If every era spawns its perfect aesthetic, why has the tragicomic come back to haunt us? This ancient form—born in Roman times, rekindled after World War II—now seems to encapsulate our age's absurdity.

Theatre, memes and art all reflect this blend of pathos and bathos. From Keanu Reeves pondering existence in Waiting for Godot to Martine Gutierrez’s fraught selfies, we find ourselves living through a time when the clown prince of tragedy is king.

In Illma Gore’s paintings, the faces of world leaders are twisted into demonic cherubs. Dries Verhoeven’s Venice Biennale piece Everything Must Go even stages an antic shoplifting parody, mirroring our desire to consume yet fear precarity. It's all a sad commentary on our times.

The tragicomic isn't just art; it's a way of coping with the chaos around us. We laugh at our predicament because there’s no other choice. But is laughter enough?