"The Invisible Funnymen"

I am Canadian by birth and American by inclination. What it means to be a Canadian remains an open question a hundred and forty-one years after Canada’s inception. (How did Canada become an independent nation? In 1867, Canadians petitioned to the British Parliament saying, “We’d like to be our own country” and the British Parliament replied, “Okay.”)

Every year when I go back to Toronto – I try to find the warm week, but I’m not always successful – I always check the local papers to find out what’s going on. Invariably – and I mean during every visit over the last thirty plus years – there will be an article, often on the Front Page, headlined, “Canadian Identity – What Is It?” After a hundred and forty years, they’re still looking for the answer. It’s starting to look like there may not be one.

There is one enduring certainty, however. It’s the one thing Canadians know without question. “We’re not Them.” And when Canadians say “Them”, they mean Americans. Canadians may not know who they are, but they’re darn certain of who they aren’t. Who they aren’t is you. Well, okay, now…us.

An illuminating example of the difference between Canadians and Americans can be found in the wonderful world of comedy.

It’s not news that Canadians rank with the funniest people in show business – Dan Ayckroyd, John Candy, Jim Carrey, Mike pre-"The Guru" Myers, Eugene Levy, Martin Short, Rick Moranis, to name just seven. And I’m sure I’m leaving people out, like Dave Thomas and The Kids on the Hall.

This is a substantial number of funny people, when you consider Canada’s population, and the fact that many of that population are Eskimos. (I’m not saying Eskimos aren’t funny – no “hate mail” on a walrus tooth – They’re just not “crossover” funny.)

The curious thing to me is not that so many Canadians are funny, but that virtually all of them are funny in a particular kind of way. A particular non-“Them-y” kind of a way.

To Canadians, and maybe the world, America is the “Me” country. It’s all about Number One. “My country ‘tis of Me.” Americans believe that when one American flourishes, the ripples of their success spread out to enrich all Americans. I’m not so sure about that. Britney Spears made millions, and I didn’t get anything. Of course, I’m not from here. Maybe Britney’s ripples only enriched natural born Americans. Did you guys get anything?

Americans are by nature self-promoting. They value “blowing your own horn.” You don’t “blow your own horn” and you’re “hiding your light under a bushel.” There’s no such thing as a quiet American. A quiet American is immediately sent to “Assertiveness Training.”

Canadians don’t blow their horns. They don’t brag, and they don’t “show off.” The message is clear. “You want to pull those kinds of shenanigans, you can go down to the States, eh? That foolishness you call ‘funny’, that’s just plain foolishness. Take it across the border, where that kind of nonsense is appreciated.”

“Showoff” in Canada, ice skater in Zimbabwe – same chance of “making it.”

So off they go, taking their shenanigans south. But even though they’re here, in the land of the brave and the home of the “Me”, Canadian comedians ply their trade in a typically Canadian fashion.

They work in disguise.

Are they funny? Hilarious. Are they well received? Enormously. Are they successful? Go back and check the list. These people are Huge! (I’m sorry. That sounds very close to bragging. I’ve been down here a long time. My natural reticence may be wearing off.)

So what’s the problem? No problem. Just a question. A remarkable difference in style between Canadian and American funny people.

American comedians have always faced audiences as themselves. Will Rogers, Bob Hope, Woody Allen, Bob Newhart, Bill Cosby, Richard Pryor, Sam Kinnison, Jerry Seinfeld, Chris Rock, the recently late George Carlin. Every U.S. comedian I can think of presents themselves as who they are, or, more accurately, a calculated projection of who they are. (You really think Jerry Seinfeld walks around the house going, “Did you ever notice this? Did you ever notice that?”)

Canadian comedians are never themselves. (Howie Mandel being a notable exception. In a way, Mandel’s “I’ll say anything” standup act is a rebellion against Canadian reserve, delivering a calculatingly anti-Canadian "one-eighty.")

Rather than coming out and saying “How’re ya doin’…”, Canadian funnymen work their comedy magic through larger-than-life characterizations. Austin Powers. Jiminy Glick. The McKenzie Brothers. Every Jim Carrey character. The eccentrics in the Christopher Guest movies.

Nobody’s real. They’re all “types.” Outrageously funny types, but types nonetheless. It’s like Canadians will play anything. Except the guy on their Birth Certificate.

Why do Canadian funnymen bury themselves in their characters? The boring answer is Canadian comedy has its roots in British Music Hall and the college revue. The all-boys institutions, where performers dress as women. (Canadian women steer clear of comedy. It’s just not polite.)

Canadians were raised in the costume and sketch tradition of comedy. Canada’s most venerated funnymen, Wayne and Shuster, famous down here for their scores of appearances of The Ed Sullivan Show, succeeded with extended sketches, playing a gallery of characters from ancient Romans to hockey players.

(To demonstrate their reliance on accessories, once, during a technician’s strike, production on a Wayne and Shuster special was brought to a halt when someone broke into the studio and stole the mustaches.)

Everyone played a character. A longtime Canadian favorite, Dave Broadfoot enjoyed success as a funny Mountie. My brother, Hart, scored on the CBC playing The (Canadian) Beaver. (The Beaver, Canada’s national symbol, whose likeness graced the back of the Canadian nickel, hated the elk, who had inexplicably gotten the quarter.)

Lacking a protective character to work behind, when interviewed as themselves, Canadian comedians come off disappointingly flat. Also, Canadians – even funny Canadians – are uncomfortable hurting other people’s feelings. (Canadians lack the American “Laugh of we’ll bomb you!” mentality.)

In character, however, it’s “Katie, bar the door!” Check out Short’s “Jiminy Glick” mercilessly ripping into Hollywood nice guy, Tom Hanks.

This is something I don’t understand. I get that in Canada, comedians are restricted to playing characters. But they then come to the States, and…

…continue to do so.

Why?

They’re free. You’d think that Canadians would bust loose, cast off the façade, and break into their “How’re ya doin’…” material. Release their inner Don Rickles.

“Where you from? Peoria? Who cares!”

They never do that. And I can’t figure it out. Is it because playing characters is the only thing they feel comfortable doing? Or is it because, deep down, they’re still Canadians, conditioned since birth not to make fools of themselves? You know, if you show off while you’re playing a character, you have an excuse: “It’s not me. It’s the funny policeman.”

I understand the impulse behind it. On those rare occasions when I’ve performed, I come out as myself, but never without the gnawing feeling that I’m doing something unforgivably inappropriate.

I guess I have one foot in both cultures – my performer’s instincts, American, my fear of public display, Canadian to the core.