To Laugh or Not To Laugh: A History of Breaking on SNL
I have loved so much of the focus on Saturday Night Live's 50th anniversary. It's everywhere, from last year's slight miss of a film to documentaries and news coverage.
One of my favorite thus far has been this New York Times piece on the sketch comedian's greatest sin: breaking.
Jason Zinoman
That simple act—laughing—is the whole point of the sketch in the first place, but it's a joy to be experienced only from the outside looking in, never the inside looking out.
Lorne Michaels hates it, so they say. I get it; it lacks a certain professionalism.
But it amuses me more than it ever annoys me. To laugh at something, to really lose yourself over to it, is one of the best feelings in the world. And to try (valiantly, sometimes) to stop from crossing that line feels like you're being asked to withstand torture.
It's this wildly human thing we do, and it feels as mysterious upon reflection as it felt instinctual in the moment. What was it about that joke, that sound, the observation, that struck a nerve and tickled our funny bones? Is it magic? Is it reflex? What allows us all to do it at the same time at a comedy show? Or, perhaps even more curious, what causes us to do it when nobody else joins in?
I just love it. No more so when these professionals do it. It feels like an acknowledgement of this silly thing they do, of recognizing the contagiousness of a laugh, and saying, "Yeah, me too. That shit was funny."