used those words, especially dealing with Kramer, Newman, and maybe the Soup Nazi.
When Hart finally took the stage to thank everyone and show his stuff, it was a recitation of F you, F this, F that, and so on: all his comedy buds in the box seats roared with approval, showing me that you can be funny, make a butt-load of money and have folks idolize you, but you that doesn’t give you class.
Hollywood and its ilk have taken what was once a reverent, respected, cherished, and Homeric award and turned it into another cheap-assed participation trophy, like the Oscar. Mark Twain deserves so much better.
Notes From The Cactus Patch 
a loud “Amen” to you, brother.
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Thankyou, we both see the world with prescription eyes.
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I honestly don’t see much humor (or wit) in modern comedy. Why? Because there is nothing intellectual about modern humor. As you say, or intimate, modern humor is crap. My guess is that at least 60% of the college-educated morons running around in America today do not, and cannot fathom the humor of Samuel Clemens. “Suppose you were an idiot, and suppose you were a member of Congress; but I repeat myself.” Wisdom with a smile.
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Mustang, my point, exactly. Thanks for your input.
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That Mark Twain was a genius can go without saying even though I just said it. That so much of what passes for humor is just junk anymore is the same. There was a time when the F word provided the shock value of all time because nobody ever said it (We know that uncles and dads did say it but they still had their parameters.). But the shock wears off after a while. I read a biography of Abbott and Costello where they explained why they were one of the few acts to make it out of Burlesque. Lou said (quoting from memory here but this is the gist of it), “You can embarrass the audience into laughing but they won’t come back. If you make them laugh because your joke is funny, they will tell their friends and family to come see you.”
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How true that is. There is little clean comedy these days, but then, their is little clean anything these days. I grew up on Abbott and Costello and loved their movies. They were the educated mans Three Stooges. I still dig me some Mark Twain, even at my age.
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I remember as a small boy watching A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court with Bing Crosby with my dad on our little black and white TV and some scene (I don’t remember which) made me laugh so hard I cried.
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Yep, Herb, Crosby and Hope in the Road movies, Abbot and Costello, Stooges, Danny Kay, Martin and Lewis, all of them were clean and made you laugh. Not today, no one is funny, just crude.
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Spot on, Texas! The new idea is “When you can;t be clever, be crude!” The public in so wanting to be “part” of the crowd, gobbles it up – inarticulate performers goaded into continuance by ignorant audiences so terribly wanting to be part of the “Scene.” Filth has a place in life as life as it is, but not for infantile toilet-mouth. Well written observation, sir.
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Thanks you so much. It’s hard, almost impossible to offend me, but that show did it. Not only was it filthy, it was racist and insulting to humankind. I can be as crude as the next cowboy, but I have a better vocabulary than those comedians, well maybe Seinfeld has a good one too.
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Well said! 🙂
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(1) I don’t know about Jack’s Palace, but I do know about Jack Palance. He starred in The Professionals (partially filmed in Valley of Fire State Park) along with Burt Lancaster, Lee Marvin, Robert Ryan, Woody Strode, and Claudia Cardinale.
(2) I’ve been told that I resemble Mark Twain. Our backgrounds have a number of similarities, too.
(3) F stands for Funny. But I don’t think that’s the F-word to which you refer.
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Jacks Palace is a stick in the eye for Kennedy center. Gotta wonder if the dressing rooms are named for all of Jacks interns he humped in the WH. I like Jack Palance, and all the ones you mentioned, especially Claudia. I also resemble Mark Twain, or so Momo tells me. He was, and is my literary spirit mentor, along with John Steinbeck, Hemmingway and Capote if old Sam is not available. Yep, the F word is the bad one we all know.
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I visited Mark Twain’s house in Hartford, Connecticut a few years ago-awesome author. Crude humor is disgusting and belittles the audience.
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Yes, any time I am in Hartford, I can’t help myself & visit the home/museum.
A bit ago, I was eating breakfast with friends at what this one horse town’s morning cafe calls the Table of Knowledge about how I admire Twain & love walking on the grounds & in his house.
One of my friends, Bob, began grinning very big.
“Why are you shining?” I asked.
He paused.
With a twinkle in his eye he proudly said, “Because I was on the Board of Directors when I lived there.”
I almost fell over.
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You never know what friends will surprise you with. Visiting Twains home is on my list, if I can live long enough. Never been up that far in the East.
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I think you would like it. Appears to be in a good area.
I’ve also visited the Steinbeck house in Salinas, California. I dined there in what is now an awesome Victorian style restaurant run by (about 8, I think) a guild of 8 ladies.
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Back in the mid 90s, I lived in Fresno for a while building a mall, but never made it to Salinas to visit his home. A missed bucket list item.
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Wow-now that’s serendipity! Hopefully, this led to an engrossing chat about Twain’s house. I visited there twice. The last time it was so hot in the house that it was difficult to enjoy the tour. But I remember the woodwork, and it’s as handsome as woodwork gets. That Victorian home is an amazing slice of history.
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Yes, similar feelings, Nancy. I wonder if it was because the air conditioning was not working or if it always like that in summer heat?
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Neither my husband nor I remember if the tour guide mentioned that there was air conditioning and it was down. I would think that the house would have it to deter mold, etc.
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I would think the house would have AC. In the mid-90s, I visited Jeffersons home, Monticello in VA, and it was not air conditioned, and being summer, it was pretty darn warm. The Alamo has AC so the ghost of Travis and Crockett can be comfortable.
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The third floor was actually stifling with the tour group crowded together. Maybe Clemens was pulling a Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn prank and messing with the HVAC system.
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