Not all humor--verbally or visually conferred--is equal. A comedically gifted person, imbued with natural timing, vocal tone, even rubbery expressions, often will fail to illicit the same laughter--both in volume and sustainability--as a starkly less funny person.
Why? Because there is a little-known thing called the spectrum of laughter which severely handicaps according to time and setting.
For instance, there is very little required or expected--humorously speaking--from a preacher in a Sunday service. Corny jokes, lame poems, trite quotations from "innocent" children would get you hook-caned from any comedy club, but in church, the pews erupt with laughter, knowing nods, and relief.
Oddly enough, the professor--though he/she is in an environment with similarities to the pastor--will bomb miserably with the same material. He must include a flair of ridicule, superiority, and belittlement to engage his captive audience in guffaws.
The death bed is another interesting laboratory for humor. As loved ones lean in to hear the rasping sounds of their fading patriarch, a well-placed joke, even repeated from a mind swollen with dementia, will elicit a sighing laugh of relief from the small crowd.
If your audience is inebriated and standing around you, a loud-mouthed Neanderthal can induce many cackles, but a drunken audience sitting and facing a stage requires more sophisticated material.
Perhaps this is why the merry players of Saturday Night Live face such a challenge. They must perform as the world is watching, composed, and expectant--anything they do, say, or show is judged against all experiences of humor that came before. They do not have the advantage of surprise as does a person who stumbles into a humorous situation and blurts out an obvious reference. They must almost revolutionize comedy with each broadcast, or the audience will switch off the television and get some sleep so they're fresh for the pastor's jokes in the morning.
