Whether providing program notes for you to read while the Mezzo changes her mantilla (and she always has more mantillas than songs), providing a cut-and-paste for Dreiser's next American Tragedy (complete with maps, recipes, and court transcripts), or simply describing The Wreck of The Sunday Paper, Robert Benchley proved that comedy could be witty, sophisticated, and yet completely unpretentious. His scale was Seinfeldian, but far from being the eminently hittable Suburban Snot, Benchely admits to being as confused about the detritus of daily life as the rest of us. And like the rest of us, he finds it amazing that we make it from one day to the next with our lives, and even some shreds of our dignity, intact. He likes opera music, but knows that the plots are wild, trashy, and more than a bit ridiculous. He knows that travelling with kids is a contact sport that only the hardy survive (the hardy usually being the kids themselves), and that Christmas dinner with the extended family is something very pleasant in the abstract but a trial by fire in practice. And he has a sharp eye out for go-getters, lecturers on health and sex, and the pretentious of any sort, all of whom make life even more annoying than it already is. A few of the period details may strike you as quaint, but at heart, this is still very contemporary comedy. And very funny.