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Comedy catharsis

COMEDY COLUMN

In the past couple of years, TV 

shows have started to portray 
mental 
health 
— 
specifically 

trauma 
and 
its 
psychological 

and physical repercussions — in 
more authentic ways than before. 
Comedies like The CW’s “Crazy 
Ex-Girlfriend” 
and 
Netflix’s 

“Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt” 
present 
enlightening 
and 

thought-provoking depictions of 
trauma through a humorous lens 
without resorting to superficial 
stereotyping. TV dramas, however, 
still seem to be fixated on using 
trauma as a catalyst for suspense.

Crime procedurals such as 

“Law & Order: SVU” often address 
the trauma of every episode’s 
victim through their harrowing 
testimonies, treating their painful 
experiences with admirable albeit 
somewhat surface-level reverence. 
More 
controversially, 
Netflix’s 

“13 Reasons Why” tackles trauma 
through the protagonist Hannah 
(Katherine 
Langford, 
“Love, 

Simon”), a high schooler whose 
tragic suicide is not only displayed 
in full, but the circumstances of 
which are serialized through 13 
cassette tapes made for all the 
people “responsible” for her death. 
Though its attempts to spotlight 
the detriments of trauma and 
bullying are well-intentioned and 
occasionally nuanced, watching 
“13 Reasons Why” can be almost 
too violent and melodramatic 
to stomach, especially with one 
supporting character’s unexpected 
(and unnecessarily brutal) rape in 
the season two finale.

How, then, can a show attain 

an in-depth illustration of trauma 
without dumbing it down or 
glamorizing it? In the case of 
HBO’s 
slow-burning 
murder 

mystery 
miniseries 
“Sharp 

Objects,” the portrayal of trauma is 

transfixing and meticulous, acting 
as both a recurring theme and as a 
heavily stylized aesthetic. Trauma 
itself becomes a character rather 
than a mere plot device. 

Based on the novel by “Gone 

Girl” author Gillian Flynn (who 
also wrote a few episodes for the 
series), “Sharp Objects” follows 
hard-drinking journalist Camille 
Preaker (Amy Adams, “Arrival”) 
as she returns to her hometown 
of Wind Gap, Mo. to investigate 
the murder of two young girls. 
As 
Camille 
becomes 
more 

invested in the crime, the sparse 
details surrounding her history 
of 
self-harming 
and 
troubled 

relationship with her domineering 
mother Adora (Patricia Clarkson, 
“Delirium”) gradually come to 
light.

Rather than exploit Camille’s 

trauma for the sake of spectacle, 
“Sharp Objects” deftly underscores 
Camille’s 
fraught 
emotional 

interiority through the show’s 
disjointed editing, out-of-context 
flashbacks and disorienting sound 
design. These techniques certainly 
elicit a build-up of dread and 
terror. But more importantly, they 
are not made to entertain; they 
deliberately immerse the viewer 
into Camille’s fragile state of mind.

Each scene in which Camille 

finds a clue to the crime, spots 
a curious object or recognizes a 
familiar face, she’s transported 
into her adolescence, her memories 
of which are paradoxically lucid 
and spotty. During some of these 
moments, the atmospheric sound 
from the scene set in the present 
— usually the hypnotic noise of 
summertime crickets or heavy 
breathing 
— 
remains, 
while 

the sound from the scene set in 
the past is erased completely. 
The 
vivid 
parallels 
between 

Camille’s 
fractured 
past 
and 

equally unstable present signify 
her inability to reconcile the 
unresolved issues of her childhood 

(and even adulthood) trauma. It’s 
a smart, riveting and haunting 
way of showing that trauma is a 
very real, inescapable wound, an 
eternal, ominous specter that can 
only be vanquished once it’s faced 
head-on. 

This, of course, isn’t the first 

time this kind of depiction has been 
executed. “Sharp Objects” director 
Jean-Marc Vallée (“Demolition”) is 
known for incorporating a similar 
evocation of trauma in his other 
acclaimed HBO miniseries “Big 
Little Lies,” wherein young mother 
Jane Chapman (Shailene Woodley, 
“Adrift”) experiences a slew of 
intense flashbacks to her rape a few 
years before moving to the seaside 
town of Monterey, Cali. Similar to 
“Sharp Objects,” “Big Little Lies” 
focused less on how Jane’s trauma 
and emotional troubles could be 
used as a marker for tension and 
more on how it informed who she 
was as a character.

Netflix’s “Jessica Jones” also 

gives a notable take on trauma, 
wherein the titular superhero 
(Krysten Ritter, “Marvel’s The 
Defenders”) uses her superhuman 
strength 
(both 
physical 
and 

emotional) to combat her inner 
turmoil 
from 
witnessing 
the 

death of her family, as well as 
the evil forces that threaten to 
destroy her and the world at large. 
Though “Jessica Jones” doesn’t 
shy away from explicit violence, it 
manages to remain grounded by 
emphasizing Jessica’s struggles 
and 
eventual 
triumph 
over 

controlling her PTSD.

A topic like trauma is as difficult 

to talk about in real life as it is 
difficult to translate on screen. 
Luckily, “Sharp Objects” and 
programs like it operate as complex 
models for how trauma can be 
properly discussed and dissected 
on TV — and perhaps they can also 
further the conversation of coming 
to terms with the hard truths that 
dictate our own inner lives.

SAM ROSENBERG

Senior Arts Editor

TV NOTEBOOK

Thanks for turning to this 

page, clicking on this link or 
picking this particular piece 
of paper off the gum that has 
been stuck to the bottom of 
your shoe since day one of 
Welcome Week. But enough 
about you, this column is about 
me. I wanted to write a humor 
column because comedy has 
always been a form of catharsis 
for me, a way to let go of things 
and just laugh. Ever since I was 
a chubby kid in the chorus of 
every JCC community theater 
play from 2005 to 2010, I turned 
to making others laugh in order 
to make myself feel better. I 
was overweight and not even 
talented enough to play one of 
Tevye’s irrelevant daughters 
(their names are Bielke and 
Shpritzke, and I am proud that 
I didn’t even need to look that 
up). So, cracking up the cast 
backstage was the only way to 
get the attention I craved and 
most certainly deserved. My 
hope for you, dear reader, is that 
you find some catharsis with 
this column as well. Perhaps, 
between stressing about class 
and stressing about love and 
stressing about stress, you can 
read my carefully crafted prose 
and giggle, smile or grimace, 
and let go of something keeping 
you down. 

This 
column 
is 
an 

experiment: An amalgamation 
of my own perverse mind farts 
and 
unwelcome 
suggestions 

from my mother that combine 
to craft a piece of journalism 
so hysterical that President 
Schlissel 
himself 
will 
add 

it to his stack of required 
morning reading. I may have 
high hopes for this column, 
but don’t be discouraged by 

my cockiness, dear reader, I 
am, in fact, terrified that no 
one, not even Schlissel, will 
laugh at my column. However, 
I promise you, no matter how 
un-funny this column ends up 
becoming, I swear I will keep 
writing it until, of course, I 
decide to stop writing it or 
my editor commands me to do 

so. Consider this a contract 
of sorts, a way to hold both 
you and me responsible. I, as 
writer of this column, vow 
to provide you with funny 
content that may be deeply and 
uncomfortably personal while 
occasionally offering my expert 
and valid opinions on the state 
of comedy today. While, you, 
dear reader, must do your due 
diligence in not hurting my 
feelings because I am honestly, 
like, really sensitive, so if you 
have a negative review of this 
column please try your best to 
sandwich the insult with praise 
so the mean stuff doesn’t hurt 
so bad. I respond really well to 
positive reinforcement, so keep 
the compliments flowing and 
criticism minimal because my 
self-esteem is, like, really, really 

low and I just don’t know if I can 
handle a hit like that right now. 
I mean, there is this guy… and 
I just read a really sad article 
about dead puppies… and the 
economy… so I feel like I really 
can’t handle any negativity 
right now. You know how the 
spoonful of sugar makes the 
medicine go down? I want you 
to flatter me before you tear 
me to shreds. That pretty much 
covers your end of the deal. In 
summation, I will try to make 
you laugh and you should really 
try to not be a dick. I mean, I 
am really putting myself out 
there with this thing. So a little 
respect would be nice.

As a woman (since the age 

of 11, thanks Aunt Flo) I have 
heard time and time again 
that I have to censor myself. 
I should be less loud so as not 
to threaten potential mates. I 
should be less silly as to seem 
more attractive to potential 
mates. I should be less myself 
as to more easily attain and 
hold 
onto 
potential 
mates. 

Comedy has given me the outlet 
and confidence to hold nothing 
back and to put it all out there, 
potential mates be damned. 
Comedy is about making others 
laugh at you before they laugh 
about you. Comedy should be 
cathartic. It should be a release 
— a breath of fresh, hilarious air 
that reminds you that there are 
more reasons to laugh than cry. 
That chubby girl in the chorus 
still lives in a really messy attic 
with “Twilight” posters on the 
walls and a collection of feather 
boas. She is somewhere deep 
in my subconscious, but she 
is still there. She is desperate 
and eager to make you laugh 
to make herself feel better. So 
humor me, dear reader, and 
stick with me on this wild 
experiment, you might get a 
laugh out of it.

BECKY PORTMAN

Senior Arts Editor

The aesthetics of trauma

Comedy has given 
me the outlet and 
confidence to hold 
nothing back and 

to put it all out 
there, potential 
mates be damned

The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
Arts
Wednesday, September 5, 2018 — 5A