Having changed the least since the beginning of cinema,
the clown genre is both the most basic and the most
obvious of comedy types. Unlike other, more thematicoriented comedy approaches, the clown model is dependent upon a central comic figure or figures, such as Charlie
Chaplin (1889–1977) or the Marx Brothers (Chico
[1887–1961], Harpo [1888–1964], Groucho [1890–
1977], and Zeppo [1901–1979]). Around them is fashioned the loosest of storylines, for clown comedy is character-driven. The story line merely provides the pretext
upon which the comedian can hang his comic ‘‘shtick’’—
specific routines and/or variations of them, which lend
themselves to the establishing of the all-important screen
comedy persona. This has been so since the pioneering
days of Max Linder (1883–1925) in France and John
Bunny (1863–1915) in the United States. For example,
Chaplin invariably showcased his underdog Tramp’s
ability to work a comic metamorphosis on inanimate
objects. In The Pawnshop (1916) an alarm clock in his
examination becomes everything from a medical patient to
a can of beans. Chaplin himself becomes a lamp in The
Adventurer (1917), a tree in Shoulder Arms (1918), and a
laughing mechanical figure in The Circus (1928). In
discussing Chaplin’s use of pathos, Gerald Mast points
out Chaplin’s poignant use of flowers as metaphors—
surrogates for beautiful heroines Charlie cannot possess,
and as fragile and transitory as love. While these memorable sequences may serve a metaphoric or thematic
function, they do little to advance the plot.
Other classic shtick associated with a specific comic
persona includes the surrealist sight gags of Harpo Marx,
such as when he pulls a blowtorch from a magic coat in
Duck Soup (1933); Stan Laurel (1890–1965) and Oliver
Hardy’s (1892–1957) tit-for-tat exchanges of comic violence with any number of antagonists, as when they
destroy the house of frequent nemesis James Finlayson
in Big Business (1929); and Bob Hope’s (1903–2003)
spoofing romantic banter with Dorothy Lamour (1914–
1996) in the Road pictures: ‘‘Do you want me to kiss you
now, or should I tease you for a while?’’ (Road to Rio,
1947). The comic word games of Danny Kaye (1913–
1987) are a key to his comedy shtick, especially in the
delightful The Court Jester (1956), one of the best comic
films ever made, in which he must remember, ‘‘the pellet
with the poison’s in the vessel with the pestle.’’ In contrast, essential to Harold Lloyd’s (1893–1971) persona is
visual ‘‘thrill comedy,’’ exemplified by his hanging from the clock in Safety Last (1923) and the skyscraper ledge
scenes in The Sin of Harold Diddlebock (1947), neither of
which involved trick photography. Of central importance
to more modern comedy is Bob Hope’s groundbreaking
ability to move between the most incompetent of comic
antiheroes and the cool, egotistical wise guy who purrs
with satisfaction upon seeing himself in a mirror. Hope’s
comic duality complements modern humor’s frequent
fascination with the schizophrenic, especially for Hope’s
disciple Woody Allen (b. 1935). In contrast, Robin
Williams’s (b. 1951) shtick is dependent upon ‘‘saturation comedy,’’ with seemingly improvisational-like standup material crammed with cultural references used to
render his screen character, such as his comically crazed
disc jockey in Good Morning, Vietnam (1987), where his
manic radio monologues are both funny and somehow
pertinent to the insanity that was the Vietnam War.
Besides the clown’s specific shtick, there are three
basic components to the personality-comedian approach.
First, there is a penchant for physical comedy, which
Walter Kerr (1967) succinctly defines as being a prisoner
of one’s body. Thus, besides the obvious pratfalls or sight
gags one associates with Chaplin’s Tramp or Jacques
Tati’s (1909–1982) Monsieur Hulot, personality comedians often simply look funny. Through costume,
makeup, shape, or fluid contortions of face and body
(best showcased today by Jerry Lewis’s successor, Jim
Carrey [b. 1962]), clowns telegraph their comedy.
Their funny appearances are a key in the clown genre,
even when the comic personality might be linked more
closely to verbal humor as opposed to physical comedy.
For instance, while the rapid-fire delivery of Groucho
Marx is famous, it is more than a little dependent upon
that mustache, hydraulic eyebrows, and distinctive stoop.
Second, cinema clowns generally are underdogs who
frequently exhibit comically incompetent behavior, such
as when Laurel and Hardy try to put a radio on a less
than user-friendly roof in Hog Wild (1930), or when Will Ferrell (b. 1967) fails as a toymaker in the title role of
Elf (2003). Even the normally dominating Groucho
becomes an underdog when dealing with Harpo and
Chico, as in their tour-de-force silly phone-answering
sequence in Duck Soup. And third, outsider clowns frequently are nomadic. Fittingly, cinema’s greatest clown,
Chaplin, is linked closely to the picaresque through his
alter ego, the wandering Tramp shuffling down life’s
highways. Not coincidentally, the inspired teaming of
Bob Hope and Bing Crosby (1903–1977) reached its
zenith in a series of Road pictures in which the duo
comically roam the globe. The clown finds humor in
new places and people through travel situations, from
Harry Langdon’s (1884–1944) cross-country walkathon
in Tramp, Tramp, Tramp (1926) to Pee-Wee Herman’s
(Paul Reubens [b. 1952]) trip to the Alamo in Pee-Wee’s
Big Adventure (1985) and Steve Martin (b. 1945) and
John Candy’s (1950–1994) quest to get home in Planes,
Trains, and Automobiles (1987). As the last title suggests,
the mode of transportation itself sometimes can become
joke: the machine-oriented Buster Keaton (1895–1966)
led the way in this regard with his own ocean liner in The
Navigator (1924) and in the ultimate nonstop train
picture, The General (1927).
Most studios at some time have featured a prominent personality comedian. During the pioneering days
of silent comedy, the pivotal fun factories were those of
Mack Sennett (1880–1960) and Hal Roach (1892–
1992), both of which released their films through
Pathe´, which was also the distributor for Max Linder’s
neglected early shorts. During the studio era, Paramount
allowed its comedians more artistic freedom than other
studios did, and because of this the Marx Brothers, Mae
West (1893–1980), Hope and Crosby, and Martin and
Lewis all did their best work there. While women have
tended to be ‘‘straight’’ for male comics (Margaret
Dumont [1882–1965] for the Marx Brothers, Paulette
Goddard [1910–1990] for Charlie Chaplin), some
female comics in addition to Mae West have had movie
careers, including Martha Raye (1916–1994) and Lucille
Ball (1911–1989), both of whom successfully carried
their comedy over to television. In recent years there
has been more opportunity for black comedians like
Eddie Murphy (b. 1961), Cedrick the Entertainer
(b. 1964), Queen Latifah (b. 1970), and Bernie Mac
(b. 1958) to develop their comic persona in film.