comedy history

Greer

The comic novels I love are books that could just as easily have been tragedies. It is simply that the author has decided it’s funny.

If there’s one thing I can’t stand it’s advice about writing. I’m not interested. I read a lot and I have my own voice. Fuck you.

But I’ll make an exception for Pulitzer-winning author Andrew Sean Greer.

Actually, no. Fuck him too. But! There are some gems in this piece of his in the Guardian today.

the job (as a novelist now and not a diarist) [is] to get to the hardships and frustrations of my characters. Because, to me, comedy is only great fun if it is about something hard and true.

and

First, I work out the hardships and frustrations of the characters as realistically, even tragically, as possible. People die in comic novels. Sometimes the world ends, or sometimes just the world we thought we knew, and I have to consider the real reactions of my characters because, after all, they don’t know it’s a comedy. Second, I begin to write it as if it’s all just a funny story. That takes a great deal of struggle and sometimes feels impossible.

I relate to that last part. I don’t do much to promote my comic writing because I’m a little bit embarrassed by it. It’s closer to my soul than, say, Melt It! or New Escapologist. Promoting my comic novels feels like sending a dick pic. I imagine. But the above makes me think I’m at one with a Pulitzer novellist. I’m not being arrogant: I have travelled that very path, made those same decisions.

So, I dunno, maybe I should stand by my comic novels a bit more. Maybe they’re good. You decide. They’re called Rub-A-Dub-Dub and Tether.

life is a vale of tears, and there’s no fixing it, but just for fun let’s fix this one small piece. Let’s decide, briefly, to lift the weight of being. You can’t successfully do that, I think, without being honest about it first.

Oddie

I like what Stewart Lee said about Bill Oddie today:

So sorry to hear of the death of Bill Oddie, a towering polymath who could have been a great jazz musician, but settled for being a brilliant comedian.

The brutality of some of the Goodies‘ skewering and surreal social satire makes some episodes of their innovative and inspirational TV shows all but unbroadcastable today, and there, always chugging away in the underlay, are Bill’s brilliant jazzy funky scores.

A superb musical parodist – his pastiche of Joe Cocker singing the folk song On Ilkley Moor B’ah Tat is pin sharp and hilarious and joyously absurd – he is also responsible for one of the great British funk singles, Funky Gibbon.

Often described as ‘spikey’ by the public, I suspect Bill was in fact a sensitive man who sometimes found the endless presidential air he was required to sustain by members of the public approaching him a hard act to keep up all the time. Bill, in whatever context, was never anything else but himself.

So Long, Succour

Touring comedian Doug Stanhope sells “stolen hotel bibles” as merch. He signs them.

Nothing says ‘Fuck Easter!’ like skipping the collection tray and purchasing a Bible stolen from some horrible road hotel!

Fridged

You’ve seen a version of this pic before, but m’colleague Mark just sent me a signed version in the post.

Signed, that is, by S. Lee and R. Herring (who, despite that various other achievements in work and life will always be Pliny and Histor to me) at their separate gigs last week.

Normally I put this sort of thing in my Kubrik Box, but this one made the fridge. I want to see it every time I get milk. “There’ll always be milk!“

The Whole Point

To be highfalutin, the Iceman has roots in the Fluxus experimental art movement of the Sixties, where the process is more important than the result. Here, Irving’s ‘let’s just give this a try’ ethos results in a shared sense of meaningless fun, that should, by rights, only exist in the moment – though we should be grateful, too, that it has finally been recorded for the ages.

A spectacular Chortle review of “The Final Block,” the recording of the event we put together at the Bill Murray Comedy Club last year.

To be clear about what this is, my team and I are making a documentary film about the Iceman. We needed more footage of him in action, so we put together a gig. But we also got the gig filmed by Go Faster Stripe, legendary comedy production team. What’s being reviewed here is the Go Faster Stripe recording, not our film. You can buy that recording for a tenner here and I suggest that you do!

Steve, the reviewer, really gets what’s going on. Here’s an important bit:

‘The whole concept of The Iceman is failure,’ Irvine tells us – and it’s a notion that he proves from the start – when he pours a bucket of water over himself and damages the microphone.

A lesser comedian might have cut all the futzing around that resulted, but leaving some of this in captures the joy of amateurism, in its true sense, that his act celebrates. Trying to sum up what his charmingly ramshackle performance achieved, Irving concludes: ‘Something has happened that wouldn’t otherwise have happened’. What more reason does one need?

It’s one of my favourite moments of the show, indeed one of the best things I’ve had the privilege to witness in my life. The director, Chris Evans, understandably went bananas when Anthony wrecked his expensive radio mic. This happened early in the show’s proceedings. It could have been ruinous, but it made the whole night.

“We need to mic you up again,” said Chris, “Being able to hear you is the whole point.”

“The whole point,” Anthony corrected him, “is to melt the block.”

All of this is in the show. We open with a quote from Chris “If I end up on stage, something has really fucked up.”

Third Technician

With Samara’s help (well, she basically did all of it), I’ve made this Red Dwarf-inspired jacket, which is a sure sign of crisis.

What am I, some sort of “fan”?

Urgh.

The website we bought the patches from has plenty of user reviews from young people saying they bought these patches “for father’s day.” I am old.

It’s not supposed to be “screen accurate” and it’s not for cosplay. It’s just a Listerish look to delight the other old men in the pub.

On the TV show, Lister’s khaki jacket is normally worn over the shirt that has these patches. I still might get one of those London Jets tee-shirts though. We’ll see how long this crisis lasts.

I wore the jacket to our Edinburgh WIP screening of Melt It! and you can see it in this pic, albeit before the shoulder patch went on:

You know what my jacket is? It’s historic re-enactment. I’ve been described as a comedy historian a couple of times recently (by Stewart Lee and Oliver Double no less) and I have at least written some books (and now a film) in comedy history so that’s fine by me.

Anyway, I’m about to start a six-month break from doing much of anything. I’ve been far too Rimmerish of late and this will remind me to slob properly.

I want to get custard stains and gravy marks all down it. That way it can be screen accurate.

I Can’t Do That, I’m Afraid

Something that never took off — never became a catchphrase or entered the popular consciousness — but definitely should have:

It’s when Neil on The Inbetweeners says “I can’t do that I’m afraid” when asked to stop doing something irritating or appalling.

I haven’t been watching The Inbetweeners. I just remembered it. Because it’s good.

Itchy-Scratchy

I’ve been feeling a bit itchy-scratchy lately and struggling to relax.

It’s partly because of having too much to do — the ideas and the burden still moving around in my mind when I’m trying to relax — and partly because of an eczema flare that’s been going on for over a year.

Thankfully, there’s light at the end both tunnels. In the eczema department, I’ve been getting phototherapy. This involves reporting to hospital three times a week to stand in a sunbed-like tube and being blasted with UV light for about a minute.

It’s the sort of thing that seems destined to make me a superhero or give me cancer, but I’ll settle for unitchy, unscabby, elastic, unreddened, non-flayed, unsore skin. I only have five sessions left, so this standing appointment can soon be scratched (as it were) from my bloated schedule.

In terms of being too busy (a shameful state for a proud idler), the end of October sees the end of multiple projects. Then I’ll be travelling for a month or two: Utrecht, Amsterdam, Barcelona, Zagreb, Belgrade, Athens, Montreal. This is a genuine attempt to get away from it all and I’m looking forward to it. I like being out in the world with nothing to do. I’ll be with Johnston for the European cities and Samara for the Canadian one. Escaaaaape!

Until then, I’ve been resorting to my favourite ’90s telly comedy to relax: deep dives into Adam & Joe, Red Dwarf, and Lee & Herring. This is something I usually try to avoid — to consume new stuff, new culture, instead of falling back on old favourites — but I’m embarrassingly tired and, as I said, struggling to wind down. The comfort provided by Pliny and Histor and a cavernous old JMC ship seems to do the trick.

Oddly, none of these deep dives has involved actually watching full episodes of these shows. Maybe this a twenty-first century phenomenon. For Adam & Joe, I’ve been watching clips (“when I go and see Villa / my view is blocked by a concrete pillar”) and reading this (“eight quid forty-five for half an hour of stupid craaap”). For Lee & Herring… actually, for them I have been watching full episodes albeit supported by a forum watch-along.

For Red Dwarf I’ve been reading and listening to small chunks of the first two novels (did anyone remember that the toaster kills the polymorph in the book version – I had forgotten this) and watching video essays like this one on YouTube. I also watched the Bodysnatcher stuff for the first time, which really tipped me over the edge. I hope Rob Grant manages to give his new book and TV series (if they ever happen) the quiet desolation I crave. No more wacky “Doug Dwarf” boner hijinks please, Rob.

I also made a Dave Lister jacket.

Do You Have a Mantra?

Ben Moor is a lovely, talented, warm-hearted person. Don’t take my word for it. He’s famously this.

A few days before my first proper show in 15 years, I asked Ben by email if he had any tips. He wrote back:

Breathe deeply before going on – do you have a mantra? – mine is borrowed from [American football coach] Marv Levy who used to say to his players “Where else would you rather be, than right here, right now.” It’s the last thing I say to myself before going on stage and it settles me nicely.

Also, if you think you’re talking too slowly, you’re probably talking at the right pace.

Have fun out there!

Love and peace,

Ben x

Heckling for Fun and Profit

Dembina: So I was walking down the road, as the comedians say…

Me: Which road?

Dembina: The Holloway Road. It joins up with the A1.

Me: Glad I asked.

Dembina: Good heckle.

*

Dembina: What’s it called? Jewish Playboy?

Me: Playmensch.

Dembina: Nah, not…

Me: Playgoy?

Dembina: That’s it. You can have 50p for that one, not a pound.

*

The spirit of the Tunnel Club is alive in Edinburgh.

Soan

I often find myself thinking of Martin Soan. I think of him when I hear the phrase “my giddy aunt” or see some meerkats in a zoo.

Most often though, I think of him when I clean the gunk out of the hair trap in our shower drain.

Martin has a bit where he comes on stage to Serge Gainsbourg’s Je t’aime, while “erotically” tugging some grotty-looking wool out of a section of drain pipe.

The music scratches to a halt and he says “Cor, I love doing that.”

I probably think of that every single morning.