Posted: 08/31/2008

The Timewaster Letters

(2008)

by Robin Cooper

Reviewed by D. B. Bates

For years, BAFTA-winning writer/producer Robert Popper (Peep Show, Look Around You) has wasted both his time and others writing absurd letters to equally absurd corporations, organizations and government institutions. The Timewaster Letters compiles some of these letters for our amusement. It’s a slim book—less than 200 pages—that most people could enjoy over the course of an afternoon. It also contains the type of strange, breathless humor that’s hilarious but easy forgotten, which is not necessarily a criticism. It merely adds reread value to it—you can pick it up at any time and laugh all over again.

When I first started reading, the book made me laugh consistently. Each letter is a miniature comic gem, and in many cases the oblivious responses enhance the humor. However, like every piece of humor that gets its laughs at the expense of others, the more I read, the more I considered the dark side. While a few of the recipients seemed to, at the very least, find amusement in these odd letters, the overwhelming majority are just innocent folks who just happen to enjoy halibut or have a job affiliated with insulation. These letters, then, become a slightly more highbrow version of a prank phone call. I felt bad for the recipients, who mostly replied in good faith, and I felt guilty for finding “Cooper“‘s letters so funny.

One shining example of what this book could have—and should have—been occurs early on, when “Cooper” exchanges letters with the employee of a children’s-book publisher. She seems to catch on to the joke after the second or third letter, and after awhile it seems like she’s prolonging the correspondence for her own amusement. Another example—perhaps the apex of guilt-free hilarity in this book—occurs when “Cooper” writes a letter to the head of a Ball-Bearing enthusiasts’ club, complaining that his fictitious son has a collection so enormous, his frustrated parents don’t know how to deal with it. Rather than responding to “Cooper,” the enthusiast responds directly to the son, urging him to continue his collection and giving him tips to prevent his parents from keeping him down. A few other respondents send similarly ridiculous or sarcastic letters, but I still felt sorry for the chipper, serious replies.

Despite my misgivings with the humiliation-based humor, Robert Popper has a great comic mindd, a penchant for the absurd and a gift for inventing a certain continuity within the nonexistent Cooper brood. For instance, early on he makes an offhanded remark about his wife getting an ankle X-Ray. His wife’s broken ankle quickly turns into a running gag, referred to in letters to a variety of sources. Popper’s attention to these details gives “Cooper” a very life-like quality, which perhaps makes his letters more believable.

I’d recommend this book to fans of Sacha Baron Cohen’s comedy (Borat, Da Ali G Show) or perhaps fans of the Meet the Parents movies. If you like that style of humor, this book is a big winner. If you’re prone to feeling guilt over elaborate practical jokes you have no part of or control over, you might want to stay away.

D. B. Bates is a time-wasting writer and film critic.

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