Dissecting the Fringe: Edinburgh
Diary
Sunday 12th
Fringe comedy
suffers from two major problems.i
The first is obvious: people trying to be funny, who aren't. You know
the drill: charmless standups shouting abuse at the audience for not
laughing, improvisers desperately shoehorning their rehearsed lines
into unfortunate situations, 'wacky' sketch troupes performing with
little clothing and no dignity. We've all encountered this sort of
problem; some of you/us may even, at one point, have been that
problem.
The second problem
isn't as obvious, but if anything is even more pervasive: funny
people in shows which aren't funny. Performing comedy is a demanding
business. It's not enough that the performer is funny with their
friends, or even to strangers; being funny on stage, for up to an
hour at a time, is a very different task. For a start, they're
expected to be funny; that's the point of their being on stage (and
what an audacious thing it is, to claim to be able to make a roomful
of people – or some subset of a roomful, at any rate – laugh at
your jokes or general hilariousness.) The dynamic is very different
to real-life humour; even the funniest person you've ever met is
unlikely to mount a one-way barrage of humour for fifty minutes (and
if they do, chances are they will come across as funny in a different
way.)
This second
problem is particularly obvious in sketch shows and character comedy,
because here it's easier to pull apart the material from the
delivery. A number of shows I've seen in the past couple of days have
featured often accomplished performers offering sharp
characterisations and holding the audience's attention, but not being
funny. Kieran Hodgson, of up-and-coming sketch outfit Kieran and Joe(or The Joes, depending on what year it is), presents a stream of
precisely drawn caricatures, with careful attention to detail in the
facial expressions and hand movements. But I found only a handful of
these creations actually amusing. Likewise, Ruth Bratt and Lucy
Trodd's sketch show Well Done You runs
through a range of mostly broad but convincing accents and
stereotypes, but these were placed in sketches which went nowhere
(and not intentionally, either).
In
each case, I got the impression that the characterisation itself was
being made to carry too much of the comic weight; we were being given
comic characters rather than comic scenarios, i.e., sketches. I don't
mean that the characters must always be placed in well-defined
contexts with clear plots and climaxes that make sense (though I find
that doesn't hurt). It's the broader point that a funny show requires
funny writing, whether it be dramatic writing as in orthodox
beginning-middle-and-punchline sketches, or a comic juxtaposition of
ideas. Nor need 'funny writing' involve witty dialogue; it can be
instructions for someone to do something which, in a particular
context, is funny. Sam Simmons spends about a third of About
the Weather dancing to loud and
stupid music, but in the context of his show it (mostly) works. Does
he need to do it with sweaty conviction and an appealing lack of
grace? Does it help that he looks like a PE teacher with a disturbing
past? Yes, and yes (and yes, he does). But his show isn't just a
funny person being funny; it's a funny person doing a funny show,
where a lot of work has been put into bringing the audience onboard,
so that what might in another context be desperate begging for laughs
is infectious silliness. Funny show = funny person + funny writing.
Not the most useful equation, but not one you should ignore
completely.
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