The Case of the Missing Punchline

This one started years ago with a specific image I couldn’t shake. A female praying mantis, stepping out from behind a bush, doing the Pulp Fiction dance. That slow, deliberate swagger — the one that says everything is completely fine and nothing bad is about to happen — as a young male approaches.

If you know anything about praying mantises, you know where this is going. The female eats the male’s head after mating. I have always found this underexplored comedically.

My first attempt at doing something with it was a school sex education setting. A mantis at the front of the class, chalk in hand, explaining the facts of life to a roomful of traumatised students. I tried a few versions. None of them worked. The joke kept collapsing — too much setup, not enough air in it. So I shelved it.

Then one day I just drew the two of them in bed and stopped overthinking it.

Then I added a trophy wall of previous males above the headboard — every one of them wearing the exact same look of disbelief. The males were not coming off well at this point.

Now, females are generally considered subtle communicators. This one was not. This one was doing the Pulp Fiction dance in broad daylight. Front and centre. A full production number. And still — nothing. Not a flicker.

So how do you make him even dafter? Detective’s cap on the lampshade.

This is what I love most about silly characters. Not that they’re daft — although they usually are — but that they’re committed. They walk straight into the situation with complete confidence, right up until the moment they don’t. The detective cap on the lampshade isn’t just a gag. It’s a full character arc in one prop.

Basic Instincts is always a snapshot of the moment just before it unfolds. The detective’s hat on the lampshade is that moment. Everything that came before it, and everything that’s about to happen next, is already in the picture.

Happy accidents. That’s mostly what this is.

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