A letter of protest for the Executive Producer of the Comedy Production Division in a well-known television station

6th FOCUS \| August 2009	PRINT
A letter of protest for the Executive Producer of the Comedy Production Division in a well-known television station M. Isfanani Haidar Ilyas

Dear Mr. Bondet, As your subordinate at the Production Division in a well-known television station, I hereby submit a letter of protest. That is also if you remember who I am, and what kind of treatment I received. Let us refresh our memory a bit: we were in a production meeting, and you presided over the meeting, throwing out stale jokes every now and then. Company tradition obliges subordinates to laugh whenever their superior throws a joke. I was thus rather perplexed when you sent Ponijan out of the room precisely because he laughed after you joked. We, the rest of us, were quite unsure about what to do. Let’s see now… when you uttered this, were you joking? “I’ve got a good idea for our next comedy show. Well, what’s the idea, d’you think?” For a few moments, we were nervously silent, unsure whether you were serious or joking. But when you sent Ponijan out after he laughed out loud, I think we had the answer. And when you sent Ponirah out, too, precisely because she checked him, telling him not to laugh, well, we were confounded. Let me remind you of the dialogue that day: “Ponirah, you, too!” you yelled, “What are you doing, talking to yourself?” “B-but… I’m not talking to myself, Sir…” Ponirah said, haltingly, “I was talking to Ponijan.” I have to admit that it was not quite an adroit answer, but still it was very true. But you sent her out because what she said was true, and perhaps because it stung you quite a bit, too. From then on I started to doubt your sense of humor, and the doubt reached its peak when you sent me packing, too, merely because I look more like an office runner. I think, Mr. Bondet, being a producer, you must be smart and educated. Especially because you’re the producer for a comedy show. Certainly, you must be familiar with the principles of comedy. Why on earth you forget to apply them both in the show and in your daily life, that’s truly beyond me. Let me refresh your memory a bit. RAW MATERIALS FOR COMEDY Mr. Bondet, comedy is the way humans release their tension in life, and also a unique way to keep your mind healthy. The foundation of comedy is generally similar: i.e. generating laughter because of something unforeseen. The unpredictability usually rests in the stages I describe below: [1] Physically peculiar. This is the easiest form of comedy. Physical appearance that is considered peculiar, not common, and ridiculous has indeed the potentials to surprise people, and then incite laughter. In such an era full of peculiarities, however, what kind of physical appearance that will still surprise people? Do dwarf comedians like Ucok Baba, or those with stunted growth, such as Adul and Ony, still surprise us? [2] Twisted logic. This one is usually present in the form of word play, puns, or general riddles. This is Kelik Pelipur Lara’s favorite form of comedy,[1] or the kind that often appears in Tawa Sutra sketches,[2] regardless of the context of the story. This kind of comedy requires some brain work; at least more than the first kind. In general, however, what you need is the most basic knowledge of language. [3] Cognitive dissonance. Please excuse this quasi-intellectual term. Perhaps this precisely befuddles you. In essence, however, one can say that with the principle of cognitive dissonance the audience is tricked with a line of reasoning that is actually correct but unforeseen. The method is simple enough. Lead the audience to a certain perception, then suddenly twist it—not to deny the first perception, but to make the audience aware that there is another conclusion that is as logic as the first, and previously unpredicted. It is the surprise that usually generates the laughter because the creator of the joke is able to find points interlinking the raw materials that the audience first sees as separate. The conditions for this kind of comedy, however, are rather tight: because both the audience and the creator must be familiar with the materials being turned into comedy, the repertoire mastered by each party becomes the key to the success of the comedy. What use making jokes with the latest news as your raw materials if your audience is oblivious to the world? What use making jokes by twisting the logic of philosophy if the audience is not even aware of who Aristotle is? I have mentioned the potentials of comedy as one that maintains the health of one’s mind. How does this work? Well, apart from tricking the audience, comedy also has the characteristics of breaking taboos and naughtiness. With such characteristics, comedy has a huge potential to become a means to question reality, so much so that the humor that finds its roots in the social condition of the society can function as an important tool for social protests. Therein lies playfulness, wittiness, and mockery. But, Mr. Bondet, recalling your reaction as the humor was turned against you, I wonder whether we still have problems with self criticism, including ones that are delivered through humor. Is that why the society seems to conspire to maintain humor on its lowest level, i.e. as a trigger to laughter? Is that why the comedy shows on TV are kept shallow? Oh, please excuse me. This has a tinge of cultural speculations. I had better discuss the visible ones first. THE FIRST PHENOMENON OF TV COMEDY: SHALLOW With TV shows, for years on end we are presented—excuse me—we present the same old materials. Peculiar costumes, distorted faces made to look funny, and transvestites—these are all examples of shallow interpretations of the understanding that “the peculiar is funny.” For decades, we stay on the level of the physically peculiar, and even if there are the characteristics of naughtiness and taboo-breaking, they remain invariably in a thoroughly wrong domain. The transvestites, for example. It has been said that our laughter over the figure of the transvestite rests upon a few matters that are not exactly a source of pride. First, there is the matter of our sense of superiority over the “peculiar being,” where we laugh at the behaviors of men who act “against the law of nature.” Second, these transvestites look out of place. The end of the story.[3] If we still rely on transvestites to incite laughter even today, I think this means that there is “something” hidden in our laugh-related ideology. God knows what that “something” is. “The peculiar is funny” has indeed been Srimulat’s basic recipe.[4] But, as usual, who among us, the media players, are willing to investigate what lies behind a recipe? What kind of peculiarity that is supposed to be funny? In order to get our hands on such peculiarities, we end up making everything contrived and fake, while in fact peculiarity is only one of the many raw materials that can generate laughter. I remember vividly my astonishment, Mr. Bondet, when you almost destroyed the concept of a sitcom about members of a music band, by trying to include a boy with frizzy hairs and strange costumes, merely because you thought that his peculiarity “must be funny.” With all due respect, this is a sitcom we’re talking about, Mr. Bondet. The peculiarity that you were suggesting would only be funny for the first time (if at all!), and how do you think we could maintain such absurdity in the next episodes? By including a Malaysian actor merely because you think they sound funny? Oh, wait. Sorry, Mr. Bondet, I forgot. You did suggest that enthusiastically. I am astonished how you could use the word “Miller” and the phrase of “acting quality” in one sentence.[5] Perhaps you have another suggestion? Introducing a band member who plays the violin and uses a cow costume? The scary thing is, such a narrow perspective on ‘peculiarity’ has pervaded upon the rookies, too. In the 2005 API event,[6] we could clearly see how such perspective was dominant. The comedian-hopefuls often tried so hard to look out of place, while the materials for their jokes had nothing to do whatsoever with the costumes they were wearing. What is the logic behind talking about the pop culture while donning a duck costume? What is the use of wearing the costume of the royalty if you don’t optimize it with the joke materials (containing mere riddles and derision) that you’re going to present? How was it possible that those novices tried so hard to be weird? It is all because they have fallen victims to ‘environmental pollutions’. The malady of the comedy shows on Indonesian TV has remained the same for quite a while now. The failure to develop the potentials of comedy has created a vicious circle: the audience’s horizon is not expanded, and it is the same with the creators. Each party, therefore, remains in the same old puddle, using the same old stale materials. As a consequence, it is still difficult for us to expect comedy to function as one of the three domains of creativity, alongside the arts and science. What remains on the TV screen is the comedy consisting of puns or risqué jokes, repeated incessantly on dozens of TV stations every night. The impasse not only results in the shallowness of the comedy experience, but also hampers the use of one’s brain. We the media workers have thus sacrificed a lot. Not only have we laid our idealism to rest, but we also sent our logic to the altar. If you ask us “what for”, well, we can only reply… ummm… gee, what, I wonder? Oh, look! There’s a cow playing the violin! THE SECOND PHENOMENON OF TV COMEDY: COPYCATS Mr. Bondet, do you remember how we, media workers, always console and justify ourselves with the statement that originality is elusive? I agree, Sir, although you have sent me out of the meeting room and sent me the SP-1 letter.[7] In such an era of information deluge, it is hard to find ideas that no-one has acted upon, let alone ones that others have never thought of before. It is certainly acceptable to be inspired by old ideas, but there should be some further processing. This would be a process of synthesis, combining old materials into a new whole, just like what the Japanese did when they copied a lot of things in the seventies and moved on to create a lot of things in the eighties. This is the process that Garin Nugroho dubs “creative copying”. For example, if you really want to make a show that draws its inspiration from some foreign show, how do you adapt the materials to suit the Indonesian audience? Alas, this equals ‘thinking’! I bet you are allergic to the word, Sir! In any case, you are right; we never have the time to think. Only to act. So copy we must. In entirety. The act of copying, however, often ends tragically, as the copycats (that’s we!) have never succeeded in piercing through the essence of the show. Take the case of the series So What Gitu Lho? (SWGTL, or, quite simply, “so what?”) that flatly copies the popular serial of Friends. Does the show have any inkling about the lives of twenty-somethings in New York? How can one explain the fact that in SWGTL, the house occupied by the upper-middle class Jakartan youth only hears of riddles and puns? It is thus acceptable to say that they have copied the show ‘flatly’, because they certainly did not do it ‘roundly’. Let us also take a look at Mister Bego, or Mister Silly, a title that I think fits the creator better. The show constitutes the apex of pathetic epigones of the British show Mr. Bean, without the willingness to investigate the root of Mr. Bean’s characterization, based as it is on sophisticated psychological bases. Still, Mr. Bondet, I have my respect for the creators of SWGTL. While the title of Mister Bego or Mr. Silly can be easily twisted to refer to its own creator(s), the makers of SWGTL have prepared an irrefutable answer to possible protests. “What of it? So what?”—such would perhaps be their retort. Observe this, too: once a TV station produced a rather new show (albeit perhaps having been inspired by some foreign shows), other stations will quickly follow. The copycat process has become increasingly faster. In the late nineties, one could say that Cek & Ricek was the first gossip show. Gradually, other TV stations followed, and thus such shows as Kroscek, KiSS, and Insert! appeared. In this case, the speed of the copycat process still took months, or a semester. Extravaganza introduced the concept of comedy sketches, which was actually based on the idea of Saturday Night Live. Other shows swiftly mimicked it, including Tawa Sutra, and, ironically, it was also copied by shows aired on the same TV station that first created Extravaganza. Suddenly in the same TV station one has such shows as Happy Hour, Full Colors, Sketsa, and PlesTer. This, they say, is a common practice. One idea is broken into small pieces, diversified, and made into a number of similar shows. What for? To amass as many advertising cakes as we can. You must acknowledge that this is true, Mr. Bondet. About the act of copycat, Mr. Bondet, have you ever asked yourself whether this is all because the most important thing is to sell products similar to the products created by our competitors? But, what if the reason behind such imitations is oh-so-simple: if you can’t be original, try your best to prevent others being original! Truly, the imitation takes place increasingly rapidly these days. DeringS, Dahsyat, KissVaganza, Inbox, and OnTheSpot suddenly come to the fore, lining before us with similar contents. Which one is the first? One of them, to be sure, but perhaps it is no longer important. We have reached the stage in which not only originality is elusive, but it also bans originality. I’m exaggerating, of course. WHY OH WHY… Mr. Bondet, I now have a great question in my mind, with a huge question mark, armed with an exclamation mark, if needs be: Why is the culture of TV comedy oh so shallow? Allow me to propose some tentative explanations. 1. The trouble of self-mockery This hypothesis, I’m sorry to admit, has a tinge of cultural speculations. As I am no cultural anthropologist, my assumption will be a short one. Ours is not a humorous society. End of the story. What does it mean? Simple: I don’t know which social norm that lies at the origin of this problem, but ours is clearly not a society that is able to look into the mirror and do self-criticism. To quote Darminto M. Sudarmo, there are too many fences that restrict the movement of comedy in our society. He goes on: Most people in our society are not ready to laugh at our own weaknesses and foolishness. What we want is this: for our image to look perfect. Each part, each community, every group, and others, wanna [sic] have a perfect identity. As soon as the group is upset by “humor”, all immediately react.[9] The latitude of humor here forces us to be highly creative, to avoid the wreath of the ultra-sensitive. Well, shouldn’t the quality of our humor be superior, then? Unfortunately, the absence of a system of regeneration makes the novices only capable to imitate the surface. Imitation without the comprehension about the essence will only result in a quality drop. Moreover, in the climate of the TV industry today, speed is the all-important norm, so much so that—just as I have mentioned before—we never have the time to think. What we have left is merely the humor of derision. Where does this kind of humor come from? In all honesty, I do not feel like finding out. I suspect, however, that it originates precisely from our inability to laugh at ourselves, and therefore we feel it is safer and more comfortable to mock others. Mr. Bondet, do you remember when the late comedian Basuki was rendered speechless when a religious figure asked him during the journey home from the hajj pilgrimage: “Comedy is identical with deriding others, isn’t it?”[10] If it had been you who were given the question, what would your answer be, Mr. Bondet? In the last few years, someone named Tukul Arwana has been trying to introduce a more mature perspective in humor (perhaps by following the examples provided by Srimulat), which is the concept of self-mockery. Alas, the entertainment industry precisely gulped it down entirely. The combination between the short-sightedness of the entertainment industry and the humor that relied on derision and weirdness has resulted in the failure of the audience to walk in Tukul’s footsteps and laugh at themselves. Instead, we find it more comfortable to laugh at Tukul. Still, he has been patient. He goes with the flow and is willing to subject himself to endless mockery, without the opportunity (or willingness?) to expand his repertoire. In Tukul’s case, the potentials for a breakthrough in comedy stayed alive only in a very short period. While the previous shows such as the Warkop, Srimulat, and d’Bodors needed dozens of years to dry out and become shallow, Tukul’s show has quickly dried out only in one season. What does it all mean, Mr. Bondet? Does it mean that there is some acceleration in mimicry? The act of imitation takes place more rapidly. The quality of the show decreases more quickly, too. Is this a sign of progress? 2. The alienation of the creators You might wonder, Mr. Bondet, about the kind of alienation I’m talking about. Allow me to retrace my steps before I reach the theme of ‘alienation’. You and your colleagues the media actors are forever hiding behind the excuse that this is all the “wish of the audience.” Is this true? So far, the traffic and kinds of shows have always been determined by the rating. In all production meeting, the rating becomes the main reference, and all strategies are developed merely on the basis of the rating. No one has ever questioned whether or not the venerated rating provided by AC Nielsen has some set of comparative data. The rating data that we have in our hands are, after all, merely a single set of data. Still, show creators and advertisers both depend on that single set of data to amass profits. It is never clear, however, whether the sale of the advertised product will be more successful if the ad is placed in a show with a high rating. The only party reaping more profits will be the TV station, and thus their faith in the rating system has more rewards. The party with the least benefit? The audience, of course. Mr. Bondet, I wish to play around with my line of reasoning a bit. Have you ever asked yourself that the logic behind the terms of ‘the wish of the audience’ and ‘creative team’ is rather contradictory in nature? If you are truly creative, why do you submit to the wish of the audience? If you simply follow the wish, why do you have to be creative? This is a pertinent question especially as the ideology behind it all is non-creative imitation, anyway. Where is the creativity in all that? Here, I suppose, is the real role that the creative team should play. What they can do is to live in the midst of the society, all the while functioning as thorough observers, in order to understand the underlying thoughts behind a phenomenon, and grasp the essence of the phenomenon to be subsequently processed and presented as a good-quality show. The Friends series has been based on a meticulous observation on the middle class yuppies in New York with all their features: moving around, lenient toward norms, more attached to friends than to family members or office colleagues. Mr. Bean, meanwhile, originates from thorough observations on the characters of the British people who are normative and fussy about preserving their self-image. Thence the character of a lone adult who lives contrary to all the existing norms, following the child within him with all its consequences. Saturday Night Live comments on the lives of Americans through a variety of sketches, from the cynical to the sarcastic. How about their epigones that are mushrooming here in Indonesia? I cannot say much. Perhaps it is they that can be an easy target for cynical comments. Because, unfortunately, here lies the essence of the problem. It turns out that members of the creative team and the decision makers are not ones who can understand the phenomena in their community. As Arief Ash Shiddiq has accurately explained in his essay Seeking Jakarta in Senggol Jakarta, the problem that our creators have is that they don’t have the guts and the time to plunge deep enough into the throbbing life. Consequently, they (we!) turn to the safe stereotypes. Understandably, the description of thugs, for example, remains shallow, without any in-depth look into how the structure of violence is maintained in the society. I remember the time, Mr. Bondet, when “the father of Indonesian sitcoms”, Aris Nugraha, was able to insert some logic in the concept of the comedy he was working on. We were lucky then that we had a man with better understanding of how thugs worked. It turned out that we could explore better the potentials of comedy from there. The knowledge had been truly valuable, although we know that at the end of the day the result of such knowledge was made ineffectual because the decision makers eventually thought that the comedy became too difficult for our foolish audience. However, Mr. Bondet, the experience still gave me hope. Our comedy is not always isolated. Certainly, there have been records of breakthroughs and remarkable figures. In the world of films, we have the figure of Nya’ Abbas Akup, for example. He used comedy to make subtle social criticism, without invoking the wreath of those in power. He often showed the urban phenomena in spot-on manners. He responded, for example, to the government’s megaproject of flat buildings with the film Cintaku di Rumah Susun (My Love in the Flat Project, Nya’ Abbas Akup, 1987), presenting an ensemble of characters from a variety of ethnic groups and background. Today, such an ensemble still finds its way on the TV screen, but, in keeping with the common old malady, it has not been well explored. Simply include characters from the Batak, Padang, Java, and other ethnic groups, each with the pertaining stereotype, and, voilà, it is funny enough. Another example is from Srimulat, which with all its Javanese norms surreptitiously question the rigid social hierarchy by introducing attendant-figures who are way smarter than their master. And their shows gave us an interesting case. Do you remember, Mr. Bondet, how you always say that our audience is not smart enough to understand richly-referenced comedy? Well, if in the bygone era Srimulat has made plays with such titles as Ambassador of Cleopatra, Janda of Navarone (The Widow of Navarone), and some other plays that have the word “Dracula” in their titles, who, may I ask, that suffers from a lack of reference here? Then there was the case of Warkop, who with their university background often appeared smart and offered critical views, before they stumbled into risqué jokes. Still, Warkop were funny even when they presented their criticism. This is unlike Bagito, for example, or lately the comedy show with a political tinge but so burdened down by the social and political messages at the detriment of their most important prerequisite: funny! ALIENATED, HOW? This is a typical urban issue, Mr. Bondet. We the creators and decision makers live in sterile and safe tubes, protected from the world outside. But it is precisely in the tubes that we become alienated from societal phenomena. I often observe how members of the creative team of a show run out of time dealing with the technical aspects of the production, while the life experience that can serve as a source of inspiration is running dry. They suffer from a deficit of ideas. The root of the problem that grips the psyche of the creators in the TV industry can be traced back to the beginning of the New Order era. The potentials of comedy for social criticism had been made blunt because there was only one TV channel, whose broadcast policy was clearly under the control of the government. The growth of new, private TV stations turned out not to guarantee freedom from the official line. Private TV stations were born from the upper middle class people who had been made sterile from the influences of their own society. As a result, all shows represent the perspective of a certain class of urbanites, and view the villages, the lower class (and even its own surrounding!) as the other. The phenomenon becomes more obvious if I include here examples from the movie industry. How else do we explain the fact that contemporary movies such as Otomatis Romantis (Romantically Automatically, by Guntur Soeharjanto, 2008) and Mengejar Mas-Mas (Chasing Guy, by Rudy Soedjarwo, 2007) view the city of Yogyakarta as an exotic other, and her people even as hillbillies? And the citizens are portrayed as referring to themselves as hailing from “my village in Yogya”. Meanwhile, since the independence era, a lot of creative audio-visual works were able to convey their messages and seemed to have a more intimate knowledge of the society. This was possible because the bygone creators came really from the heart of the society and were sensitive to their surrounding. The creative atmosphere in the midst of such restricted condition did not last long, however. Since the economic boom of the eighties that consumed resources and focused economic growth in Jakarta, an apolitical middle class was established whose seeds had been sown since the seventies. At the same time, the film industry precisely went backward. In the nineties, the mushrooming TV stations required more and more audio-visual workers and experts. From where could we meet the demands? It was precisely the already-established middle class that provided the resources, while there was a gap between them and the previous generation of audio-visual workers. The presence of the determining middle class would not actually be a problem if there had been no disjuncture from the previous generation. To make things worse, apart from the generational disjuncture, the new middle class was also disconnected from the community. How could that be? As Abidin Kusno observed,[11] the method of the New Order, especially within the urban space, was to create disconnections in the society. Classes were created in separate enclaves; obedient and worked hard to climb their respective social stairs. This, it has been said, was done to prevent the cohesive consolidation of popular subversion. One further consequence of such a method was that the newly emerging middle class became the class that since its inception had been trained to fear life outside its own enclave. There was the impression of the city as a dangerous area from which people should shy away. Unfortunately, we the media workers and the motor of the world of TV comedy were hailed from that very class. It is Riri Riza’s generation who comes from that middle class. Indeed, some of the audio-visual practitioners from this generation had the willingness to learn and understand the people, but that happened mostly in the film industry (excluding such examples as Otomatis Romantis, of course). Meanwhile, the world of the TV industry remained in its isolation, heading to god-knows-which direction. It might very well be that bygone comedians and jesters did indeed come from outside the security-seeking middle class. Members of the Srimulat troupe came from the low-class people, and Warkop members, although from the middle class, were hailed from the world of university students who maintained a critical eye on the society. Since the New Order era, however, even they had been highly dependent on the medium of television, be it of the state or the private ones, which as we have seen is often unreliable. TRYING TO CONCLUDE, WITH A SMILE At the end of the day, the root of the problem is just that which Arief Ash Shiddiq has observed in his essay, which is the fact that the creators lack time and courage to plunge deep into the throbbing social life. If there are indeed individual TV workers with the sensitivity to create good-quality comedy, in the meeting room they would be swallowed by the new entity called “the management”, whose decisions indicate acute alienation and ignorance. Such symptoms of alienation have become increasingly clearer today, Mr. Bondet. Now there are increasingly fewer comedians and jesters with sharp observations on the society. Before the explosion of comedy shows in the last three years, there were still shows based on the performance of jesters and comedians, all their shortcomings notwithstanding. Ba-Sho, Ngelaba, Tawa Malam (Night Laughter), and Santai Bareng Yuk (Let’s Relax) still present comedians. Lately, everybody apparently feels that they can make jokes and don the title of “comedians”, although they merely deride their partners in the show. Miraculously, contemporary TV jokes originate from a closed, limited class called the “celebrity.” Because comedy is considered as able to guarantee one’s popularity, all of a sudden all celebrities feel that they could make jokes with scandalous behaviors. Observe, for example, the show Happy Family: Me vs. Mom. There the celebrities celebrate themselves being duped by the TV crew, going topsy-turvy, then dupe the crew back, laughing all the while. As if this is not enough, the TV crew cheers on. This is akin to whiling away sitting with friends, joking, and then presenting it to the public. Srimulat, Warkop, Bagito, d’Bodors, and even Patrio are things of the past. The alienation and insulation are perfect now. According to a friend of mine, TV comedy is its own genre: it laughs on its own. Not only has TV comedy become a purely narcissistic domain, but the audience is also lulled and trapped into the circle with contests to become stars, or invited to type down REG space BLAHBLAHBLAH on their mobile phones and send the message to the number 666. Even worse, the invitations and charms are like traps, because they who fail to enter the virtual world, lose many real possessions. Second, observing the increasingly greater acceleration in the act of imitation, as well as the commercial climate and its rapid progress, apparently comedy no longer constitutes social reflections of any kind, but is merely a product to sell. Whatever the comedy genre, whatever breakthrough made by comedy groups such as the Warkop (critical and grew from the radio) and Srimulat (spontaneous and popular), as these groups enter the domain of the TV industry, they will quickly become degraded to fall into the lowest level, i.e. presenting “peculiarities.” But of course the audience will still watch them, because, do they have any other option? Oh, look! The cow is playing the flute now! CLOSING REMARKS Mr. Bondet, I know that you actually punished me to write the sentence of “I will not make jokes any more in the meeting room” one thousand times over. I think, however, I had better write this letter. Allow me now to close the letter with my own cynical remarks, using expressions of others. The Javanese call this, “nabok nyilih tangan”.[13] Karl Marx said, “religion is the opium of the people.” Now I say: comedy is opium. Drs. H. Wahyu Sardono (Dono) said, “Laugh, before they ban laughter.” Now I say: laugh, before you have nothing else to do. Djamaluddin Malik said “if they want India, we’ll give them India ‘till they’re bored.” Now I say: if they want comedy, we’ll give them comedy ‘till they’re drunk. Neil Postman said, “Entertain yourself to death.” Now I say: be my guest, Mr. Bondet. Regards, M. Isfanani Haidar Ilyas Jakarta, June 2009 Translated by Rani Elsanti M. ISFANANI HAIDAR ILYAS is a media worker who often calls himself a media whore. During the day, he wears the costume of a clown before his executive producer because his superior is certain that that is what the audience wants. At night he wears his clown costume in front of the mirror, wondering who the heck he is, and why he can never wipe the clown make-up off his face. RANI ELSANTI, a freelance translator and editor, was born in Bandung, November 10, 1973. As a grumpy young girl, she had noisily proclaimed her loathing to big cities and especially to Jakarta—but that was before she found out that Jakarta had more publishing houses than anywhere else in Indonesia (perhaps with the exception of Yogyakarta). Her love of books, languages, and words (in that order) soon took precedence over any personal dislikes and brought her to the metropolis, where she can now easily be spotted grinning on a metromini bus, bemusedly observing the cacophonous city on her way to editorial meetings. She still thinks that Jakarta is a crazy city, but now realizes that the craziness is pandemic. After all, all happy towns are alike, but crazy cities are crazy in their own ways. Rani now translates for ruangrupa’s Karbonjournal.org.

Footnotes
[1] [Translator’s note] Kelik Pelipur Lara is a comedian mostly known for his role as the “vice-president of the Republic of Indonesia, a parody of the Republic of Indonesia.
[2] [Translator’s note] Tawa Sutra is a comedy show with many well-known comedians, aired on a private TV station.
[3] Around the time of the independence revolution, when the traditional drama of ludruk in East Java prevailed, there had indeed been a rather noble reason for this—although still chauvinistic—in that the ludruk actors did not have the heart to ask women to play in roles that would require them to get very physically active and go topsy-turvy. So, the men were forced to play the female roles. There was, however, a more chauvinistic motive hidden behind the “noble” excuse, which was the fact that it was considered inappropriate for women to be on stage.
[4] [Translator’s note] Srimulat is a comedy troupe established in Solo, Central Java, in 1950. It became popular and grew, then opened branches in Semarang, Surabaya, and Jakarta. With the establishments of private TV stations, many of its members became stars in their own rights.
[5] Miller is a Malaysian model who acted in the movie Cintapuccino (Rudy Soedjarwo, 2007), and whose acting quality I cannot bear to discuss here.
[6] API: Akademi Pelawak Televisi Pendidikan Indonesia, or The Comedian Academy of the Indonesian Education TV. It is a reality competition show for comedian-hopefuls, held by the Indonesian Education TV or TPI, a private TV station.
[7] Surat Peringatan Pertama, or, literally, the first letter of warning. Please excuse the office jargon.
[8] Garin Nugroho (born 1961 in Yogyakarta) is a prominent Indonesian movie director. Many of his films have enjoyed international acclaim.
[9] Darminto M. Sudarmo, Mutu Humor Televisi (The Quality of TV Humor), www.kolomhumor.com/2009/01/mutu-humor-televisi.html
[10] Bambang Haryanto, “Kejujuran Mengolok Diri Sendiri” (The Honesty to Mock Oneself), Kompas, 27 January 2007
[11] Abidin Kusno, Ruang Publik, Identitas dan Memori Kolektif: Jakarta Pasca-Suharto (Yogyakarta: Penerbit Ombak, 2009)
[12] Riri Riza (born in 1970 in Makassar) is an Indonesian director whose films often enjoy both critical and commercial success. He began his directing career in the film Kuldesak (1988).
[13] Javanese for “smacking using the hands of others.”
[14] Wahyu Sardono (Solo, Central Java, 1951 – Jakarta, 2001) or Dono Warkop was one of the three members of the comedy group “Warkop”. With his Warkop colleagues, he starred in a number of highly popular films.