The Genius of the Dumb

I love the clown who is so dumb. So stupid. So oblivious.

And somehow—it all works out.

Things fall into place around them, to them, despite them.

A banana peel becomes a miracle. A ladder becomes choreography. A disaster becomes a dance.

That somehow?

That’s not luck. That’s hours. Days. Years. A lifetime of practice.

It’s a highly technical craft, polished until it shines invisible. The moves are precise, the rhythms exact, the timing surgically perfect—so that it looks like it all just happened.

This is one of my favorite types of performance. The kind where the audience can’t tell where the accident ends and the brilliance begins. The performer is consistently surprised and innocent despite also being the force driving the actions in the scene.

Some masters of this include Charlie Chaplin, Buster Keaton, Mr. Bean, and Bill Irwin

One day, when I’m super old, the routine I do like this will be legendary.

Seemingly bumbling through a universe that is playing dominoes with my oblivious baby brain.

Coincidence is the supporting character… or I’m the supporting character to coincidence.

And maybe, if I’ve practiced enough, it will look like I didn’t try at all.