Like all forms of resistance, comedy can both shore up and legitimate existing political structures, yet it can also, in certain moments, work to encourage revision. Here, James Brassett looks specifically at the critical nature of radical British comedy by the likes of Russell Brand, Charlie Brooker, and Stewart Lee and writes that it raises questions about the nature of resistance and reveals the deeply political nature of the British public

Brassett, James

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By Democratic Audit UK 2016-4-18Satire is (un)dead: How comedy became a language ofdemocratic politicsdemocraticaudit.com /2016/04/18/satire-is-undead-how-comedy-became-a-language-of-democratic-politics/Like all forms of resistance, comedy can both shore up and legitimate existing political structures, yet it can also, incertain moments, work to encourage revision. Here, James Brassett looks specifically at the critical nature of radicalBritish comedy by the likes of Russell Brand, Charlie Brooker, and Stewart Lee and writes that it raises questionsabout the nature of resistance and reveals the deeply political nature of the British public.Russell Brand London Revolution Protest. Credit: D B Young CC BY 2.0These are good times for British comedy: sell out tours, primetime TV, Guardian columns, and, of course, DVDsales. Interestingly, there has been a global rise to prominence – witness the reach of Ricky Gervais and ArmandoIannucci, not to mention the capture of John Oliver state-side. The famous British sense of humour seems to havemade its peace with profit in a way that few 80s alternative comedians would have anticipated. From here on, itseems, the best of British comedy will be syndicated and made available for global distribution via Netflix andAmazon.Yet more curious is the critical nature of the comedy: ‘Q. Did you hear the one about the radical deconstruction of thestate form of global capitalism?’ ‘A. Yeh Russell Brand never shuts up about it.’ Or: ‘Quick its New Year’s Eve,Charlie Brooker is doing a pastiche on Quantitative Easing that Adam Curtis is going to link with the non-linearnature of modern warfare and the postmodern malaise’. ‘Stop, I can’t take it! Stewart Lee has just done an 85 linerabout his paradoxical position as a capitalist product, with allusions to Bertolt Brecht and those New Mexican Puebloclowns again.’ ‘What?’ ‘Actually I didn’t get that one to be honest, but then he riffed on the perfomative instability ofthe joke, and I nearly wet myself!’Like all good jokes this one makes you think. The radical comedian – like a successful punk band or Banksy – worksin the fulcrum of an acknowledged dilemma: resistance is big business. Ever since that bloke in Camden marketstarted knocking out those Che Guevara T-shirts, the commodification of resistance has been a staple reflex of thepopular imagination. From Sting to Bono, from Fair Trade to Ethical Investment: thinking critically and doing goodhas boosted market value in a way that provokes certain questions.1/3What is resistance? Does resistance have to change a context or situation in order to be considered ‘credible’? Willresistance always be co-opted within the system it questions? And would such co-optation render resistance futile orless worthy in some deeper ethical or political sense? In short, can/should there be a universal standard of ‘correctresistance’ against which all resistant practices are judged?For some the brashness, the ticket sales, indeed, the sheer egotistical self-promotion of it all, means thatcomedians, especially ones like Russell Brand, need to have their wings clipped. In ‘that’ Newsnight interview, thelook of bewilderment on Jeremy Paxman’s face suggested a straight category error: ‘what qualifies you?’ In a widelycirculated blog post, Professor Matt Flinders felt the problem was broader: “in recent years the nature of politicalcomedy and satire has derived great pleasure and huge profits from promoting corrosive cynicism rather thanhealthy scepticism.” Others, including several comedians, took exception to Brand’s critique of electoral democracy,particularly his (much hyped) stand against voting. Nothing to see here. Move along. Ignore the silly man.In a recent article for European Journal of International Relations I tried a different tack. What if we think aboutBritish comedy as a cultural form? What if we place British comedy in historical perspective: the 60’s satire boomwith its critique of the upper classes and a gentle, almost affectionate chiding of the imperial buffoons who losttheir/our standing in the world? Think of the Upper Class Twit of the Year  or the Ministry of Silly Walks. We mightthen discern the more radical dimension of British comedy in the melting pot of class, racial, and gender politics of80’s alternative comedy – itself juxtaposed against 70s White-Man stand-up. And, finally, the (oh so) clever bit ofcomedy, the irony, is a product of a contented 90’s accommodation to post-Fordism in Third Way centrist politics.Here the genius of The Office is not so much the comedy – (on which, see Spinal Tap) – but the way it negotiated anuneasy compromise between multicultural values and the basic emptiness of post-industrial life in Britain.On this view, I argue, we might license a more nuanced analysis which reflects the debates and dilemmas of aparticular contingency. For instance, 90’s irony gave us both the macho swagger of Lad Mags like Loaded and thecritical discomfort of gifted satirists like Chris Morris. So British comedy can be both conservative and radical.Indeed, in the work of comedians like Gervais and Stewart Lee, this ambiguity is precisely the point: to make usreflect on the paradoxical structures and rationalities that simultaneously bind and divide us.Comedy is not ‘good’ or ‘bad’ for politics. Comedy is politics. Comedy reflects the social and historical contingenciesof our individual and collective impulses to think and live differently. Laughing at, subverting, or otherwiseundermining aspects of social existence can be seen as a vernacular form of resistance, per se. And like all forms ofresistance this can both shore up and legitimate existing political structures, yet it can also, in certain moments, workto encourage revision, imagination. Rendered thus, we miss a certain trick in focusing too closely on the comedianand what they say. As always, it’s the way they say it. For good or ill, the experience of British decline, de-industrialisation, and accommodation to globalisation – with its post-Fordism, financialisation, and Netflix – hasfermented a very specific and (to my mind) interesting cultural form.British comedy foregrounds a certain doubt and uncertainty – at imperial excess, hierarchy, and privilege. The ironicdisposition is both reflexive and deeply cutting. Laughter is a physical activity that carries spiritual connotations. Inthese ways and more I think the everyday politics of British comedy reveals a lesser known national trait: we aredeeply political. It may not be the cookie cutter politics of parties and interests, elections and soundbites. But like thesilly man says: politics is about more than the uncritical study of the state form of global capitalism. As a guide to thefuture of democratic politics we might do better to follow the ‘citizen satirists’ of #piggate and #saddnessinhiseyes,the post-Banksy commodity subversions of Brandalism and The Space Hijackers, or the (anti-)British comedy ofFrankie Boyle and his recent collaborations with Akala.—This piece is based on the authors’ recent European Journal of International Relations article “British Comedy,Global Resistance: Russell Brand, Charlie Brooker, and Stewart Lee”. Read the full article here.2/3It represents the views of the authors and not those of Democratic Audit UK or the LSE. Please read our commentspolicy before posting.—Dr James Brassett is a Reader in International Political Economy at the University of Warwick. Heworks on the politics of global ethics with a focus on everyday discourses of global governance,crisis and resistance. He is currently writing a book called ‘British Comedy, Global Politics: TheEveryday Performance of Market Life’3/3

Satire is (un)dead: how comedy became a language of democratic politics

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