Lately, every time I hit play on something labeled “Comedy” on Netflix, Hulu, or Amazon, I end up watching a series about murder (Only Murders in the Building), a traumatized hitman (Barry), or a painfully relatable breakdown (Fleabag). Don’t get me wrong — I love all of those shows. But am I laughing until I cry? No. I’m having an existential crisis with a side of chuckle.
Comedy used to mean belly laughs — not clever smirks.
My formative years were filled with Mel Brooks, Dan Aykroyd, Richard Pryor, Gene Wilder, Eddie Murphy, Chevy Chase, Steve Martin, and so many others. I wore out VHS tapes of Better Off Dead, Trading Places, Airplane!, Spaceballs, Naked Gun, and Fletch. Those movies weren’t afraid to go for the gag. They were irreverent, ridiculous, and perfectly timed. They made you spit out your soda and gasp for air from laughing so hard.
Comedy used to be fearless.
It poked fun at everything — politics, love, death, religion — and somehow brought us closer together. Nothing was too sacred to lampoon, and that was the point: humor was the great equalizer. It let us look at our flaws, our absurdities, our shared humanity — and laugh.
Read more on Substack: Meggen in the Middle
