Why I am never, ever sick at sea
Or, the Aaron Sorkin way to end a resumé
What is the mark of a truly superior human? Courage? Kindness? Being prepared to do the right thing, no matter the cost? Or is it possessing the intestinal fortitude to never, ever be sick at sea?
In two classic film scenes by the writer Aaron Sorkin, the imperviousness to nausea is the pièce de résistance. It’s well documented that Sorkin has a thing for tropes, and one of his favourites is the indignant recital of one’s resumé. Avoiding seasickness is the cherry atop the sundae of your impressive credentials.
Here’s Philip Seymour Hoffman as brilliant CIA officer Gust Avrakotos in Charlie Wilson’s War (2007):
I’ve advised and armed the Hellenic Army. I've neutralized champions of communism. I've spent the past three years learning Finnish, which would come in handy here in Virginia, and I’m never ever sick at sea.
And here’s Alec Baldwin as oleaginous surgeon Dr. Jed Hill in Malice (1993):
I have an M.D. from Harvard, I am board-certified in cardiothoracic medicine and trauma surgery, I have been awarded citations from seven different medical boards in New England, and I am never, ever sick at sea.
Who was the original never-sick hero? It was of course Captain Corcoran in Gilbert and Sullivan’s HMS Pinafore — though this nautical hero’s defining trait withers under scrutiny:
CAPTAIN: And I’m never, never sick at sea.
CHORUS: What, never?
CAPTAIN: No, never.
CHORUS: What, never?
CAPTAIN: Well, hardly ever!
(Note the slight misquote, which we can chalk up to modern usage.)
Playwright Sir W.S. Gilbert (1836-1911) and composer Sir Arthur Sullivan (1842-1900) cranked out a winning series of comic operas in the Victorian era, and they too have an extensive page over at TVtropes.com. G&S fandom is not rare: They were hugely popular in their day and their works have consistently been performed since around the world. Still, Sorkin takes it to the next level. In both The West Wing and Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip, he contrived ways to have his whole cast perform sections from their operas on network television.
Which brings us to the classic question: Is this wit? There’s no doubt that William Schwenck Gilbert himself was a great wit, a fact engraved in bronze on London’s Embankment:
Does simply quoting Gilbert at length suffice as surprising creativity? Not quite. A gift for quotation is a serviceable substitute for wit, as W. Somerset Maugham wrote, but serviceable does not equal surprising. Clever quotes only do the job if they’re cleverly quoted.
There are parrots and there are magpies. Parrots can quote long tracts verbatim, while magpies pick the shiniest pieces and use them to build something new. You don’t need to be an ornithologist to guess which bird can soar to greater heights.
And that’s why the short, somewhat contradictory use of “never ever sick at sea” works. It’s an inside joke (as per Issue 8 of this newsletter) that makes fun of both resumé puffery — the Captain is, after all, occasionally sick at sea — and the need to end a needlessly long list with a great closer.
When you talk about the challenges you’ve mastered and the masters you’ve challenged, the multinational aluminium companies you’ve merged and the KPIs you’ve KO’d, the dunks you’ve slammed and the slams you’ve ducked, you need to finish strong. You need to leave them breathless. You, my friend, are never, ever sick at sea.
I suggest we all add this line to our LinkedIn profiles, as I have done here.
Quick quips; lightning
“The idiot who praises, with enthusiastic tone
All centuries but this, and every country but his own.”
— W.S. Gilbert
This one from The Mikado is timeless takedown of toxic nostalgists.
“I always voted at my party’s call,
And I never thought of thinking for myself at all.”
— W.S. Gilbert
From HMS Pinafore, the pinnacle of parliamentary discipline.
“Darwinian Man, though well-behav’d,
At best is only a monkey shav’d.”
— W.S. Gilbert
Is he even that well-behav’d, though?
Thanks for boarding the twelfth issue of Get Wit Quick, the very model of a modern Substack newsletter. A copy of Elements of Wit: Mastering The Art of Being Interesting may be used in lieu of a life preserver. Thanks to Sharon for the picture of the Gilbert monument and James for introducing me to the Kevin Kline-Linda Ronstadt version of Pirates of Penzance. To thwart seasickness and help this newsletter, please tap the ❤️ below.