Discrepancy

For a time, comedy was a competition to invent the best "format."

Unjash's misunderstanding sketches are a prime example. The two of them imagine completely different situations, yet for some reason, their conversation still flows. Because only the audience knows about the discrepancy, casual remarks begin to take on entirely different meanings. The structure itself, more than the characters, was what generated the laughter.

Manzai had similar inventions.

With Audrey, Kasuga refuses to participate properly while Wakabayashi tries to move the routine forward. With Haraichi, Sawabe expands on the words Iwai presents, drifting further and further from their original meaning. Of course, there is more to both duos than just that, but they possessed a solid format that communicated to even first-time viewers, "This is the rule you should follow to enjoy this manzai."

However, looking at comedy recently, laughter that cannot be explained by format alone is more prominent than before.

This is where the term "nin" (the person's natural essence) is often used. What should that person say to be funny? What kind of behavior doesn't look like a lie? If another comedian performed the same script, it wouldn't work. It is the realm of "it's funny because it's them."

In variety shows, this is even more blatant.

They take the character a comedian has built, flip it over, and dig into their "true" self to find humor. The timidity of a tough-talking comedian, the abnormality of a comedian who seems like a normal person, the strange meticulousness of a comedian who seems wild. The discrepancy between the character and the person themselves becomes the content.

However, this technique doesn't work on everyone.

Some comedians suddenly become funny by showing their true selves, while others lose their appeal the moment the boundary between their role and their true self collapses. Naturally, some will refuse, saying, "I don't want to show that part." It is not as simple as saying the more of their true self they reveal, the funnier they are.

What is actually interesting is that as a result of this emphasis on the "true self," the roles and the manzai itself now require the person's own persuasiveness once again.

An eccentric character that anyone can play is weak. It's only when that specific person plays it that they seem like someone who could really exist somewhere. A sharp-tongued remark that anyone can say isn't funny. It hits home because you know that comedian's life and their usual behavior.

In other words, even to enjoy a manufactured performance, a connection to the person—a sense that "this is something they would say"—has become necessary.

This is not much different in the workplace.

The idea that "it's not what you say, but who says it that matters" is often used in a negative sense. A proposal is ignored when a newcomer says it, but a meeting moves forward when someone with a track record says the exact same thing. You could call that authoritarianism.

However, you cannot say that everything about it is unreasonable.

What have they done in the past? Did they run away when they failed? Do they look at the numbers on a regular basis? Are they someone who acts, not just talks? Their past actions give different weight to the same words.

In the end, I think that is "persuasiveness."

For a comedian, that persuasiveness is converted into laughter.

For work, that persuasiveness is converted into results.

In the past, formats had the strength to function to some degree no matter who stepped into them. The mechanism made the person funny. Similarly, in work, there has been an emphasis on minimizing individual differences through manuals and frameworks.

Of course, that is still necessary today.

Even so, in the end, the person remains.

Rather than what to make them say, who should say it. Not just what kind of mechanism to build, but who will operate it.

The "discrepancy" that Unjash turned into laughter may have moved to a different place now.

If there is a gap between the words and the person, no matter how correct the words are, they won't resonate. Conversely, the moment that person's way of life and their words align perfectly, even a mundane remark becomes powerful.

What laughter and work produce are different.

One is laughter, and the other is results.

But perhaps what produces that final push is unexpectedly the same.

If that person says it, I understand.

Persuasiveness, I suspect, comes down to that one phrase.