The Good Doctor

The Good Doctor was performing an experiment on me.

I went to see a performance of the play written by Niel Simon, performed by Barking Dog. The play has been doing rounds in my second thoughts, in between of course the more important  thoughts of women and ravaging them in different ways, exactly as expected of Indian males of my age and marital status. That would be separated, if you cared to know.

The joke was on me. Not only mine, Niel Simon's too. I have read, seen, and acted in dark comedies. But the Doctor is a doctor: he does not hide his intentions as he makes a claim of wanting to find out what makes people laugh, describing excruciating pain and asking why should that be funny for us at all, before the scene of the pulling of tooth begins.

And then it goes completely out of hands. Not in any particular order -
Frustrations of class divide, exploitation;
Mental illness of a close loved one mixed with the agony of poverty and gruelling hard work, not to forget Gout;
Son and father discuss prostitutes, bargain, and then finally the father cheats the son of the opportunity; Seduction of a wife, using the husband as a medium;
Death, to top it all. By drowning. One of the most horrible kinds of death, for nothing more than 60 kopecks.

It was a laugh riot and performed very well by Barking Dog, don't get me wrong, but that is the point isn't it?

He comes and sits among us during the scene of audition, in which he makes it clear that The Death Of The Clerk (the opening scene) was not meant to be funny. He looks on at us seriously. He makes notes about us, we even catch him off guard once or twice doing so. The Seducer of the wife presents a flower to a married woman with her husband in the crowd, or anyone closest to the description. I bet that couple, or the husband at least, did not enjoy that scene very much.

I can see it clearly now: the actors go into the green room and they laugh at the poor buggers that make the audience.