Originally published 8/4/2005
The Aristocrats
Directors: Paul Provenza, Penn Jillette
Editors: Paul Provenza, Emery Emery
Producer: Peter Adam Golden
Featuring: Approximately 100 comedians, actors and writers including George Carlin, Robin Williams, Gilbert Gottfried, Eric Idle, Jason Alexander, Phyllis Diller, Penn & Teller, Hank Azaria, Steven Wright, Billy Connolly, Jon Stewart, Tim Conway, Whoopi Goldberg, Andy Dick, Eddie Izzard, Michael McKean, Harry Shearer, Richard Jeni, Bob Saget, Dave Thomas, Kevin Nealon, Richard Lewis, Bill Maher, The Amazing Jonathan, Carrot Top, Martin Mull, Larry Miller, Taylor Negron, Emo Phillips, Trey Parker, Matt Stone, Kevin Pollak, Sarah Silverman, The Smothers Brothers, Jeffrey Ross, Rip Taylor, Bruce Vilanch, Chris Rock, Rita Rudner, Don Rickles, Andy Richter, Paul Reiser, Dana Gould, Dom Irrera, Carrie Fisher, Lewis Black, Cathy Ladman
In music there’s a chord structure called the “12-bar blues”. You play four measures in the base chord (aka the tonic), two measures in a chord built on the fourth note of the base scale (aka the subdominant), two more measures on the tonic, one measure built on the fifth note (aka the dominant), one more measure of subdominant, then back to the tonic for the final two measures. 12 measures, 3 chords. Repeat and improvise over until finished.
If that’s gobbledy-gook to you, think of theme from the old Batman TV series, which is a 12-bar blues with vocalists singing “Bat-maaaaan!” on the note that corresponds with each chord. It’s certainly not the earliest example but it’s the easiest to remember.
This is the structure for literally thousands of blues, jazz, rock and pop songs, from Rock Around the Clock to Jump, Jive and Wail to I Feel Good – all of them, stripped to their essence, are the Batman theme. The 12-bar blues is a simple but rock-solid format which creates a space for a performer to carve out an identity for themselves.
In The Aristocrats, a comedy film spliced together from hundreds of hours of interviews shot by comedian Paul Provenza and comedy magician Penn Jillette, we learn the equivalent of the 12-bar blues for filthy jokes. It’s a simple structure – a short introduction, a disgusting middle, then the two-word punchline: “The Aristocrats”. Anyone can learn the joke in seconds, the key is what you do with that middle section.
For decades, back as far as the Vaudeville era, it would seem, “The Aristocrats” has served as a sort of Mason’s handshake for professional comedians; it’s what they entertained each other with backstage. The odd thing about it is that the punchline isn’t very funny. The key to the joke is how that punchline provides you a space to dredge up the most absolutely, jaw-droppingly vulgar ideas you can for that middle section.
This might seem like not much material to build a feature film out of; by five minutes in you have learned all you’re going to learn about the joke itself. But in a way this parallels the joke’s audacity – comedians challenge themselves to make that middle section ever longer and more vile without losing their audience. It becomes a contest of endurance, timing and imagination, and the joke is never told the same way twice.
The movie doesn’t have far to go beyond exploring some of the seemingly limitless variations of the joke. There are short versions, detailed versions, an animated version, a version in mime, a version told while juggling fire, and the inevitable version performed while impersonating Christopher Walken. There is a debate about whether another word might be funnier than “Aristocrats”, like “Sophisticates” or “Debonairres”. There’s an impressive piece of footage where Gilbert Gottfried reels out the joke in a moment of desperation to save a Friar’s Roast being taped during a period where people were having a hard time laughing.
And so the movie can drag, and the performers’ rhythms are sometimes sabotaged by sloppy over-editing, but the concept is ultimately sustained by a constant influx of invention. Another out-loud laugh is never more than two minutes away. One comedian after another tells the joke, expands on it, disassembles it, pushes it to its utter disgusting limits and beyond. Each has their own take on what makes it work, but part of the magic is no one knows its origins. If “The Aristocrats” didn’t exist, comedy would have had to invent it.
Because the purpose of the joke is to offend and comedians from so many different eras are featured, we get a kind of cross-section of what subjects have violated America’s tastes over the years. We also, and the comedians freely admit this, get a peek at the psyche of the performer, and what the most evil thing they can perceive of is. You will never look at Bob Saget the same way on those Full House re-runs.
The roster of names featured is nearly as long as the number of taboos shattered – the movie is unrated presumably because it left the review board dead. You see some faces long gone from the spotlight – Martin Mull tells a side-splitting iteration that offends three major religions in a very short time. And you see some people whose faces you don’t often see, like long-time Simpsons writer Jay Kogen or the editorial staff of The Onion.
There’s a lot of laughter, both on screen and off – you get very familiar with Jillette’s booming chortle. It’s a kind of fraternal appreciation for something shared. But beneath their dismissal of its simplicity or its anti-climactic punchline you sense something deeper, that this naughty joke is important. Rumors are whispered of punishing marathon tellings of “The Aristocrats” unfolding at Chevy Chase’s house – and you start to get that mastering it is a kind of initiation, a necessary rite to prove your manhood (or womanhood, some brilliant comediennes are on-hand to provide female perspective).
It’s because it is so bare structurally. Because the punchline is a fizzle. When you tell this joke, all these performers are saying without saying, the judgment is no longer on the material, it’s on you. And as an audience member, the judgment is on what you’re able to stomach the performer saying. If you can stomach The Aristocrats, you’re in for very little meaning or catharsis, but a lot of laughs.