The Good, the Bad, and the Un-funny Amputation Jokes in Everyday Entertainment
By Melissa Bean
I grew up on movies and TV programs like “The Three Stooges,” “The Roadrunner,” and “America’s Funniest Home Videos,” all shows where accidents, punches, and pokes in the eye and unexpected falls are key essentials to the plot. Besides that, I have a sister and two brothers, so my growing up years were a daily buffet of fart jokes, karate kick contests, spitting practice, practical jokes and bike races. I still laugh hysterically watching Instagram reels of people bonking their heads, falling off rocks and slipping on ice. I feel a bit guilty, but I can’t seem to help it. I blame Larry, Curly and Moe.
My two daughters, however, grew up on sweet programming like “The Backyardigans” and “Dora the Explorer.” My girls never hit each other or called each other names, and they didn’t have to fight off an older brother who liked to pin them down and tap on their foreheads for 15 minutes, so they weren’t wired for offense or defense. As they matured, they taught me the rules of engagement for the aughts and 10s. Mainly, no fighting, name-calling, hitting, or discriminating. My children were sad if people hurt each other on TV or in a movie. At school, they understood the importance of the zero-tolerance approach to bullying, hate speech, and any type of aggressive behavior.
I’m a congenital amputee, my left arm below the elbow. I give my daughters credit for showing me a different way to relate to myself and everyone and everything around me. Not that I was running around being hostile towards friends and strangers, except a few special people on the freeway who couldn’t hear what I was saying anyway. My real issue was showing kindness to myself.
As I developed this new understanding of compassion as a general, habitual practice, I gradually began to apply it to myself. My inner dialogue softened. I started to notice when I felt overwhelmed and needed a time-out. I also began to examine how my harsh attitudes affected my ability to ask for and accept help, acknowledge my disability, and allow myself to admit when certain tasks and situations were difficult for me.
I gave up peeling potatoes. Sure, I can do it, but it’s tough and the two-handed people in my house were more than capable of taking on that responsibility. I went to the car wash instead of scrubbing, soaping and drying my SUV myself. I bought a cross-body purse and an automatic card shuffler. I realized there were many simple ways to make my life easier if I would truly recognize my disability and find accommodations.
While I was learning to practice kindness toward myself, I began to notice an unkindness regularly aimed in my direction – jokes about amputations on TV and in movies. After a lifetime of hearing “one-armed man” jokes, laughing when cartoon characters sustained one fatal or drastic injury after another losing limbs, falling from great heights and being run over by trains, cars and cattle, I finally felt it myself. None of these skits, jokes and asides had ever seemed as if they were mocking me – until they did.
It started to feel personal. I felt degraded and minimized. I told my family I could no longer tolerate jokes in any form of entertainment about missing limbs, and I would not watch any program if its humor was played out at the expense of amputees. I explained I’d been ignoring how it made me feel for many years and had reached my limit.
One night we chose “Logan Lucky,” a story about “West Virginia family man Jimmy Logan who teams up with his one-armed brother Clyde and sister Mellie to steal money from the Charlotte Motor Speedway in North Carolina.”
The summary on Netflix didn’t use the phrase “one-armed,” so I didn’t realize until too late. Then I thought maybe Adam Driver’s portrayal of an amputee would be respectful, but it wasn’t. We switched to “Peter Rabbit” with Rose Byrne and Domhnall Gleeson. Within the first 4 minutes, one of the adorable little rabbits jokes about “losing a limb.” I rolled my eyes and just kept watching.
Worst of all is a quote in “A Walk in the Woods,” by Bill Bryson. I love this book and its author. During repeat readings, I had glossed over a statement by Bryson’s friend and foil, a man described as being unemployable, an addict and alcoholic, and as having poor hygiene, a criminal record and participating in questionable activities involving taxes, health insurance and his dead grandmother’s Social Security – something like that, but if Bill can hyperbolize, so can I. This man, hoping for some casual sex after weeks hiking the Appalachian Trail, reaches civilization and says his only real criteria for a one-night stand is that the woman “have a full set of limbs.”
I turned off quite a number of movies my family was excited to watch before I gave up on the idea. My family was supportive, but I eventually caved because there wasn’t much to watch if we ruled out every movie making jokes about missing limbs.
During the weeks I’ve been working on this article, I have watched “The Roses” and “Crazy Rich Asians.” The Roses are a couple, played by Benedict Cumberbatch and Olivia Coleman, who are considering divorce. They see a therapist who asks them to list what they like about each other. Right off, the wife says she likes her husband because he has arms. She watched a documentary about a man with no arms and it looked like a difficult life, especially for the spouse.
In “Crazy Rich Asians,” the main character and a minor character are observing other women participate in a frenzied, over-the-top bridal-shower shopping spree.
Minor character: “Didn’t you see anything you wanted?”
Main character: “No, I don’t want to lose an arm.”
One woman wouldn’t like to be married to someone like me. The other wouldn’t want to be me. However it’s meant, that’s how I hear it.
I watched the movies – I didn’t turn them off. I have to compartmentalize. I have to reject the implied pity, the insensitivity and the disrespectfulness of making the defining physical attribute of a minority group the butt of a weak joke. I do not accept the undercurrent of rejection. I will not internalize a message that diminishes my experience.
I have a sense of humor – I can understand why these jokes are considered funny to others. The human condition involves a significant amount of suffering, and if we can’t laugh about the pain, the tragedy, the mishaps, misfortunes, bad luck and bad timing we all experience, we might not make it through. We get to watch the Black Knight in “Monte Python and the Holy Grail” lose all his limbs, blood spurting everywhere while he insists it’s “just a flesh wound,” and decide for ourselves if we’re amused. I will admit, I’m deeply amused by that movie. Others, maybe not so much – because we don’t all love slapstick, satire or the surreal.
When every other movie I watch includes jokes that mock amputations my quiet boycott makes no difference. Other amputees might not be affected by jokes about limb loss and that’s fine, but I hope that humor that belittles amputees is eventually abandoned like so many other disrespectful references we used to find acceptable in entertainment. I have a new approach to the way these gags make me feel. Instead of protest, detachment is the kindness I show myself. They’re not making fun of me. I’m not going to laugh or pretend amputation jokes don’t bother me, but I won’t take it personally.
