Ricky Gervais is laughing at you. Credit: SuperNature/Netflix

The curse of the literal-minded strikes again. This time itâs Ricky Gervaisâs new stand-up special SuperNature which has sent the congenitally humourless into conniptions. Predictably, Pink News led the charge with a report that disapprovingly quotes the most offending lines. The effect is not dissimilar to Mary Whitehouse reading aloud the contents of an erotic novel; few are likely to be aroused.
âRicky Gervaisâ new Netflix special is nothing more than an anti-trans garbage fire,â bawls the headline. Apparently, âGervais âjokesâ at the LGBTQ+ communityâs expense throughout the showâ and âspends much of the special punching down at trans peopleâ. Of course, framing the word âjokesâ in inverted commas is a form of criticism as criminally unoriginally as doing so with the word âcomedianâ, but when it comes to sophisticated analysis from Pink News, oneâs expectations are invariably low.
Other activists have been hastily competing to see who can denounce the show in the most histrionic terms. The Gay & Lesbian Alliance Against Defamation (GLAAD) issued a statement in which they refer to Gervais as a âso-called comedianâ (another clichĂŠ) and claimed that SuperNature is âfull of graphic, dangerous, anti-trans rants masquerading as jokesâ, âanti-gay rhetoricâ and assured us that Netflix would âbe held accountableâ for content that is âdesigned to incite hate or violenceâ.
None of these characterisations of the show is remotely close to the truth, but they do offer us an insight into how comedy is routinely misconstrued in the strange and moiling clamour of the culture wars. Far from âpunching downâ, Gervais exposes the increasingly unhinged ideology of the ruling class: the sanctification of gender identity.
We live in a time where the most prominent gay charity in the UK is promoting the homophobic myth that lesbians are the equivalent of racists if they exclude men from their dating pool. All major cultural, political, corporate and educational institutions (including the NHS, the BBC and the College of Policing) are in thrall to the new orthodoxy, while policymakers throughout the private and public sectors are urging employees to conform to the quasi-religious notion that we each have an innate gender identity. Are we seriously to believe that mocking this hugely powerful, regressive, and bullying movement is a form of âpunching downâ?
Gervais has been explicit in his support for equal rights for trans people. This ought to be a given, but such is the determination of these latter-day puritans to take jokes at face-value that it has become necessary for comedians to provide these caveats. âMy target wasnât trans folk,â Gervais explained, âbut trans activist ideology. Iâve always confronted dogma that oppresses people and limits freedom of expression.â
Many of the criticisms levelled at Gervais have inevitably taken the form of straw men. One critic described Gervaisâs âcore demographicâ as being the âsizeable brigade who believe âyou canât say anything anymoreââ, even though finding anyone who sincerely makes this claim is a near-impossible task. Others have claimed that Gervaisâs fans are opposed to free speech because they are responding to those who have taken issue with his special. But criticism is not the same as censorship; just as Gervaisâs detractors are free to express their misgivings, so too are those who disagree. As Gervais puts it, âYou can joke about whatever the fuck you like. And some people wonât like it and they will tell you they donât like it. And then itâs up to you whether you give a fuck or not. And so on. Itâs a good system.â
Itâs true that a comedy show which does not stimulate laughter feels more like a lecture, and so it might be natural for those who watch Gervais without breaking a smile to reclassify it according to their tastes: a form of âhate speechâ. But it takes quite a degree of narcissism to assume that oneâs own view of what is and isnât amusing should be the benchmark for all of humanity. To say âI donât find that funnyâ is irrefutable and fair, given that humour is inherently subjective. To say âThatâs not funnyâ is the most useless of criticisms because it is objectively false; anything can be funny to somebody.
More persuasive is the accusation that humour can be used as a form of bullying. Anyone who was ever bullied at school will be aware that the standard get-out clause is âit was only a joke!â I have seen a number of unscrupulous people libel others online, only to backtrack with the claim that they âwere only jokingâ. Similarly, we are all aware of jokes that operate on the grim assumption that minority groups are inferior or ought to be treated with derision. Such jokes were popular many decades ago, but you would be hard-pushed to find a professional comedian who peddles such material today.
Yet activists are determined to interpret certain forms of comedy as manifestations of this outdated fashion for âpunching downâ. Largely, this originates in a lack of familiarity with the contemporary comedy circuit. We know this because whenever commentators claim that âRight-wing comedyâ is racist, homophobic or sexist, they invariably cite examples of long-dead comics such as Bernard Manning. But âRight-wing comedyâ is a delicate shapeshifter; as a classification it beyond useless because it so often is applied indiscriminately; I was branded a âRight-wing comedianâ in an article for Byline Times this week, even though my political views are largely more in accordance with the traditional Left.
Cenk Uygur, for example, claimed that Gervais was only making his jokes about gender identity to âget Right-wing loveâ and a âlucrative specialâ, as though Netflixâs commission was in any way dependent on the topics he chose to lampoon. But Gervais is not Right-wing, and it is laughable to suggest that he is attempting to woo a specific political demographic. Moreover, the most determined push-back against the pseudo-religion of gender identity has come from the Left; most notably feminists and gay activists who are rightly concerned about an ideology that is so explicitly hostile towards them.
Uygurâs attempt at mind-reading is par for the course. Much of the criticism levelled at Gervais, and subversive comedians more generally, tends to take the form of cod-psychological analysis. Musician Steve Albini launched into an extended variation on the genre, in which he explained that Gervais has morphed into his âboorish, selfish, unawareâ comedy persona because âindulging the pretence eventually becomes so comfortable that it fuses with the person underneathâ. What is actually happening is that Albini is making wild speculations about a total strangerâs artistic choices on the basis of his own misinterpretations. In all such cases, the sheer certainty of these amateur psychoanalysts and mind-readers is striking.
Gervais is the latest in a long tradition of comedians successfully puncturing the pretensions of the powerful; he fulfils a similar role to the child in Hans Christian Andersenâs story, innocently observing that the emperor is naked when everyone else is too cowardly to do so. We have seen recently how many of our elected representatives are willing to nod along with the lie that the word âwomanâ cannot be satisfactorily defined. At times like these, we need the jester more than ever, for the jangling bells of his coxcomb to break the earnest silence of the court.
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