Ozu, master of the pillow shot, was also the first cinematic master of the fart. In Good Morning, Ozu eschews his usual stoicism (but not his keen eye for framing) to craft a comedy of primary colors and banal banter. The pair of young Japanese boys at the heart of the film idolize one of their fathers for his immaculate ability to pass gas; when one boy tries to emulate him, eating pumice rock shavings to power his bowels, he passes more than just gas and is ridiculed. Ozu turns the soiled scene into a moment of adolescent bonding, of boys trying to grow up too fast and of men trying to stay children.

But Mel Brooks’ Blazing Saddles set the standard for on-screen flatulence. Brooks’ fart jokes offer no profound insights into the proverbial human condition, or the injustices of the Wild West, or anything that would make for a good scholarly article; it’s just funny. Farts are funny. There isn’t even a joke here, no set-up or punchline, just farts — farts and laughter. That, in itself, might be a profound observation. It’s good to laugh. As Philip Roth says in The Great American Novel, “Kids love farts, don’t they?” (See also: Step Brothers, in which our tuxedo-clad idiot heroes unleash an odious cloud of onion-tinged gas during a job interview.)