Comedy

In the obituary he wrote for himself shortly before he died, Bernard Manning claimed that campaigning by the Commission for Racial Equality ‘and the lesbian and gay rights lot’ had kept him off mainstream television. ‘In their obsession with turning comedy into a branch of left-wing politics, they forgot that the only point of jokes is to make people laugh,’ he squeaked. You’d imagine the sight of the Grim Reaper striding purposefully towards him might shock even an unreconstructed idiot like Manning into a sudden flash of wisdom or insight or self-awareness. Not so. He departed as he lived, unrepentant and uncomprehending. Feature continues

Of course the main purpose of comedy is to provoke laughter. But it’s not the only point. Jokes reflect the way one sees the world. They tell us something about the teller. My own preference is for gags that cross some boundary of good taste or put the boot into knee-jerk thinking, for humour that’s challenging and uncomfortable. But it needn’t be that way. Comedy can just as well induce the comfortable laughter of recognition. Or it can tickle your fancy simply because it’s downright silly. But it doesn’t exist in a vacuum.

A comedian gets laughs for a reason. When an audience responds with laughter, it’s showing approval of what it has heard. It’s acknowledging that’s the way things are.

Omid Djalili will appear at the tribute show for Malcolm

Live comedy in Britain began a renaissance at the end of the 1970s. It has grown and expanded ever since. The London comedy circuit and Time Out have grown up alongside each other. No other city on the planet can rival it. What’s most remarkable about this is that it’s been achieved without any subsidy. There’s always scope for innovation. But there’s little room for self-indulgence.

London audiences see to that. They are knowledgeable, comedy-literate, equipped with quite finely tuned crap detectors. Stag and hen parties remain the disgusting exception, though some promoters do actively discourage them. Comics sometimes talk about how audiences out of town, in places blessed with only occasional shows, can be so much more pleasant and appreciative. For this, read ‘passive and undiscriminating’. The last thing live comedy needs right now is audiences who’ll gratefully lap up anything they’re given.

There’s so much we still don’t know for sure about the comedy situation. A fascinating survey that was conducted earlier this year by The Stand Comedy Club in Edinburgh found that its typical stand-up fan is aged 33, single and just as likely to be female as male. They are in full-time work and spend an average of less than £50 a week on going out. Is this true for comparable London clubs? Does it matter? Yes, it does. If comedy wants to be treated more seriously by funding bodies and the arts establishment in the future, it has to know more about itself. But by its wild and unpredictable nature, live comedy would always be inclined to bite the hand that feeds it.

In 20 years as comedy editor, I’ve seen major comics start out and others fall by the wayside. The dividing line between success and failure looks frighteningly thin. Comedians who are stumbling today could be tomorrow’s stars. So show every performer respect. Not with the hushed silence and meaningless reverence found in churches and theatres. By all means, let a comedian know what you think. But you can do that, even heckle, and still show due respect for their guts on being up there, laying themselves on the line. Any comedy gig involves a special relationship between the performer, space and audience.

Malcolm has witnessed the comedy scene go from the Comedy Store players to 'Jerry Springer: The Opera' (above)

The memories would fill several virtual scrapbooks. Eddie Izzard in Crystal Palace early in his career, telling for the first time in my hearing how he was brought up by wolves. Lee Evans, long before he was famous, pumping himself up like a blow-up doll at the King’s Head in Crouch End. Mark Thomas, at the Assembly Rooms in Edinburgh, hitting the button so accurately about female sexuality that members of the audience hugged each other in delighted recognition. And Stewart Lee’s account of his encounter with Jesus in the aftermath of the Christian fundamentalist backlash against ‘Jerry Springer: The Opera’.

There were the crazies. Remember the Ice Man’s doomed attempts to melt that huge block of ice? Moments of honesty, like Ian Cognito halting his Edinburgh show to explain he couldn’t hack it (he subsequently came storming back). Moments of dishonesty too, like the chilling occasion when a famous Scottish comedian incorporated in his act a long routine that had so many similarities with one created much earlier by Phill Jupitus that ‘borrowing’ still seems far too kind a word.

Exciting times stretch ahead. But it would be stupid to pretend everything in the comedy garden is lovely. Great as things are, there’s a lot needs seeing to. As a way of signing off, here are some heartfelt pleas to everyone concerned.

A tribute show at Hackney Empire has been organised in appreciation of Malcolm’s work, with a line-up including ‘Pub Landlord’ Al Murray, Anglo-Iranian film and TV star Omid Djalili (right), ace satirist Mark Thomas, Radio 4 stars Milton Jones and Mitch Benn, outrageous San Francisco-based comic Scott Capurro and award-winning stand-up Josie Long. Introductions are by the UK’s most renowned compere, Arthur Smith.


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