Another in an occasional series on things that never fail to crack me up, for reasons I can never fully explain
Sometimes, it’s the surprise of the moment.
A spontaneous, unplanned twist that catches you off guard and makes you laugh out loud.
But other times, it’s not about randomness or off-script ad-libbing, but instead, the precision of well-crafted writing.
An excellent example is a sketch from That Mitchell and Webb Look, a BBC series that gave us some of the most quotable British comedy of the 2000s.
You mighty be thinking that we’re talking about their famous, “Are we the baddies?” sketch.
Or, the absurdist genius of Numberwang.
Nope. It’s a different, lesser known bit from the show. One that’s smartly crafted, with writing that sets up a premise, develops it methodically, and delivers a perfect punchline, all in under two minutes.
Many sketch comedy shows tend to meander, and rely on repetition to be funny.
Even more disappointing:
If you’ve ever noticed that they don’t seem to have a proper ending, you are not alone.
During its storied 50-year history, Saturday Night Live, has often fallen into this trap.
Such sketches might garner a chuckle or snort. But there’s another way to get to the funny:
Let me introduce to you a sketch that has the comedic courage to have a proper beginning, middle, and end.
It’s precision-crafted comedy at its finest. First, a little context:
The BBC comedy series That Mitchell and Webb Look ran from 2006 to 2010.
This was during a time that many consider to be a golden revival period for British sketch comedy. It was an era defined by smart, character-driven writing that balanced absurdity with biting social commentary.
It was an ideal backdrop for the duo’s approach to flourish.
The show grew out of David Mitchell and Robert Webb’s successful partnership on the sitcom Peep Show, and an earlier radio series:
That Mitchell and Webb Sound: which helped hone their chemistry and sharp, witty style.
Shifting their comedy from radio to television opened up new territory, allowing them to experiment more freely, and craft the humor with greater precision and wit.
The Brain Surgeon Sketch: Arrogance Meets Irony
The premise is simple: David Mitchell plays a smug professional who manages to monopolize the conversation by never ceasing to remind everyone – multiple times – of his lofty status, with the same dismissive phrase:
“Well, it isn’t exactly brain surgery.”
With the accent on brain, for added dismissive emphasis.
With his gloriously self-important delivery and a gift for playing insufferable characters, Mitchell was perfectly cast as the pompous partygoer. We immediately dislike the character, but we’re also slightly fascinated by his complete commitment to his own superiority.
The writing is economical in the way that only the best sketch comedy can be.
We’ve all met this person:
The one who never misses a chance to remind you that their job is tougher, their stress more valid, and their expertise more important.
But in the end, the good doctor gets a taste of his own medicine.
So: What’s So Funny About It?
Now, finally, back to my original question: why does this two-minute sketch make me laugh?
I think I’ve figured out why. It’s a perfect storm of setup and payoff.
The sketch takes something we all recognize: professional arrogance and dismissive language, and builds it to an almost uncomfortable level – before delivering a most satisfying comeuppance.
But beyond the schadenfreude, there’s something more sophisticated at work.
The sketch is really about the arbitrary nature of superiority and the way people use their expertise to diminish others.
By showing how quickly the tables can turn, it reveals the fragility of these constructed hierarchies.
In our current age of social media experts and “instant authorities,” the sketch feels more relevant than ever.
We’re surrounded by people who dismiss others’ struggles while elevating their own expertise. The egotistical doctor’s due reward serves as a cautionary reminder that there’s always someone higher up the ladder, always someone who can deflate your pretensions with a single phrase.
The beauty of the sketch is that it doesn’t need to be long or complex to be effective.
Two minutes is all it takes to set up the character, establish the pattern, and deliver the punchline that recontextualizes everything that came before.
As we all know, comedy is subjective. But this kills me. See if you agree.
While I don’t claim to have all the answers about why certain things are funny, I do know genuine laughter when I hear it.
And this sketch?
It’s crafted with flawless precision!
With amazing timing!
With –
Sorry. I’m getting carried away. It’s just a silly TV bit. I shouldn’t overestimate the importance of a simple comedy sketch.
After all, it isn’t exactly brain surgery.
Thank You For Your Vote!
Sorry You have Already Voted!
