I find US politics morbidly compelling at the moment. I’ve been doing my best to steer clear of it, but some things just draw you in. The Portland frogs, for example. I love their bravado. I applaud them and their fellow inflatable creatures as they do the hokey-cokey outside their city’s federal immigration building.

Ridicule is a powerful force and something it’s very hard for the agents of repression to counter. How can you legislate against someone dressing as a giant banana to dance in the street? Even the most dedicated authoritarian must at some point realise that they’re starting to look silly.

In this vein I found myself entertaining an absurd thought as I looked at the huge crowds taking part in the No Kings protests over the weekend. What if they had been led by laughter-makers? I don’t even know whether such a person exists, but I do know that laughter can be induced and that it’s highly contagious, especially in what might be thought of as inappropriate situations. The idea of a hundred thousand or more people being brought to a state of helpless mirth is, well … delicious; almost as delicious as would be its effect on the objects of their mirth. Send in the National Guard? Not a very good look.

All this brought to mind a short film I came across some years ago. Simply called Merci!, it unfolds in a crowded carriage of the Paris Metro. A passenger gets on, settles into his seat with a seraphic smile, and begins to chuckle to himself … The film lasts eight minutes. I watched it again yesterday and I can readily say that it was the most cathartic eight minutes I’ve spent in a very long time.

I have no knowledge of the physiological processes involved, but I do know that paroxysmal laughing, like paroxysmal crying, brings about an enormous emotional release that can leave one feeling at once drained and euphoric. Picture such an hilarious crowd – populated partly by frogs, sharks, bears, dinosaurs, unicorns, gorillas and weird cartoon characters – stumbling convulsively down Pennsylvania Avenue. It wouldn’t take the occupant of No 1600 long to figure out what was going on. 

I’m fantasising, of course. I also suspect I’m writing this in counterpoint to the rather sombre tone of last week’s post. But how wonderful would be the Laughter Uprising? No banners, no chants, just mirth; the ultimate peaceful protest. What would the authorities do? And how wonderful would everyone be feeling for it?

My guess is that none of us laugh – really laugh – nearly enough; and to repeat myself from last week, given the awfulness of everything that’s going on in the world, we probably need to more than ever. So if you really can’t let go of the news, at least give yourself a break and take eight minutes to watch Merci!

(A word of caution: you might not want to do it in a public space. On the other hand, you might wish to do exactly that, in which case you might be a latent laughter-maker. If so, we need you.)

I’m running an affordable afternoon of writing with my fellow Dark Angel, Neil Baker, at Edinburgh’s Royal Botanics, Saturday 8 November, 12.30-4.00. Booking here.