Shaman
Our vocab word of the week. It's about clowning again, and also primal fear.
PART ONE
A mime is a terrible thing to waste…
I recently posted an article about the process of the physical technique of clowning, and got some feedback about how that is something so other, so ancient, and indeed so sacred (and so scary), that I needed to go more into it. It’s an old old practice, true. Clowning is (if you are following and have read my Clownlympics post) all about elaborate solutions to problems that may or may not be complicated. Wile E. Coyote from Looney Tunes fame is a prime example of this elaborate clowning problem-solving, which is the center of all clownish humor.
But clowning is a primal, primeval art form, much more powerful than anything Acme (or Disney, or Merrie Melodies) ever created. And most people today hate clowns. Or they fear them. Or both. Why?
Basically? The root of clowning is in shamanism. That old time religion that would have a very select person who would be called by a powerful otherworldly force, and afterwards be able to traverse the border between worlds. Then they’d come back to the community and tell all the stories of same. Often the shaman also has healing powers and an archival knowledge of the history of his people.
But the main power of this Sacred Clown is not in this librarian-level knowledge, but the knowledge of what Death means. He’s been there. He’s come back. Da fuq?
This terror is what Joe Lee, in his grungy and seminal book, The History of Clowns, calls the ”motivating ‘ooo’ factor of all human endeavor.” Humans are conscious of our own mortality, and it’s the great terror and the great motivator of our mortal lives. A shamanic clown will shake one fistful of the Void in one hand, says Lee, and in the other rattles some goofiness, some humor, some sparkly stuff, to ease that existential pain. That’s what Clown can do: remind you of your death, and then joke and jape about the assholes that make our life till then more miserable than it needs to be. Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we die. Oh, and: they know all about current events and pop culture and can meme you silly.
Clown is extremely powerful; he’s trucking with death, using humor to heal, or using chaos to destroy. Sometimes both at once. What do I mean? Let’s see an example from arts and culture, to illustrate:
The Leading Player character in blockbuster Broadway musical Pippin epitomizes this concept of the dark divine power of the shamanic Clown. With his gaggle of clown minions to illustrate his points, the Leading Player is Pippin’s buddy, man—he’s got his back, gets him “On the Right Track,” until we discover just what that track is.
These clowns are seductive, sexy, beautiful, compelling, mesmerizing, glamorous, and they’ve got young naive Pippin in their crosshairs. The Leading Player has no name but is decidedly Satan-like in his actions and manner throughout the story.
Trickster? I hardly know her…
The Clown as Trickster is both Creator and Destroyer. I know this because I wrote my MFA thesis on this very thing. Indigenous tricksters both create and kill through chaos: stealing fire, creating Man, messing him up then creating him again, dying and resurrecting (so many times), changing shape. The research for my thesis essay was so fun and fascinating, as I’ve been obsessed with clowns and jesters and the clowning thing in general since I was a teenager. I discovered folklore study by beginning with Joseph Campbell* and I continued studying this sort of thing through all of the rest of my formal education, only to continue it today.
Changing shape is a big thing for ancient trickster clowns who are in charge of the vital energies of life and death. Like the Pacific Northwest Raven, who turned into a pine needle in order that the Sun Chief’s daughter would swallow him. When he was born again from that, of course he stole the Sun and flew it (back in his Raven shape) into the sky to benefit the humans who needed it.
Oh yes, Trickster-Clown is a shapeshifter. This means any shape, including switching genders. Think about Bugs Bunny and his crafty, usually violent, shenanigans, which all too often include drag. He’s right there with the best clowns, both in the shapeshifting and in the elaborate solutions to serious problems. He turns deadly weapons against their wielders, but almost just as often will dress up in a skirt, heels, and lashes and seduce his adversary out of the threatening violence.
Hm. I wonder. How does this current fear/hatred of clowns connect to current trans- & drag-phobia? Okay this is an interesting idea that needs a whole ‘nother article for it… Think about that and let’s maybe discuss it later, yeah?
*if you’d like to cancel Campbell from our good diverse modern culture studies, I’d remind you of a few things: 1) he taught at a women’s college through most of his academic career; 2) his work (and his rejection of Christianity as a dogma) is still progressive and good to look at when looking at Old Story. The man did his homework; 3) he was indeed too gender-binary and heteronormative for today’s scholarship and inclusive culture discourse. But. So was I, as recently as the 1990s. I like to think, if he’d lived as long as Merlin and were here today, that he’d be so on board with the way people are embracing the (also ancient) ways of different genders and orientations. He exposed Western humanities to stories of not-Western traditions, but he didn’t succumb to Orientalism or exoticism, which I appreciate, especially thinking of the time and place when he established himself.
Fun Fact: as I was finishing up my “rough” draft of my thesis (“rough” in quotes because it needed to be pretty much perfect by that point), I was walking from Naropa campus to the bus stop to take me home, and who emerged from the quite urban shrubbery, to cross my path, nodding at me once as he daringly dodged traffic to go get treats from the Arby’s garbage across the street?
Coyote.
Well I mean it was *a* coyote and they do occur in North-Central Colorado, but! Not right there, in town, crossing Broadway and Baseline like he was using the crosswalk. I’ve seen (and more often heard) coyotes in the open space prairie area across from which I lived for a long time in East Boulder, but this? Not normal. Obviously the Trickster wanted to let me know I had his stamp of approval for my thesis project, for which I’m grateful.
Willy Wonka and his literary descendants (like Dumbledore) epitomize the Trickster concept in a modern context: you’re not sure if you will survive your experience with a Trickster teacher, and you’re definitely not really safe. Or are you? But nobody is the same after an adventure with Clown, regardless. You will be changed. If you’re a bad person, it’ll be for the worse. If not, you’ll have gained a bit of Foolish Wisdom, an inheritance of some of the Trickster’s powers.
This is the center of the big problem of the Depp interpretation of Wonka as opposed to the Wilder portrayal, or the original book version as Roald Dahl wrote him—we get that Wonka is much older than he looks (is he even human?), also that the punished kids all survive, they’re just changed because of their own bad behavior. Consequences. Lessons learned. Stories to tell. They should be thankful.
The evil version of Mr. Wonka is Mr. Dark from Ray Bradbury’s Something Wicked This Way Comes, who transforms his victims into physical embodiments of their neuroses. But think about it: Wonka has actually done this same thing to the Golden Ticket holders, it’s just not evil for some reason in his story (though arguably it is scary). Or is it? No, Clown is neither good nor evil—he’s not immoral, but amoral. Those kids got only what they deserved. No more, but also, no less.
Making Clown extra creepy is a misunderstanding of what he is, a surface-level treatment of the Trickster archetype that comes from fear of him. Or maybe it’s a fear of receiving comeuppance for our own misdeeds? Fear of an uncontrollable chaos, that may or may not destroy? Fear of someone who knows what death is, and can elaborate?
Giving Clown a backstory is also a mistake: he was born nowhere, and will come back each time he dies (as he will often). But to dismiss Clown as a silly harmless funnyman is a mistake too—one that has potentially dire consequences. Remember what Feste the Jester did to snotty Malvolio?
“And so the whirligig of Time brings in his revenges.”
~Feste, 12th Night
CLOSING REMARK: Psycho killer clowns from horror have nothing to do with any of this—it’s only a shallow and crass way to say: “Hey what’s the scariest possible outfit we can dress our slasher killer up in?”
Hi Jenn, I have a signed copy of Raven by Gerald McDermott. I love his books. In fact I may try to find some used copies for the LFL.
Also on the subject of clowns, I always liked Ted Skeltton’s sad clown. It seemed incongruous to me.