The Taoist Clown #1

I have been a Taoist for about 15 years now. My best friend Dale Lyles gave me a copy of the Tao Te Ching as a high school graduation present. I devoured it quickly, and it really helped me wrap my brain around how to live a contented life in a way that made no sense and yet was perfectly clear and simple. You can read more about Taoism on your own, but what I really like about it is that is that it doesn't really have a religious connotation. It's a philosophy, a system of beliefs and meditations that just help you to live better. There are no rules or laws to follow. Therefore there are no punishments for breaking them. there's no reference to heaven or hell. Some places make it more of a religion than it should be, but in pure Taoism, the Tao "cannot be named." The Tao is just a force that's around us, and you can call it whatever you want, but that doesn't mean your definition of the Tao is any better than anyone else's. You could call it Yahweh or Jesus or Allah or the laws of the natural world or The Force. As such, you can be a Taoist and a Jew or Taoist and a Christian or a Taoist and an Atheist or a Jedi.

Read the Tao of Pooh by Benjamin Hoff. It'll take you one evening, and you'll be on board.

One thing that I found a couple of years ago is how much Taoism relates to Clown. Many is the time I would read a passage from the Tao Te Ching and be reminded of something I had heard from Gaulier or Avner. I mean it makes sense. Both are born out of versions of Shamanism. When I read through the Tao Te Ching--I read a passage every day--occasionally, I am struck by the idea that "hey, that's a really good thought for clown work as well." Today was such a day. Let's look at Chapter 8:

The highest goodness is like water,
providing life to all things without trying.
It is content with the low places that people disdain.
Thus it is like the Tao.

In dwelling, live close to the ground.
In thinking, keep to the simple.
In conflict, be fair and generous.
In leading, don't try to control.
In work, do what you enjoy.
In family life, be completely present.

When you are content to be simply yourself
and don't compare or compete,
everyone will find favor with you.

The first stanza reminds us not to push. If as a performer you try to push your clever ideas on people, you'll never get laughs. We as the audience don't want to see your ideas, we want to see you. The second stanza is a great list of edicts that remind us what it's like to play in clown mode. When you're doing it right, you're doing all of these things without thinking.

The first in e of the second stanza tells us to "live close to the ground." Ah, as John Achorn extolls, it was Carlo Mazzoni-Clemente who was fond of reminding performers "the ground is your friend," although in this case I don't think the first line means to literally live on the ground. It's a reminder to live humbly and keep your focus off of possessions. While I don't think it's meant to be taken literally, how often to we meet Chaplin's Little Tramp as he is waking up in places like this:

Or this:

Line two reminds us to keep things simple. Premises don't need to be overly complicated. The clown doesn't think that way, and the more complicated you make things the less relate-able it becomes. Stan Laurel had a brilliant idea when he thought to himself something like, "What if all Ollie and I have to do it move this piano up some stairs?"

That's it. Move a piano up a staircase, and you get a thirty-minute movie called The Music Box and one of the funniest slapstick routines ever put on film.

The third line offers us a principle that we can bend, but not break, in clown. The clown must be lovable, so there's not really a way to make a clown a totally selfish jerk. However, since "clown smart equals people dumb" according to Eli Simon, mileage may vary on one's definition of "fair and generous." In conflict, it is more important to be fair and generous to the routine. In improv there is the idea of saying "yes, and...," This just means agreeing with your scene partner(s) on what has been established and providing something additional to keep the scene going.

In any of the several Looney Tunes shorts that involve Elmer Fudd trying to hunt while Daffy and Bugs argue over which season it is, the action, the comedy, and the cartoon would be over in an instant if any of them stopped being "fair and generous." At any point Elmer could just find out what season it is. It seems like a simple thing to find out, or he could simply shoot both of them and not tell the game warden. But he doesn't because that would be boring. Bugs doesn't need this argument at all. He was just minding his own business in his burrow. At any point he can just go back home because a) it actually isn't Rabbit Season, and b) in his burrow he can't be shot. But he doesn't leave because that would be boring. And Daffy, the most selfish in this scenario, just continues to stick with his lie. It's not Rabbit Season, and he knows it's not Rabbit Season, but he can't admit that because that would be boring. While the whole premise of these shorts are an argument or conflict, each of the clown characters is being "fair and generous" to his scene partners and to the premise, and thus the routine continues.

Or what if Bud Abbott turned to Lou Costello in the middle of Who's On First and said, "Wait, I understand the confusion. You think I'm asking a question, but I am actually making a statement. As strange as it seems, the first baseman has a last name that is homophonically similar to the pronoun 'who,' making it sound like I'm asking you a question, when I am actually answering your question." Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz...

The fourth line reminds us that the best clown leaders or "boss clowns" are those that don't try to control. You give instructions, and usually a hapless partner does it wrong. If you try to control your partner to have them get it right, the routine is over. Imagine how boring this movie would be if Groucho actually made sure his orders were enforced.

Or even simpler, the last lines of Waiting for Godot:

VLADIMIR:

Well? Shall we go?

ESTRAGON:

Yes, let's go.

They do not move.

The next line says, "in work, do what you enjoy." Buster Keaton is the master of this. You look at most of his movies and you see a premise that is simply an idiot who who wants to be good at something, but despite his best efforts just isn't. Sherlock, Jr.: an idiot who wants to be a detective. Steamboat Bill, Jr.: and idiot who wants to be a steamboat captain. The General: an idiot who wants to drive a train. One Week: an idiot who wants to build a house. I could go on and on, but that's not necessary. This is a good idea to keep in mind. Masterful clown can come from the simple starting place of "I'd like to try that."

The last line of that stanza I would would alter. Not just in family life but in all things be completely present. The clown has no memory of the past nor any expectation of the future. He just keeps going and exists completely in the now. Imagine this guy with a memory of past failures or a logical assumption of what the future hold:

And then in the final stanza, you get a reminder of what is possibly the most important element of the clown. Be you. Don't try to be a clown character or an impersonation of a clown you have seen at the circus or in a movie. That won't work. We want to see you:  weird, silly, dumb, vulnerable, wonderful, 100% you. You have to work and play and horse around and get dirty to discover your own inner idiot. And there you find the clown. Which leads us to a nice cryptic-Eastern-philosophy-sounding moral to the story: He who understands nothing, understands everything.