It’s a stereotype that has proven difficult to dispel: Germans have no sense of humour. Yet a glance over the past 100 years reveals how multifaceted, profound and capable of change German humour actually is.
The golden 1920s: satire and irony
Germany was in utter chaos after the First World War: a young democracy, the country was struggling with inflation and political uncertainty. Humour blossomed during this turbulent period. Satirists such as Kurt Tucholsky used subtle wordplay and wit to protest against militarism and narrow-mindedness – their aim was to spotlight problems and shortcomings while giving society food for thought. When asked “What is satire allowed to do?”, Tucholsky’s answer in 1919 was: “Anything.”
Humour was also about more than just on-stage entertainment in 1920s Berlin. In her refreshingly direct and brash style, cabaret artiste Claire Waldoff brought the lives and attitudes of ordinary people to the stage – with a good dose of Berlin’s typically gruff humour. Her songs, such as “Raus mit den Männern ausm Reichstag“ (Out with the men from the Reichstag) weren’t just witty – they were political too: with biting sarcasm, she called for more women in parliament and made fun of the “fine gentlemen” there.
Humour during the Nazi era: anchored by daily life
The rise of National Socialism and the Second World War almost completely extinguished any humorous debate. Satire and cabaret were banned for the most part, with humour occasionally being used as a propaganda tool and to convey images of the enemy. At the same time, actors such as Heinz Rühmann, Hans Moser and Theo Lingen became hugely popular for their largely non-political comedy films.
Karl Valentin, a linguistic acrobat and a master of absurd humour, was also tolerated by the Nazi regime, though he wasn’t regarded as loyal to the party line. His puns and bizarre logic had his audience in fits of laughter.
The 1950s and 1960s: wit and provocation
German humour revealed itself in all its variety again in the post-war period. Trude Herr, famous for her Cologne dialect and songs like “Ich will keine Schokolade, ich will lieber einen Mann” (I don’t want chocolate, I’d rather have a man), offered her self-deprecating take on conventional women’s roles. Heinz Erhardt was the master of innocuous yet sophisticated wordplay: his rhyming verse, such as “Die Made” (The maggot), remains very popular to this day.
In the wild 1960s, the time of the student movement, Wolfgang Neuss shook things up on stage with his political wit, satire and breaking of taboos. The “man with the kettledrum” was provocative and polarising and became the mouthpiece for a new, critical generation.
Years of new openness: the subtle irony of everyday life
In a society that fluctuated between pressure to succeed, new beginnings and stuffy narrow-mindedness, Vicco von Bülow – aka Loriot – became the master of subtle irony: his sketches dissected the trivial misunderstandings and absurdities of everyday and family life in Germany.
