Learning to take humour seriously

Roberto Benigni came. He glanced. He conquered. He did more than that. He swept off their feet all those who were lucky enough to be present at one or more of his performances. His dynamic vibes were infectious to those of us who only had glimpses of him on television.

His frail build packs within it immeasurable super dynamism. If he had already won his spurs and the acclaim to go with them well before he came to Malta, he added to that plus some more during his short visit.

A superficial recollection of the man may be that of a comic. Humour spills out of him like a river welling out of a deep underground lake. It splits the sides. It is indeed contagious. After the first burst of it, one starts giggling in anticipation of what is coming next.

All that is misleading. Benigni takes his humour seriously. I'm told that, shortly after he landed in Malta, he quizzed those he met to get the Maltese version of a number of phrases. He demonstrated why in the manner he addressed those who opened their arms to him, even in a normally solemn occasion like the conferring of a degree Honoris Causa on him by our university.

He projected himself as a straniero in patria, a refugee, now that Italy has again been taken over by il Cavaliere Silvio Berlusconi. You are an island of the knights, he said. In Italy we have only one knight. In two sentences he made a telling political commentary. He depicted and criticised Berlusconi and fellow Italians for the way the magnate Benigni despises is dominating Italy. That once proud country has many knights, of one order or another. But the only that counts, transmitted Benigni, is Berlusconi.

The actor counter pointed a deeply serious message with apparent humour. He rushed towards the distinguished audience gathered to honour him, throwing himself at the feet of President Eddie Fenech Adami, the symbol of a united nation, pitifully begging one and all to "help me, help me!" in Maltese.

The audience roared in laughing appreciation. We laughed too, watching him on television. On reflection, though, one recognises that this artist with the quicksilver mind, with his tongue that reaches out caressingly but with the jolt of lightening, was only pretending to be funny. He was deadly serious. All his laughter, all the laughter he generates in others, is calculated, programmed to the last gasp.

Benigni is a great artist and film director. I doubt that I've been more moved by film than I was by his Life is Beautiful, and like me probably many others too. He is an actor par excellence.

He proved again here in Malta that he is as familiar with Dante and all that he sought to convey as he is with himself.

But perhaps, above all, Benigni is a socio-political commentator. He despises formality, going about his appointments tieless and as casual as can be.

Clearly he sees formality as an impediment, a barrier between him and those with whom he wishes to communicate. He is an example of what an intellectual can be and do if he finds the right metaphors to connect with.

To us Maltese, Benigni is an example in another sense. As a people we tend to be rather humourless. We tend to appreciate a good joke, but only so long as we are not the butt at the end of it. Having no idea what the term self-deprecating means, we are hardly ever able to laugh at ourselves.

We resent it bitterly when others seem to be laughing at us, even if with good reason. We hold no idea of the healing powers of laughter, especially when we direct it at ourselves. Jokes at our expense do not relax us. They stress us. We take ourselves so seriously that it is funny in itself.

It would be a tremendous achievement even for Benigni if, through his bubbling but crafted humour, his talking hands, his marvellous switching from slapstick to seriousness, he has left us with a lesson to take to heart. If he has planted in us, or at least watered the thought that people without a deep sense of humour are insufferable, even to themselves.

The Dean and deputy Dean of the faculty of Arts, Dominic Fenech and Gloria Lauri-Lucente, did us all a favour by creating the opportunity for us to be imbued with the wise humour that is packaged as one Benigni.

If only we had politicians, churchmen, bureaucrats, simple men and women who could boast that, yes indeed, they learned something from the visit of the Italian genius.

If only the political class can get a film of the local appearances and utterances of the Italian genius and play it back over and over again to learn the effectiveness of good humour. We should find a way to give Benigni another Honoris Causa degree, and start the memorable process all over again.