The First Law of Tragicomedy & Dramedy

by Liz Bureman | 5 comments

One of the first things I remember from ninth grade English is discussing the origin of comedy and tragedy from the classical Greek plays. We read both Oedipus Rex and Antigone over the course of the next several years of English classes, and Shakespeare's plays, both comic and tragic, made their way into the curriculum, as they have the tendency to in most high school English classes. I was in a production of As You Like It, one of Shakespeare's most well-known comedies. Even in those earliest forms of literature and theater, writers played with blending the elements of tragedy and comedy together. We call these blended works tragicomedies or dramedies.

Tragicomedy and dramedy

Trying to figure out the balance between tragedy and comedy is one of the main challenges of writing tragicomedy/dramedy (we'll use the word interchangeably), in addition to timing the tragedy and the comedy and planning the interaction and interweaving of the two genres.

The Secret to Tragicomedies & Dramedies

The key with tragicomedy is that the work needs to still largely be comedic, even though the plot lines may be serious in nature. In order to execute this balance, many writers will use the points of tension in their stories to gauge the points of comedy vs. tragedy.

And thus is born the first law of tragicomedies, as shown in TVTropes:

In any work that has both drama and comedy, the drama rises proportionally with the level of tension in the story. The comedy does the reverse.

It's a simple and fairly reliable way to balance the elements of a tragicomedy. It's important for us to laugh when encountering the dramedy, but we also need to be able to appreciate the gravitas of the story. Points of tension in the story are prime spots for drama, and laughing is nature's way of diffusing tension, so it makes sense for moments of comedy to emerge in the lulls between the tense peaks.

Dramedy is a popular form of writing because it reflects reality. We don't live in a world that is purely comedic or purely dramatic, so it makes sense that stories that blend the two resonate with us.

What is your favorite tragicomedy? Share in the comments section.

PRACTICE

Take ten minutes and write a scene with completely dramatic beats. Then revisit that scene and turn all the beats into comedic ones. Once you've found the sweet spot, post your finished version in the comments and be sure to check out the work of your fellow writers.

Liz Bureman has a more-than-healthy interest in proper grammatical structure, accurate spelling, and the underappreciated semicolon. When she's not diagramming sentences and reading blogs about how terribly written the Twilight series is, she edits for the Write Practice, causes trouble in Denver, and plays guitar very slowly and poorly. You can follow her on Twitter (@epbure), where she tweets more about music of the mid-90s than writing.

5 Comments

  1. mghensley

    Sherman Alexie’s work is excellent in this regard (well, in every regard, but especially this tragicomic aspect). His short stories “War Dances” and “Indian Country” are particularly good examples.

    Reply
  2. Katina Vaselopulos

    i love your post, Liz!
    Every time I recognize Greek words in The Write Practice posts or anywhere else for that matter, I wonder how many Americans know that they speak thousands of Greek words without knowing their origin. You did such a great job of explaining the meaning and origin of “tragicomedy” as well as how to use this term.. The actual Greek word is the reverse version, “komikotragodia,” of course meaning exactly what you said.
    Regards,
    Katina Vaselopulos

    Reply
  3. Snowmara

    This was an interesting one for me. I decided that I would write one of the most intense scene’s I could think of and trying to make it humorous on the second run made it very very dark. Darkly funny in some ways. I don’t consider myself a comedic writer at all. I’m not even sure if the second draft was funny at all, but it WAS better in my opinion, because I was searching for a way to make it funny.

    _____________________________________________________________________________

    Take One

    __________________________________________________________

    Mabeline held her hand, it was all she could do.
    The love of her life was in a hospital bed hooked up to a machine that was breathing for her. Her name was Tammy or, as Mabaline called her Tams.
    They had woken up together this morning, laughing, cuddeling, throwing pillows at one another.
    She had been cleaning the tub when the call came. She had on those chesp plastic gloves that one wears when they clean.
    ‘Is this Mrs. Freemont?’ They had said, calling her by Tammy’s last name. The smell of the lemon cleaner was too strong, it made her head hurt.
    She had opened the back door and felt a wash of wind, too cold.
    ‘Yes, this is she.’
    That sinking feeling that rises in your gut when you know that something is wrong, it was suddenly there.
    ‘It’s your wife, Mrs. Freemont. There’s been an accident. You should come.’
    The rest of what they said had turned into a rerun of Charlie Brown’s parents. She couldn’t recall what they had said, only that she was at Holstead Memorial and that she needed to be
    there.
    She called her sister. She couldn’t drive, she was too upset.
    On the way there she got to hear about how this was God’s response to their unholy union.
    She had screamed at her then, told her to take her uptight little ass home and stick her Bible where the sun don’t shine.
    She heard herself giggling at the thought of it. Tammy would have laughed too. If she could have laughed, she would have.

    __________________________________________________________

    Take 2

    Mabeline held his hand, it was all she could do. It felt ridiculous that she had to decide if she wanted to end her life. She was most likely a vegetable.
    What kind of vegetable was she, was she a broccoli or maybe more like a turnip head?
    It was surprising the things that passed through her mind during all of this. She found herself chuckling like a madman.
    Like Renfield, looking for bugs to eat, she couldn’t stop laughing.
    The love of her life was in a hospital bed hooked up to a machiene that was breathing for her. Her name was Tammy or, as Mabaline called her Tams.
    Now she was going to be forced to choose. Tams was always the one that decided things, she always made the final call. They had called it Tams Law. Mabaline remembered the way she
    would stand all authoritative and lay down the law. ‘This is what is going to happen, blah blah blah!’ They would always laugh. They laughed so much.
    They had woken up together this morning, laughing, cuddeling, throwing pillows at one another. They hid under the covers for as long as they dare and then Mabeline’s bad breath had sent
    them to the bathroom in search of mouthwash and tooth paste. Tams had dabbed a bit of toothpaste on her nose and run off.
    They were always laughing.
    She had been cleaning the tub when the call came. It was a miracle in and of itself that she had been cleaning or that she had heard the phone at all. The fumes from the cleaner had
    made her a little lightheaded.
    She had on those cheap yellow plastic gloves that one wears when they clean. She felt like she had entered a tunnel that somehow stretched unnaturally in front of her, running along with no end to it. Just her and her yellow plastic gloves.
    ‘Is this Mrs. Freemont?’ They had said, calling her by Tammy’s last name. The smell of the lemon cleaner was too strong, it made her head hurt. She had opened the back door and felt a
    wash of wind, too cold.
    The neighbor man was outside on his back porch smoking. It always surprised her how people would go to great lengths to feed their addiction. Tammy was like that with white chocolate
    and those peanut butter eggs that they make at Easter.
    ‘Yes, this is she.’
    That sinking feeling that rises in your gut when you know that something is wrong, it was suddenly there.
    The neighborhood was full of children playing in the snow, but it was a week day? Maybe they had a snow day, snow days were the best. Everything had an unreal sheen to it as she felt a light sweat come over her forehead.
    ‘It’s your wife, Mrs. Freemont. There’s been an accident. You should come.’
    It was the strangest thing when she started to get dressed, she couldn’t pick what to wear. What do you wear to someone’s death? They just don’t give very good tips about these sort of
    things in the latest fashion magazines.
    The rest of what they said had turned into a rerun of Charlie Brown’s parents. She couldn’t recall what they had said, only that she was at Holstead Memorial and that she needed to be
    there.
    She couldn’t even pick out her clothes, how was she supposed to drive? She called her sister. She couldn’t drive, she was too upset.
    When she got in her car Amber smelled of cough drops and Aqua Net. She felt her stomach turn. And that wasn’t even the worst. On the way there she got to hear about how this was
    God’s response to their unholy union.
    Unholy! Like they were demons or whores. She was sure her sister thought they were Satan’s whores, but what are you going to do when you can’t drive? She should have called a cab.
    She had screamed at her then, told her to take her uptight little ass home and stick her Bible where the sun don’t shine.
    She heard herself giggling at the thought of it. Tammy would have laughed too. If she could have laughed, she would have.
    She sat in Tams room, not alone, but more alone than she had ever been, giggling like a lunatic. Giggling so she wouldn’t start crying. She couldn’t start crying, she had to be strong.

    Reply
  4. June

    Whedon’s shows, MASH, Scrubs, Doctor Who and Chuck all fit in well for this on TV. As for books, Catch-22 does a great job of this.

    Reply
  5. hella dawn

    I have a question. What does the phrase “dramatic beat” mean?

    Reply

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