Stepping into the Light

JOHN BURNS dispenses some sage advice on handling the fear factor inherent in the business of stand up comedy, and reflects on what it all means.

I AM LEANING against a wall in a small, dimly lit room, the palms of my hands are sweating and I am wondering how I could have been so stupid as to give up smoking. Right now I feel as though I am in a pressure cooker and a nicotine prop would come in handy.

The other half dozen people fidgeting in the gloom are all chain smoking. Their smoke mingles with cheap after-shave and stale beer to form an eye-watering fog that shrouds the cracked mirror, faded photographs and dilapidated chairs that furnish the room.

But there is another smell here far more pungent than any other. Pervasive and unmistakeable, it hits you when you walk in. It is the smell of fear.

So, is this the waiting room for the dentist from hell or the anti-chamber of some ghastly inquisition? No, the truth is much stranger and far more terrifying. In fact this room has more to do with laughter than pain. This is a dressing room for stand up comedians.

We are all waiting to go out in front of an audience for the first time and perform stand up comedy, to step out of the darkness of this little room and into the light. We are the Christians; on the far side of a black door you can hear the lions waiting, and they are hungry.

“Levity is good,” says Arnie in the imaginatively entitled Terminator III.  “It relieves tension and reduces the fear of death.” Since the result of arguing with a cyborg is usually a sudden and painful death I won’t challenge the validity of Mr Schwarzenegger’s comment. I survived my first attempt at stand up comedy and now think that there may even be something in what he says – after all, have you noticed how many references to comedy compare it to death?

You will hear a comic say, “I died out there tonight,” or, if it went well, “I slew them tonight,” or, “He almost died laughing.” There is something elemental about comedy, something that defies description and analysis. You could programme a robot with an understanding of what makes people laugh, but I doubt if he would give Billy Connolly anything to worry about.

On the long drive back from Edinburgh I thought about why stand up comedy is such a frightening thing to perform. I’ve done a lot of performance poetry and acted in plays but there is something very different about stand up. An actor has a role to play, a poet has his poems, but what does a stand up comedian have?

The answer, of course is that he has nothing but himself, his experiences and his sense of humour to get him on and off the stage. There is nowhere for the stand up comedian to hide if things go wrong and that is what gives stand up its uniquely terrifying edge.

Flushed by success in Edinburgh, I heard that the Stand Comedy club was organising its annual tour of the Highlands and asked if they would allow me to perform alongside them. They agreed and I was given the opportunity to work with some of the best comedians in Scotland at a number of their Highland gigs.

On a twelve night tour four of the Stand’s regular comedians performed at venues across the Highlands and Islands. Starting in Evanton they travelled to venues as far away as Orkney and Mull raising the roof in small village halls, nightclubs and Inverness’s Eden Court Theatre.

The comedians taking part in the tour were Vladimir MacTavish, well known for his television appearances as Bob Doolally, the irrepressible Irish comedian Martin Bigpig who single handedly took Eden Court by storm. Young comedian David Kay was also a great success and displayed a unique style of deadpan humour leaving audiences helpless with his account of life and death struggles with cheese scones. “Fourth in the trio” was Graeme Thomas, who’s talents showed him to be a genuine rising talent and someone who is destined to make his mark in the future.

The tour was sponsored by the mental health campaign “See Me” that seeks to break down the stigma of mental illness. This was an innovative move by the charity and a very positive way of bringing an important and sensitive issue into the public arena.

One especially memorable night was the evening at Eden Court, when instead of having the performance in the main auditorium the theatre adapted a foyer into a small, intimate venue, and that created a great atmosphere.

The evening inspired Martin Bigpig to a performance few of those present will ever forget. He abandoned his script and took the audience on an improvisational comedy adventure that left them helpless with laughter. Martin is a big man and his wild hair and beard mark him out as the Celtic warrior of comedy.

Watching him that night I saw that his talent was his ability to play the audience like a finely tuned instrument. He knew which strings to tickle, just how far to go, how much danger to inject. He held up a mirror to his audience and in the end had them laughing at themselves and all the absurdities of life. Surely the ability to laugh at ourselves, our vanities, petty worries and the crazy things we all do to try and fit in with other people, is to be treasured and is something that binds us all together.

Such was the success of that night that Eden Court is considering making a comedy club a regular event and there is a possibility of organising tours of other venues in the Highlands and Islands that would attract the best performers in stand up.

As for me, I did well in Inverness, my only problem being not to appear too surprised when people actually laughed. The other gigs went well until I got to Ullapool; there I went down like a pork pie in a synagogue. No one laughed, I think a few cried, and I was grateful to get off the stage alive. I drove back to Inverness as fast as my clapped out old car would take me and decided it must be part of the learning curve.

From my experience, the learning curve of stand up comedy is more of a roller coaster ride. I only wish the wee man who runs the ride wouldn’t keep loosening the bolts. If you ever find yourself, standing in the darkness, waiting to step into the light, I can only give you one piece of advice ……hold on tight!

© John Burns, 2003