Comedy Tonight

Something for Everybody

I love comedy. If you can find a more banal statement than that online today, congratulations.

Obviously, yes, I am aware that loving comedy is not an unusual character trait. In fact I’m not even going to argue that my particular flavour of passion for comedy is even close to unique. Most people I’ve known who are in the comedy business, and a lot of people not connected to it at all, harbour a deep and abiding adoration of comedy, a devotion to and appreciation of the art of amusement that is much my own.

But although my love for comedy is bog-standard, I’m talking about it now anyway, because it is still mine, and I think it’s interesting even if it’s unoriginal.

I often feel ambivalent about my regular job of writing about TV, talking to TV people and giving opinions on things I’ve seen, because I have an unfortunate tendency to automatically want to do myself anything I enjoy seeing others do. So I like a book, I want to write books, I like a song, I want to sing. And I love comedy, so I want to do comedy. And I do, in my small and mostly unsuccessful way.

So when I interview someone who’s doing the very thing I want to be doing, there’s a lot of jealousy involved. But there’s also admiration and love and a rather pathetic desire to make friends with these people.

I mean, I hope they don’t think it’s pathetic…but I expect they do. Because the flipside of the job is that I love it! I love talking to people whose work I admire, because I love to hear them talk about their work, and it gives me a chance to convey, in a feeble and inadequate way, how much that work has meant to me.

Among the many people I’ve interviewed over the years are Shaun Micallef, Eric Idle, Bill Oddie, Ben Miller, Greg Davies, Bill Lawrence, Aisling Bea, Michael Schur, Catherine Tate, Wil Anderson, Denise Scott, Judith Lucy, Tony Martin, Mick Molloy, Celia Pacquola, Zachary Ruane…lots more. Real heroes. People who I may not really know…but whom I love. Really love them. Because of what they’ve done for me.

“Comedy saved my life” is quite a cliched and melodramatic thing to say. I don’t know if it’s literally true. Those times when I felt I was on the verge of ending my life, and some piece of great comedy broke me out of the mental cell and staved off those feelings - well, I can’t be sure that if I hadn’t found a way to laugh at that specific moment, I would’ve ended up dead.

But I can be sure that if it weren’t for comedy, I’d have spent a much, much greater percentage of my life scrabbling in the darkness of a pit deep inside my own brain, unable to find the light and shuddering all over as I wonder if I’ll ever get out.

During the Covid lockdowns, it really did feel like comedy was saving my life. I listened to all nine seasons of John Finnemore’s Souvenir Programme, then moved onto John Finnemore’s Cabin Pressure, then finally John Finnemore’s Double Acts. And then started again. You can blame John Finnemore for me still being around - I really do think the lockdowns - coupled with the personal shit I was going through during them - would’ve broken me irreparably if I hadn’t been spending an hour or two every day laughing myself sick at his work.

Throughout my life there have been many times when, to a greater or lesser extent, a similar story has played out. To perform my own McCartney impression, when I find myself in times of trouble, Monty Python comes to me, slapping fish of wisdom, let it be.

Comedy is personal to me. I feel somehow bonded to every show, movie, and comic that I’ve loved - not that I’m claiming special knowledge or relationships with anyone, just that the magic of laughter is that it builds connections between people who’ve never met each other.

This is why comedy doesn’t just make me laugh: it makes me cry. I felt tears prick at my eyes years ago when I watched the Making Of documentary on Life of Brian. Because to see these men, out in the desert, making this movie…well I just couldn’t think of a more beautiful way to spend one’s life. I still can’t. Making people laugh: is there a better way to be human? I’ll forgive a person a lot if they’re funny, because being funny is a gift to the world, and when your ledger is totted up at the end, if you’ve made people laugh you’ve got a great entry on the plus side.

This is also why I am still persisting in trying to make people laugh myself. I am lucky enough to have been able to do it for some time, mostly in print form: I’ll probably never stop trying to do more of it in every medium I can have a go at. Because it’s just the best way of directing my energies I can think of.

It’s a selfish impulse really, of course. Nothing feels better than making people laugh. Anyone who’s ever told a joke on stage and had people react the way they were hoping knows: it’s a feeling that sends your heart soaring to the heavens. Anyone who’s ever felt that will want to feel it over and over and over again: that’s how comedy careers are born.

But if it’s a selfish impulse, it’s one that can have glorious and magnificent side-effects. I don’t kid myself that Peter Cook or John Cleese or Rowan Atkinson were motivated by altruism when they forged their incredible careers. But if you’re going to pursue personal ambition with all your might, doing it in such a way that it will enrich millions of lives, even decades after you’ve died, is a pretty optimal way to do it, in terms of the greater good. Even the most selfish comedian is following an urge that, whether they like it or not, does good for others. There’s a spark inside them that they might not even want to acknowledge, that means even at their worst, they are in and of humanity, and can’t be parted from it.

I don’t know why I’m writing this exactly, except that lately I’ve been both extremely depressed and engaged in watching Barney Miller marathons, and the latter has made the former so much easier to deal with. It makes a guy think.

I love comedy. I’m sure you do too. If you ever get the chance to tell someone who’s made you laugh what they mean to you, take that chance. Anyone who brings beauty to the lives of other deserves to know what they’ve done.

Quick Plug

Just quickly, that book of mine? Still on sale. Make a great Father’s Day present. Just saying.