A man who fails is funny... if my sketches teach anything, it is

When Benny Hill said, “A man who fails is funny… if my sketches teach anything, it is that, for the male, sex is a snare and a delusion. What’s so corrupting about that?” he was not merely defending his comedy — he was uncovering a deeper truth about the folly of human desire and the timeless humor of imperfection. Beneath the laughter of his sketches lies an ancient insight: that pride, lust, and vanity are the very ingredients that make mankind both tragic and hilarious. The man who fails is not a fool to be mocked, but a mirror in which all humanity sees itself — striving, stumbling, yearning for pleasure, and forever caught between innocence and absurdity.

The origin of this quote lies in Hill’s long career as a comedian whose humor often centered around the farce of male desire — the chase that never ends, the seduction that never succeeds. In his shows, the man is always undone by his own longing, tripped by his fantasies, defeated by the very thing he seeks. It is this universal struggle that he turns into laughter. To Hill, sex — or more truly, the obsession with it — is not an evil to be condemned but a delusion to be pitied. His jest is a form of mercy, for in laughing at our weaknesses, we are freed from their power. As he asks, “What’s so corrupting about that?” — he challenges the notion that humor which exposes desire is immoral. Rather, he suggests, it is moral in the truest sense, for it reveals truth without cruelty.

The ancients, too, knew this wisdom. Aristophanes, the great comic playwright of Greece, filled his works with bawdy jokes and earthly passions, but behind the laughter lay the same insight: that man’s appetites are both ridiculous and divine. In Lysistrata, women use the denial of sex to end war — proving that desire governs even the mighty. The audience laughed, but they also understood: the laughter was not mockery but revelation. Just as Hill’s sketches show men chasing illusion, Aristophanes showed Athens chasing glory — and both, in their folly, were the same. For laughter is not the enemy of truth; it is its gentlest messenger.

Hill’s phrase, “A man who fails is funny,” carries the echo of an ancient paradox — that failure is the essence of comedy. Tragedy belongs to kings and gods, but comedy belongs to the everyman, to the one who slips on life’s banana peel and rises again with dignity intact. To fail and laugh is to reclaim power over defeat. Hill’s men — clumsy, hopeful, forever chasing — are the embodiment of this sacred foolishness. They fall, but we laugh with them, not at them. For in each pratfall lies the reminder that no one escapes the snares of desire or the ironies of existence.

Yet Hill’s remark about sex as a snare and delusion also invites reflection on the nature of temptation. The philosophers of old warned that lust blinds reason and enslaves the soul. But Hill, rather than moralizing, turns this struggle into comedy — not to demean it, but to disarm it. His humor strips away shame and reveals the universality of weakness. The man who thinks himself in control is caught; the one who laughs at his folly is free. Thus, his sketches become small parables of humility: we are all seekers of illusions, and only by recognizing the joke can we begin to see the truth.

Consider, for a moment, the story of King David, who, in all his power, fell into desire for Bathsheba and brought suffering upon himself. A great tragedy, yes — but at its heart, it reveals the same pattern Hill speaks of. Even the mighty are caught by their own longing; even the wise are fooled by the promise of pleasure. Hill, through humor, invites us to face this reality not with despair, but with laughter — to see that our weakness is part of our humanity, and that humility, not denial, is the beginning of wisdom.

So, my children, learn from Benny Hill’s laughter. Do not scorn the one who fails, for in failure lies the essence of life’s comedy. Learn to see your desires for what they are — snares, yes, but also teachers. Let your laughter be your liberation, for to laugh at oneself is to conquer pride. Seek not perfection, but perspective. Remember that even the wisest stumble, and that laughter, when born of understanding, is a form of grace.

Thus, when Hill asks, “What’s so corrupting about that?” he reminds us that truth, when wrapped in humor, is never corrupting — it is cleansing. The funny man becomes a philosopher, the jest becomes a mirror, and the laughter becomes a hymn to the beautiful foolishness of being human. Laugh, then, not to mock, but to forgive — for in every jest about desire, failure, and folly lies the eternal wisdom that to be human is to stumble, and to find joy in the stumbling.