The subversion of expectations is essential to the comic tradition. It is the reason some people laugh at a monkey in a top hat or a foul-mouthed talking baby (Stewie Griffin). Fundamentally, the subversion of expectations is connected with the release of tension: the set-up leads you in one direction, and the punchline is like a sharp left-turn that can de-escalate the situation, or escalate it to absurdity. 

Inevitably, in pop culture — and especially in Britain — the subversion of expectations as a comic trope has had a class element to it. Fawlty Towers is funny because (among other things) it presents a middle-class man who aspires to run an upper class establishment. Only Fools and Horses is funny because people usually get their comeuppance. Are You Being Served is funny because the working class staff must suffer the airs (pretentious or sincere) of their upper and middle class clientele. 

But the release of tension is a reason why we often laugh “at the wrong times” or at the wrong things. There are many people in the world who will laugh when something tragic happens — sometimes to other people, but in this case it’s to themselves. Hence the popularity of the tragicomic genre. 

One of the least funny things in the world is an essay about what is funny. 

Subverting expectations is a way to introduce a comic element to a story, usually by taking pre-conceptions around a person, circumstance or interaction and delivering a result contrary to them. But what do you do when everything in a comedy show is about subverting expectations?

There’s an emerging trend in trans-Atlantic comedy that makes the subversion of expectations either a central theme or the entirety of the offering. One of the more noticeable examples is the Netflix show Sex Education. One of the premises is that a single, middle-class mother is a sex therapist — whaaaa?! — and her son is not very comfortable with sex — whaaaaaa?! — but he’s convinced into setting up a sex clinic — whaaaaaaaaaaa?! One can see the writer’s hands pulling the strings.

The show suffers elsewhere — characters trounce around in fashion from pick-a-decade in a nowhere world of a very American-looking school, with very American-feeling dynamics, in the hills of a very Welsh looking countryside, yet also with a ubiquitously 1960s squat corner shop, English housing estates and almost European looking houses. Also, a trailer park. And a farm. All in a town small enough that everyone knows each other. The suspension of disbelief is also a necessary tool in drama. 

Sex Education can be funny, but as a show it trades almost exclusively on the subversion of expectations. The head boy (which, again, is odd in a mixed-sex school) is black and has two mums — didn’t see that one coming, did you? He also ends up liking unconventional sex — sorry, part of the moral of the show is there is no such thing — and is attracted to a non-binary character. Which, by the way, the characters accept uncritically — bet you didn’t expect that! 

Once the show has exhausted most of its potential to subvert expectations in a particular setting, it simply changes settings, and moves to a new school. There, we meet a Christian trans girl, a trans femme Scouse teenager whose parents paid for their top-surgery, and a deaf ethically non-monogamous girl. Didn’t expect that, did you?! Oh, and the old characters struggle to fit into their new school — not because they’re too progressive but because they’re not progressive enough. 

You’re left with the feeling that the show writers were trying to think of what expectations they despise, and how they can subvert them the most. 

It is not the most egregious example that’s come out recently, though. Apple TV’s Ted Lasso bases its entire characterisation on the subversion of expectations. The titular character, a white family man from Kansas, refers to God as a woman; the seemingly gruff, bearded Coach Beard is  actually a near-polymath who attended college on a chess scholarship; the airheaded bimbo girlfriend of the best footballer in the show is actually a business genius; the mild-mannered kit assistant is actually a wunderkind football coach; the straight-laced, middle-aged woman is actually a bloodthirsty fan of rugby who wears a velour “Juicy” outfit; etc. 

In fact, the only real characterisation in the show can be summarised as “is actually”. Many of these characterisations are used as plot devices, which does not make the show an inherently bad offering — in fact, it’s a highly enjoyable watch that is peppered with genuinely emotional moments. But these moments tend to come from contrived occurrences rather than character development, such as when one of the main characters spontaneously sings at her dad’s funeral — which, when you think about it, is simply another example of the subversion of expectations. 

What this means is, the show doesn’t need to develop its characters, it only needs to slowly reveal more about them. This means the few characters who are developed in the show — and as a result, have the most compelling storylines — are sidelined in favour of cheap laughs. The story arc of the best footballer in the show, Jamie Tartt, is that he arrogantly thinks he doesn’t need to cooperate or work with his team and slowly learns that he benefits from belonging and not being a loner. This is a tried-and-tested storyline that hits home because of its truth, not in spite of the expectations of the viewer. How he gets there becomes the story, rather than the, essentially, subversive situational comedy that the rest of the show trades on. 

When the expectation is that expectations will be subverted, it becomes predictable — not provocative

But this tendency is everywhere in modern show and film writing —  a way to either get a cheap laugh, or to sell as comedy something that is actually a moral lecture. In the finale of the Harry Potter film franchise, for example, the character snaps the Elder Wand, the most powerful wand ever created (he doesn’t in the novel, but then my expectations need to be subverted, don’t they). 

Some claim that the subversion of expectations exists to challenge an audience; but this reveals the exact problem. When the expectation is that expectations will be subverted, it becomes predictable — not provocative. 

When the subversion of expectations is all that’s left, and shows lean too hard on this trope, you enter a world in which all cliches are banished and all other tropes are forbidden. 

This is a problem because it encourages the existence of media that trades on a sort of nihilistic progressivism: you can never expect anything from anyone, because not only will you avoid disappointment, but you’ll also avoid “forcing” onto anyone any presumptions that may harm them. 

The subversion of expectations is a fine plot device — but it’s become expected. So, what do you do in this circumstance? 

One thing is to recognise, and find, better quality cinema. Mythic Quest, also on Apple TV, is a particularly good example of taking stereotypes and leaning into them with absurd consequences, which as a result delivers more refined comedy and actually subverts expectations in a more effective way. The obsession with “backstories” in modern media is lampooned, for example, through an elaborate series of backstories. 

Another is to recognise when you’re being preached to. It seems at some point, someone retooled Marx’s claim, and became convinced that “the purpose of comedy is to change the world”. A message can arrive through the medium of a joke, of course, but the joke should be funny first and foremost and formulaic transgressions are anything but.

The subversion of expectations is a necessary — but not sufficient — condition for comedy. When all that a comedy show has is the expectation that your expectations will be subverted, you may as well give up on watching it and read a sign that says “everything you think is wrong, lol”.