Comedy is about surprise, so why are we so keen on the familiar?

Having just returned from the Edinburgh Fringe I am of course angry with comedy. 

My show, The 007 Conspiracy, wasn’t for everyone (The List gave it two stars, but The Chocolate Ocelot's Pouch gave it four, and I think we can all agree which of those sounds the more official), so I’ve been thinking about why this was. There were definitely flaws in its composition, and in my performance, but ultimately as a surreal conspiracy show about a non-existent Bond film, I think it maybe wasn’t ‘familiar’ enough. 

Well a POUCH thought it was good, so.

What do I mean by this? Well, a lot of comedy is, in essence, surprise: a sudden and unexpected change in meaning. Your average one-liner will usually contain a set-up and a punchline. The set-up presents a story which appears to have a given meaning; the punchline suddenly changes the story, revealing that the meaning was different all along.

E.g. When I broke my arm I just used my cast to masturbate. Unfortunately they said ‘the play was suffering’ and I was ‘abusing my position as director’.

The set-up implies one meaning, the punchline reveals another, which is more absurd. 

But, as much as we like to be surprised, we also like to feel comfortable, especially when laughing as a group. Live comedy is a social situation, and laughter a form of communication. We fear laughing at something that our friends won’t find funny, or that is perceived as too offensive by the rest of the room. So ideally we want to be surprised, but in a socially safe way, and this is where the ‘familiar’ comes in. If a comic jokes about a topic the audience have seen joked about before, they can be sure it’s okay to laugh. This means we’ll sometimes laugh at a joke when we already know the gist of the punchline.  

Look at the three topics below. If you saw a comic begin a bit about each of them, what would you expect the crux of the gags to be?

1.  Eric Pickles
2.  Community Support Officers
3.   Vegans

Pretty easy, this one.

       

      The answers are, of course:

1.  He’s fat
2. They don’t have any authority
3.  They mention it all the time, usually unprovoked

There’s a shared anticipation when these kinds of topics are introduced. We know, essentially, what the joke is going to be, and that it’s okay to find it funny; it’s just a matter of how it’s expressed. As an audience we are comforted on the macro level but ready to be surprised on the micro level. In performing comedy that’s rooted in familiarity, then, a stand-up creates a very safe space for people to laugh. This is why successful mainstream comics tend to be excellent gag-writers who stay within a framework of popular observation.

Unfortunately, the BBC’s new ‘Sitcom Season’ (a shitty blizzard of reheated 70s and 80s comedies) takes this idea of familiarity to a new level. In fact, it thumbs it into the mouth of a confused pensioner to be slowly masticated, swallowed, regurgitated and eventually dribbled onto a cardigan with the force of a comically aged tortoise emptying its bowels for the final time.  

It's sad. We’ve already had Upstart Crow this year, which was a bit like watching a slightly worse version of Extras’ meta-sitcom When the Whistle Blows, until Liza Starbuck appeared and it became exactly like watching a slightly worse version of When the Whistle Blows. But now we’ve got Are You Being Served?, Porridge, Up Pompeii! and Young Hyacinth. I don’t mind a bit of nostalgia, but the BBC might as well just broadcast John Cleese using a branch to push David Jason through a bar in a relentless three-second animated gif. For a month.

It's as funny as it looks.

I actually watched the new episode of Are You Being Served? All of it. And it’s basically just innuendo. This puzzles me, because I'm not actually sure who enjoys innuendo anymore.

In the 80s it probably took some effort to find footage of people going at it like rabbits, but now it takes literally no effort to find footage of people going at it with rabbits. So in an age where extreme imagery is so accessible (by which I mean easy to find, not easy to get into; I imagine bestial pornography is a bit like Curb Your Enthusiasm in that you need a few episodes before you really get it) how can an allusion to breasts be cheeky? Channel 4 broadcasts a dating programme where contestants have their genitals out for literally the entire show, yet in Are You Being Served? I’m expected to laugh at a woman having "grabbed some balls" on a tennis court (spoiler: the player's testicles). 

Obviously the studio audience laugh at everything with the volume and desperation of a tipsy single mother on an eHarmony date, but the patterns of the laughs are odd. A character will make an innuendo, e.g. “I grabbed his balls on the court”, and they’ll all die in hysterics. But then another character will say something which does nothing to further the joke, nor twist it, and basically just reinforces the original insinuation, e.g. “I hope he didn’t cum out of his dick when you grabbed his balls by which you mean testicles I assume”, and they'll all lose their shit again. It’s bizarre. There’s no surprise there, even on a micro level, so why are they laughing?

My original assumption was canned laughter, but now I’m not so sure. It might just be that this is what humour’s become. Not surprise, but the memory of surprise. A reminder of what it felt like to hear a joke for the first time. Maybe no-one wants a sentence to take an unexpected turn in 2016. Perhaps there’s no demand for pullback and reveal now that ISIS are sailing towards London at 100mph (I’m hazy on the details here). 

What people seem to want is something familiar – comforting. And if there are enough people laughing around you, I guess that still feels like comedy.

The EU Referendum: A Tough One for Arseholes

Those cannot be on right

I feel sorry for arseholes in the lead-up to the EU referendum, because I think they deserve some clarity. 

On one side of the debate you’ve got Katie Hopkins and Nigel Farage and on the other you’ve got George Osborne and Jeremy Clarkson. That’s a hell of a dilemma if you’re a prick. I mean, how do you make sure you do the wrong thing? Apparently we already have 'control over our borders', meaning even racists are confused (obviously racists are always confused, by, for instance, how nice and 'not terroristy' the Muslims they know are, but this is worse than ever).

To give you an idea of just how bad things have got, here's a profile of some of the most prevalent arseholes on BOTH sides:

Nigel Farage - Leave

 

I read an article about the ‘millennium bug’ yesterday. Basically, in the run-up to the year 2000 everyone thought they were going to die because computers would kick off about a date ending in two zeros, but in reality all that happened was a family in Devon had to reset the clock on their microwave.

I feel like we went through something similar with UKIP last year. Everyone panicked because they were going to win seats or even form a coalition, but then thanks to a flawed voting system that most people on the left had tried to get rid of, they didn’t. Now they just seem harmlessly racist, like your nan, or Donald Trump in February, and they aren't even that prominent in the debate.

It must be annoying for Farage, having made a point for ages only to be excluded from the eventual discussion, but at least now he's got a way of empathising with women.

Jeremy Clarkson - Remain

Jeremy Clarkson is a man who, after claiming he “did everything in his power not to say the N-word”, still sort of mumbled the N-word. That’s a devotion to racism that suggests some sort of dependency. He must have to leave mid-way through conversations to lock himself in a toilet cubicle and murmur something about ‘the Japs’. He thinks we should remain, which is a bit scary, but I'm hoping he's a sort of cleverly placed 'deterrent' engineered by the Leave campaign, or Amazon Prime.

 

I googled 'EU' and this was one of the results haha wtf

George Osborne and David Cameron - Remain

Oozing all the trustworthiness of a 'millionth visitor' banner, Osborne has utilised the tried and tested tactics of lying about the economy and looking like an estate agent for haunted homes in his battle for Remain. Cameron on the other hand has made it clear that he has a passion for the EU, and firmly believes we should stay, just so long as he can re-negotiate every aspect of our membership to the point where its only function is to guarantee automatic qualification for Eurovision. It's hard to know what their real motive is, but one guesses it's something to do with keeping power. E.g. making sure they keep power.

Boris Johnson - Please let me be Prime Minister

Boris Johnson is the biggest player on the leave side, and his most notable argument has been to compare the EU to Hitler. This is a touch confusing, as Johnson himself looks like he belongs inside an Aryan theme park, I imagine as a jerky, slightly creepy animatronic telling you to keep your arms inside the boat just before the hill of the log flume (‘Purity Mega Splash’).

Of course, it’s slightly worrying when your future leader uses a debate tactic usually reserved for those losing an argument in the comments section of a Drake video. But it’s even more worrying when he probably doesn’t even believe in what he’s saying. Johnson has spearheaded Vote Leave in order to separate himself from Cameron and Osborne, and thus begin a charge towards Tory leadership. This means it’s probably not his actual opinion, more just a tactical opinion, sort of like that time I said 'we should have an open mind to ghosts' at that dinner party where everyone was a bit thick at my end of the table. 

Let's take h ack ontrol  cave

Ultimately, the fact that the rich elite populate both sides of the debate suggests the wealthy probably won’t suffer much whatever happens. It’s just that some of them have managed to engineer further personal gains if a particular side happens to win. Great stuff. Good to see. Democracy at its finest. Hashtag.

The real issue, though, is that there isn't any clarity for pricks at the other end of the scale either. Guardian-reading pricks like me. I was expecting being self-righteous to be a piece of piss: I'd vote Remain, mutter something about unity, and go home to be smug and privileged. But now there are left wing arguments for leaving and to be honest it's an outrage. Apparently the only safe opinion left is being 'anti-Trump', and the way things are going he'll turn out to be Sacha Baron Cohen in a fat-suit and it'll be egg on my face. 

 

Anyway, I would end this by saying vote Remain, but after the comment about thick people and ghosts there's a good chance you think I'm an arsehole, and I don't want to put you off.

A Tough Few Months

After leaving school about six years ago, my life became plain sailing. I was never ill, I had no mental health issues, and I could socialise without simultaneously screaming and vomiting, which, as a friendless introvert, had been tricky during my school years. 
 

I was like a prick in an advert for a bank, where upon having switched to a negligibly higher interest rate my world had turned from greyscale to a sickly, oversaturated rainbow of piss-easy existence, allowing me to strut around getting whatever I wanted like Jim Carrey in Bruce Almighty but without the sexist bit where he lifts up the woman’s skirt because I’m not like that.

(It’s a fun way of selling a product, implying it will allow you to just do what you want without anyone stopping you. Unfortunately I think whoever came up with that advertising trope failed to acknowledge that that’s what it’s like to be a straight white male anyway, assuming you’re not somehow still banking with Northern Rock.)

THAT SAILING LOOKS A BIT PLAIN OH IT'S JUST ADRIAN'S LIFE

Even during the supposed boiling-pot of Cambridge I was never stressed or anxious. I just got on with it, and I kind of thought people who had ‘problems’ just needed to get on with it too.

But since the start of February I’ve had at least one thing ‘wrong’ with me, or my life, at all times. And I’ve been stressed. Perpetually stressed. Unable to focus on things. I’ve been to A&E three times, visited my GP four times, had my blood taken five times. I’ve vomited. I’ve had sleepless nights. I’ve had panic attacks. I’ve cried. I’ve ingested painkillers, antibiotics, Yakults. I’ve stopped eating and lost weight. I’ve been on the phone to friends and family members for hours and hours, begging them to convince me I’m not going to die.

I’m not going to die. In fact it’s pretty rare that the combination of jaw-ache and mild testicular pain is fatal. But that’s not the point. 

The point is how I’ve felt. I’ve felt scared, and anxious. And even if some of the problems were in my head, that didn’t make them less real. Fear is fear, and pain is pain. Whether it’s exacerbated or even caused by anxiety, it’s still there. So, what I’ve learnt is that stress is very rarely a result of simply not taking control. And if it seems like someone just needs to ‘get on with it’, chances are they would if they could. 

Anyway, a couple of observations to lighten up the piece (because, let’s face it, it’s been a bit dark and confessional since the Northern Rock bit):

Yakult. It kind of tastes like milk and juice, but with the nice bits of neither. You’d think that that would put me off but it actually gives me confidence in the product. If it tasted great there’s no way it could be useful. The fact that it tastes like something a six-year-old would ‘invent’ when left alone in the kitchen for five minutes makes me think that whoever came up with it had to compromise on taste in order to give it some sort of health benefit. 

One of the special 'low resolution' editions they released

That’s a good rule generally, I think. If something tastes or feels nice, chances are it won’t get you better. Imagine if antibiotics tasted of Pom-Bears. You just wouldn’t trust them. Especially if they were bear-shaped. Likewise, pretty much everyone who receives homeopathic treatment has an absolutely lovely time, until they die from their tumour. 

A&E. Ideal if you think you’re suffering, because it gives you some perspective - in the sense that nothing could be worse than working in A&E. Even the people who turn up with a cement mixer caught in the more sensitive bit of their spine are instantly humbled by just how pissed off and underpaid the doctors are. 

The internet. Not great as a doctor, really. Googling your symptoms is about as relaxing as watching Zac Goldsmith try and name something he claims he likes. If the internet was your GP you’d assume you were on a hidden camera show called ‘The Big Cancer-Scare Lolathon’ (I’m guessing ITV) and were about to meet Ant & Dec. Avoid like the plague (which I apparently have, for fuck’s sake). 

Anyway, I’m in pain, so I’m going to stop writing and start necking Yakults mixed with vodka (because, as we know, worse taste = healthier thing).

I’ll see you in A&E.

Comedy after Cambridge (15/04/16)

Last summer I graduated from Cambridge with a useless social science degree and 100 gigs’ worth of stand-up experience. This Thursday I will return to Cambridge to perform a preview of my Edinburgh show ‘The 007 Conspiracy’. I’m excited, as it’s a chance to see whether I made any sort of impact during my time here. As I write this I’ve sold 13 tickets. 

That sounds bad, but 13 keen, attentive and non-malicious audience members is something London circuit comics can only dream of. To give you an idea of what the open mic circuit is like, having floundered on it for some months: an audience member recently called me a twat at a cancer charity gig. Now, if I’d had the nous to point out that it was indeed a cancer charity gig I would have probably won the exchange, but instead I sort of just mumbled and moved on, which I guess is a bit of a twat-move really. 

To be fair to the circuit, though, that gig was in Kingston upon Thames, where heckling new acts at cancer charity gigs is one of the more moral past-times. I was attempting a piece of pro-Labour satire which included the sentence ‘Jeremy Corbyn enters on a horse-drawn paedophile and calls war veterans pussies’. Unfortunately, that doesn’t count for satire in Kingston because it’s what they think actually happens. They must have assumed I was a good, honest Tory, but with no jokes. Just facts. A twat with facts. 

Admit the poster is quite good

Is performing with Footlights good preparation for comedy in the real world? Only in the same way playing Call of Duty is good preparation for fighting a war in the Middle-East. If you die on stage in Cambridge you can kind of just respawn, usually in the ADC bar, and surrounded by sycophants. If you hear about someone dying on stage in London you have to ask what pub it was in to know if the death was figurative or literal.  

As you can imagine, I’m looking forward to performing to drunk students again. The show’s work-in-progress, but so are their lives, so I hope they’ll just accept it. If you’d like to be one of these drunk students, that would make me very happy. The show is a surreal character comedy, serving as a bloated ego-trip for me. Unless someone heckles, obviously, in which case I’ll make it all for charity just so I’ve got a decent put-down. 

‘Adrian Gray: The 007 Conspiracy’ was at the ADC Theatre, Thursday 21^st April, 11pm. Adrian's mum loved it.