Comedy faces up to cancel culture

Directing duo Adam + Dave, represented by Arts & Sciences, describe their work as 30-second comedy films with a lot of product placement. 

“It’s two people doing the job of one,” Adam Brodie jokes. “The business model is flawed, but the friendship is strong,” Dave Derewlany follows up. 

This is the way the entire interview goes. Quips and one-liners with only a few pauses as one or the other stops to consider their response, Brodie and Derewlany are, at their core, two self-deprecating Canadian comedy directors who have a sincere rapport with each other, along with a respect for the other’s contributions. They might joke on each other during our Zoom call, but they’re always kind about it. 

Comedians are the court jesters of our culture.

Besides their commercial work, they just finished writing and directing a six-episode series called Humour Resources for CBC. Brodie describes it as a comedy for comedians, wherein Jon Dore, an IRL stand-up comic, acts as the Human Resources department for the entire genre of comedy. “Jon actually pitched this to us,” Derewlany explains, “as a way to look at the world of stand-up comedians when they’re left to their own devices.”

“It’s an examination of nuance and context,” says Brodie, “About what happens when a joke is taken out of the flow of the act and stripped of meaning.” And then, of course, what happens when that joke, irreverent, offensive, absurd or otherwise, is held up to the light. When one moment is taken totally out of the surrounding context, out of what makes it funny, and a joke at the expense of people in power—or even the comedian themselves—becomes something much more sinister. What happens when a joke is stripped down to something so devoid of humor that it becomes something ugly?

We’re not the type of people who can define cancel culture. When that social media backlash does happen, it often gives a very loud, unignorable voice to people who haven’t been heard, or haven’t had justice." —Dave Derewlaney

Enter Jon Dore. In the show, he gets on Zoom calls with various comedians, including stand-ups like Nikki Glaser, Ronnie Cheung, Sarah Silverman, and The Lucas Brothers. He then proceeds to interrogate them about specific jokes from their acts and about how they feel about the industry. He gives them notes from an unnamed ‘corporate’ and, throughout the interview allows each of them an opportunity to make him the butt of their jokes. “The plan was always to make the joke about Jon,” Brodie says. “We didn’t want to go after anyone or make them feel unsafe. Jon is the asshole here.” 

Often jokes have to be found through multiple attempts, and that’s the real issue comedians have with cancel culture.

And he is. In this case, he’s The Man. He’s the network executive picking apart people’s acts, trying to make every joke funny to everyone. Brodie explains that the show isn’t “gotcha comedy”. Brodie and Derewlaney didn’t try to trick people or dig through ten years of material for a singular moment that might not look great now. Humour Resources was intended to be a satire of the people who are often subjected to the effects of cancel culture; comedians, network execs, publicists. It’s clear that the show is not an attack on the people who participate in online backlash. 

While the comedy was all improvised—the comedians were just told that Dore was going to act as their HR rep, and they just needed to go along with the bit—some comedians played into the corporate structure. “It was interesting to see the difference between emerging versus established comedians,” says Derewlany. “Nikki, for example, had real complaints she needed to voice, serious problems.” Glaser spoke about misogyny, sexism, and the way people treat her as opposed to her male colleagues. Other comedians, like Eric Andre, decided to play it up, put on a character, and go after Dore himself. Which was, after all, the point. 

We need a chance to find the joke.

On the show, Dore has a red binder. He brings this out now and then as a vaguely threatening example of the consequences of telling a bad joke. But he never actually explains cancel culture or gets into what it means to be canceled. I’m hoping Brodie and Derewlaney can explain how they see this 21st-century phenomenon. 

"I dunno!" Brodie laughs," can you just put a link to the Wikipedia article?"

It takes some prodding to get an answer, not because they don’t want to define cancel culture, but because they believe it’s not their place to do so. “We’re not the type of people who can define [it],” Derewlany finally says. “When that social media backlash does happen, it often gives a very loud, unignorable voice to people who haven’t been heard, or haven’t had justice.” 

“[Humour Resources] is an examination of nuance and context. What happens when a joke is taken out of the flow of the act and stripped of meaning?” —Adam Brodie

“It’s not really cancelation, it’s more like a cultural course correction,” Brodie adds. “It can tip the power structure. But the frenzy makes me uncomfortable.” When there’s a moment of indignation, righteous or otherwise, cancel culture can become hyper-focused. Often moments around cancel culture lose nuance when you attempt to hold someone responsible for ten seconds of their life. 

“I want to be clear; we’re talking about comedians,” says Brodie, “We’re talking about people who are paid in pints of beer, sometimes, to stand up and make jokes.” 

“The comedy club used to be a forum,” Derewlany explains. “It was a bubble, for better or for worse.” That bubble, which was threatened by the advent of cell phones, social media, and leaked sets, has now been completely popped in the wake of the pandemic. Without clubs, how can comedians practice, or test material, or even gauge a reaction to a joke? You can’t ask people to unmute themselves just to provide a laugh track over Zoom.