Funny, Or Not? Wisecrack Examines Why We Laugh, And When We Should Ask For More Information
It's a mashup version of many things that emerges as....something quite new
The new podcast from Tenderfoot.tv and iHeart Media, Wisecrack, defies genre definition as it code switches between stand-up comedy, true crime, hardboiled detective work and a good old fashioned journalist quest.
The style is unconventional, but it works. As the tone evolves from terror to tragedy, and then humour intermixes with empathy, a multitude of emotions pass through your frontal cortex. Host and producer Jodi Tovay is a total badass girlboss…politely but firmly calling bullshit on every bit of the story. The vocal range of this series is truly impressive.
Host and Producer Jodi Tovay was feeling burnt out in her job as a television producer
She needed a break, some fresh inspo, and just something a bit different. So she booked a trip to Edinburgh to take in some of the famous Fringe Festival.
One day it was raining, not unlikely in Edinburgh, which caused her to seek shelter in the nearest pub. As I understand (mostly from watching Baby Reindeer), the Fringe Festival takes makes every pub a festival venue….which is to say that the fact that Tovay landed in this exact pub was both totally random and entirely coincidental. This detail is also crucial to the story; chance and luck are defining features of this narrative.
Soaking wet and cold, Tovay sat down just as stand up comedian Edd Hedges began his set. The show has a cold open: a creepy, terrifying, desperate banging, like on a door. Then a voice: “Please welcome to the stage, Edd Hedges…” He addresses the knock right away: “I woke up to that noise coming from my front door on the 22nd of July, 2015…and we’re going to talk about that in a minute…but first, hello!” Which is the first of many times that he switches on a dime between terror and laughter.
Hedges opens his story up: he was a chubby kid who was ferociously bullied at school, especially from one boy in particular. He couldn’t wait to leave his small town so he could swapout his cleats for a microphone and a bar stool.
Years later, Hedges went back to his home town to share his new talents with his hometown crowd for the first time. But the events that unfolded that night would change his life forever. The story that emerged from these events, which is addmitedly a stretch to consider comedy, would become the basis for his material for years to come; this podcast included.
Tovay sat in the audience, wrapped. When the show concluded she was stunned and wanted to learn more. She attempted to find him to chat, but Hedges evaded her. The next day Tovay returned to hear the show again. She wondered, would it be the same twice? She was so shocked by this story she had to see if it could be replicated.
On this second day, Tovay made a critical choice: she recorded the show on her phone. We know this because she tells us, and you can hear the show from a distant microphone. Her snap decision to do this is where the narrative begins in earnest because we are now invited on the journey.
The choice to share this recording with us gives the entire series an active voice in a way that’s rare. It removed the need for the script to write through memory, but instead examine the present moment through evidence and exemplar.
From there the story is deliciously built around a very linear timeline, which would feel very angular if there wasn’t such range in the material. Various timestamps anchor the story in a moment in time so that we can be brought into the plot as it unfolds. It unravels at various moments. It gets very uncomfortable. At some point you wonder if any of it is true. But not to worry, Tovay is out to get the doggone truth. She begins with one name…which leads to another and another.
Don’t let facts get in the way of a good story
Hedges bakes a storytelling mechanism inside his comedy set. He tells his audience: “This story has three lies hidden inside.” It’s a brilliant trick, really, because as each fact is revealed, you wonder if it’s true. And then it bakes in a call-back, to keep the audience engaged, as they constantly weigh the odds of honesty and probability with each detail of the story. We bend over to pick up the bread crumbs along the ground. Remember, the subject matter is grisly and disturbing, so you also feel emotionally challenged by your own assumptions as you wonder which parts are true, and which parts you wish were a lie.
Just when we start to get comfortable with the facts of this creepy tale, Tovay stops to call bullshit on Hedges. She finds cracks in his details; untruthful bits that don’t add up. From there we shift from true crime to hardboiled detective, as we also examine the facts and ask pointed, direct questions. I found myself fistpumping her questions.
On this quest that Tovay has invited us on, we’re required to consider just how truthful something must be so that it can be both funny, and scary, in the same moment. And then we go into critique mode: Is this reasonable? Is it ethical? What are the limits to publicly processing trauma?
Her choice to call everything into question opens the book on this story. It makes the listener feel like they are a participant, rather merely an audience member, watching (or in this case listening). Her cross examination of the facts that the chilling, almost outrageous story feel interactive in a new and fresh way. It feels like a conversation; it acts like a yummy delicious assignment.
Wisecrack tests the boundaries of what storytelling can, or rather, should do. It pushes you to the canyon that separates comedy and tragedy. As we stand there with our toes hanging over the edge, we are allowed to ponder where the division is between these two genres. And then reflect on what it says about us when we allow them to blur together.
Perhaps it’s apt to call Wisecrack a fact-checking thriller. Because it calls out comedy as tragedy, and then dissects the story to make sure that we fully understand why we laugh of the things that make us uncomfortable.
Should we laugh, cry, feel scared or have sympathy? Or is it pity that eventually gives way to empathy?
Perhaps each in succession.
At Resonate? Let’s chat…