Who's funnier—Joan Rivers or Woody Allen? | The Tylt
Who's funnier—Joan Rivers or Woody Allen?
After a year like 2016, we could all use a laugh. That's why we've taken 16 of the most beloved comedians of all-time and having them square off against each other all month long! Who's the funniest? You decide and we'll announce the king (or queen) of comedy at the end of the month!
Help us crown the best comedian by voting in these other exciting head-to-head debates too:
Woody Allen's career took him from stand-up to what he's now well known for—movies.
Certainly Allen has earned his place in the pantheon of film-makers. Born Allen Konigsberg to a working-class Brooklyn family, he wrote gags for Bob Hope and Sid Caesar before becoming a standup on the 1960s comedy circuit, where he would fumble with his glasses, gulp in faux-terror and deliver devastating one-liners with a boxer's timing.
Shifting into movies, he pioneered a new brand of romantic comedy, installing himself as an emblematic urban everyman; the nerd who gets the girl (and then usually loses her). He pursued a flighty Diane Keaton in the Oscar-winning Annie Hall, romanced a teenage Mariel Hemingway in Manhattan, and fell foul of the Mob in 1984's Broadway Danny Rose.
In many of his movies, Woody Allen plays a neurotic and self-obsessed version of himself. Despite being short, balding and wearing glasses, he became a kind of sex-icon in the 70's because his humor was just that good.
In this obituary, Robert McFadden remembers Joan Rivers for her ground breaking work. A contemporary of Woody Allen, she came to define the stand-up scene for generations and blazed a path for female comics.
Vivacious even as a nipped-and-tucked octogenarian, flitting from coast to coast and stage to studio in a whirl of live and taped shows, publicity stunts and cosmetic surgery visits, Ms. Rivers evolved from a sassy, self-deprecating performer early in her career into a coarser assassin, slashing at celebrities and others with a rapier wit that some critics called comic genius in the bloodletting vein of Mr. Bruce. Others called it downright vicious. But if she turned off the scowlers, she left millions in stitches.“Can we talk?” she demanded in her signature call to gossip and skewer — the brassy Jewish-American princess from Flatbush, Brooklyn, and Larchmont, in Westchester County, leveling with the world.