Just for Laughs Nasty Show is good for democracy
Artistic freedom is essential to all healthy societies. Just for Laughs, the international comedy empire that began as a local festival, features one show in particular that brazenly tests the limits of artistic expression and, in so doing, contributes to the vitality of democracy.
Beginning with the premise that the Nasty Show is democracy exemplified may seem strange, but consider that, from the court jester centuries ago to this month’s annual comedy confab (the largest in the world), satire has often been the most politically important art form wherever it’s been practised across the globe.
And this will still be true if Ari Shaffir, now master of ceremonies, puts his hand down his pants again this year.
One recent example of a valuable free speech debate flowing from comedy followed Kathy Griffin’s release of a photo featuring a bloody, severed dummy head resembling Donald Trump. Even failed comedy can create conditions for productive democratic litmus tests. Despite intensified political polarization, in Griffin’s case, American public opinion seemed to strike a reasonable balance in condemning violent messages without condoning prosecution of the satirist.
Saturday Night Live’s impressive 22 Emmy nominations, fuelled mostly by steadfast skewering of a wildly unpopular president, could also be a sign of enduring democratic vitality; as is the success of Anthony Atamanuik’s more sophisticated The President Show. The comedian’s brilliant Trump impersonation was the basis for lauded Just for Laughs performances last year before it was made for television (the festival has helped boost countless comedy acts, including Jerry Seinfeld and Dave Chappelle).
Just for Laughs is at the forefront of international comedy, and because Montreal has a unique history of artistic creation, its nastiest and most uncensored show could be considered an important, underrated global free speech hotspot.
A 1660s-era diary kept by English MP Samuel Pepys features an early acknowledgement of the significance of “the King’s fool and jester, with the power to mock and revile even the most prominent without penalty” — a sentiment that remains the backbone of rich satirical traditions in western democracies.
By the 18th century, monarchmocking jesters were common across much of Europe, and in 20th-century North America, the jester’s spirit became embodied in vaudeville, the intersection of comedy, music and burlesque.
Following Prohibition in 1920s America, Montreal began earning a reputation as a vaudeville leader, and a brewing counterculture hub; a sanctuary city for artists.
This is part of the legacy that helped foster a dynamic artistic ecosystem where something like the Nasty Show can continue thriving.
Today, comics like Shaffir may not be routinely persecuted, but the festival and its most popular show provide important outlets for artists looking to test the limits of social commentary among peers in an open, creative atmosphere.
(Anticipation for this year’s Nasty Show in particular is palpable and a hot topic of conversation on U.S. comedy podcasts. The uncensored Carlin-esque Shaffir is a rising star whose two anticipated Netflix stand-up specials on children and adulthood were released this week. The Nasty Show opens today).
The purity of standup comedy as an art form — just one person on stage, typically — makes it one of the few remaining bastions of truly free speech.
But comedy is too often under attack, even in Montreal.
Last year’s Nasty Show host, Quebecer Mike Ward, was on the losing end of a Human Rights Tribunal ruling last year forcing him to pay $35,000 in damages to a young singer whom Ward had mocked (the case is being appealed).
Nasty Show comics carry on, though, relishing in the offence taken. It’s in those moments of discomfort that even the most vulgar art has the potential to challenge. Montrealers are privileged to be hosting this depraved, cathartic exercise in free speech.