An Appreciation While everyone eulogizes the road from Bob Hope with more long dissertations of his work and charitable highlights, largely noteworthy and commendable, I say enough. I've been hearing them for nearly half a century. Bob's resume has become its own cliche. Bob Hope had THE show business career of the 20th century and all-time. No one can touch his accomplishments, not Bing, not Sinatra, not Jolson, not Chaplin, not Elvis. Bob Hope wins. Case closed. And no one will ever top him. Let's talk about what made Bob Hope great. It wasn't his ceaseless (and wisely cunning) quest for self-promotion or the seemingly unending globe-trotting appearances, nor was it his three decades as a leading movie star, 50-plus years in broadcasting, or his astounding physical and professional longevity. What made Bob great was his ability to make us laugh. Everything stemmed from that. But there's a difference between Bob Hope and the other superlative clowns and humorists before, alongside, and after him. It's what I long ago discovered is the secret to comedy. It's the thing most people never consider when they try to be funny or watch a comedian, but I'm convinced it's the root of serious laughter: The Music. The music of comedy. Dissect what makes us laugh, whether it be words or visuals, and you'll ultimately grasp that the power behind "funny" belongs to the rhythms -- the strokes and beats and bridges and punctuation and pauses are what make or break merriment. We've all heard about the magic and importance of comic timing. Yes, that's certainly true; however, I hear timing as a smaller current in the ebb and flow of an ocean. There's just much more swirling about. Bob Hope could hear that music and the complexities. Better still, he could compose, orchestrate, and warble fluid virtuoso melodies. He was The Three Tenors of comedy, all rolled into one. With his crystal clear voice and masterful vocal phrasings, Hope eked a dam full of smiles and chuckles out of material ranging from top-notch as in his films of the 1940s and early '50s to increasingly underachieving TV scripts of, say, 1965 forward. But, through it all (until vision and speech frailties negatively impaired his delivery), there were those funny rhythms. To laugh, you didn't even need to listen closely to what was being said. Hope himself proved this on occasion. He would intentionally adlib gibberish filtered through his trademark lilts and sneers. The audiences responded with peals of giggles -- and even Hope didn't know why they were laughing. I say it was his music. Bob Hope said something. It sounds funny. We're laughing. And he had that amazing face. His eyes and lips could be a symphony of their own. Watch his early films -- "My Favorite Brunette" comes to mind. His performance is anchored to that camera, to you in your chair some 60 years later. He mugs with no shame and he's perfectly comical to the note. Many performers never learn that presence, control, or those techniques. His instincts are a joy. I love Bob Hope. I really, truly love the guy. He taught me so much. My earliest memories include him and I anticipate some of my final ones will, too. I was fortunate enough to see Hope five times in concert -- experiences and an atmosphere never captured by television, live shows performed mostly from memory and not off cards; those evenings are as treasured by me as my life's private touchstones. As a comedy writer and cut-up, I've never consciously emulated him, but Bob Hope is there. I see him in my words. I hear him in my voice. If only I could carry his tunes. |
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