Laugh it up

You probably remember, if you've seen Milos Forman's Amadeus, Mozart's ridiculous cackle. It was a profane giggle that threw the inexplicable nature of his divine gift into higher relief, and that taunted a tortured Salieri, who saw it as something more than Mozart laughing - it was, Salieri claimed, God himself laughing at the mediocrity of his own effort. Of course, Forman was using the laugh as a narrative device (for a bright explication of how, exactly, check out Kristin Thompson's Storytelling in the New Hollywood), but it's a motif that does seem to have some historical truth to it. Even in his own day, Mozart was known for a bawdy sense of humor - and for registering his glee aloud.

But did his father laugh in a comparable way? Franz Hoffmann, in his 1873 book Mozart's Early Days, would have us think so. (And perhaps we should give his report some credence; after all, 1873 was closer to Mozart's time than to our own...). On page 6, he tries to reconstruct Leopold's happiness at learning that he was to become a father, and to have a son whom he could introduce into the world of music. "He rubbed," claims Hoffman, "his hands joyfully, he murmured unintelligible words to himself, he threw radiant glances towards the blue sky, which had become almost cloudless. Yes, he forgot himself so far that he gave way at times to a joyous laugh, a loud laugh on the open highway, such as no one had ever heard from the vice orchestra leader."

Well. We may wonder at the accuracy of such at account: the repetition of joy suggests a certain formulaic aspect to the account, and surely Hoffmann could not have known the state of the sky on a random day in 1755. And yet: boisterous laughs sometimes do pour forth, in expected ways. Matter of fact, Cleo's been developing a room-silencing laugh of her own, over the past ten days or so. And we've got proof: just have a look at the video, above.

We're not quite sure when, or why, this new laugh developed. And, to be honest, I'm also not sure how sincere, or unselfconscious, it typically is. (The example above, as you've likely gathered, is staged, but more or less acoustically typical). Sometimes, Cleo lets loose while watching Max and Ruby. But she also spent some of Monday at school asking her teachers to "talk about [my] new laugh." Having heard them remark on it, she apparently became interested in how it prompted certain reactions."

Which, presumably, may have been part of Mozart's project, as well. At least, Forman would have see it so: that is, laughter can be both naked celebration and open taunt; bald joy, and implicit provocation. We laugh with the world; we laugh at the world. And the world, in turn, stands at attention, reckoning the new sound.