Pink Spotlight on a would-be Stand-up Comic

Gay stand up comedian Alan Carr

When I told my friends I fancied being a stand-up comedian, unfortunately they all laughed.  Anyway, there I was one dreary, rain-soaked Saturday in January attending a comedy workshop for this potential Bill Hicks-cum-Joan Rivers-cum-Larry Grayson. I’d just taken early retirement to cope better with rheumatoid arthritis in my knees, and as I walked in (stiffly) I’d never felt less funny in my life.

My gaydar told me that I was the only one there, and my select group of wannabe gagsters as I later discovered consisted of a fit ex-para (who I made sure sat next to me), a Jo Brand-type nursery teacher, and  a loud psychiatrist along with his lanky, much quieter son, who turned out to be a racing driver.  The course was run by a sometime  tv cartoonist and  experienced sitcom writer,  and his pretty wife who kissed us on arrival and performed lunch.

The first excercise was for the class to guess who we were in real life - instructions had been given to divulge no personal information up to that point.  They concluded, after much judging by appearances,   that I worked with young people, was married and had children of my own.  And it was then that your jobless, childless gay brother went into demolition mode with some relish, and began to enjoy the ride.

You can blame my Uncle Horace Hartley. A regular on the northern teatime news programme Calendar hosted by ferret-wrestler and Countdown stalwart, Richard Whiteley, the chipper Horace, Darby and Joan entertainer, then in his seventies, achieved a little local fame. Richard fell about laughing when he was on. Well, he was funnier than a bitten finger anytime.

There was a lot to consider that day  - types of comedians,  the industry itself,  stage presence,  interaction with the audience, comedy formulas, writing good original material, and not least microphone technique. Just walking on stage was a problem  -  with me  it couldn’t be a confident stride, even less  a Michael McIntyre run. More of a splay-legged- Bambi- on- the- frozen-lake kind of  entrance.

Gay stand-up comedian Alan Carr in full flow

There was some discussion about getting me up to the mike in a blackout moment, so I’d suddenly appear as if sprung from an unseen trapdoor, and hurriedly announced. At the end of my slick six minute routine, I envisioned falling back and being hauled  off  like some extra in a battle scene. There was also the bit where you smoothly extracted the mike with one hand whilst simultaneously lifting the stand and placing it behind you in order to present a bolder front to the audience. First impressions were almost as important as the jokes themselves - what not to wear, what not to do, what never to say.

Larry Grayson - gay stand-up from the past

The aim of the workshop being to establish the kind of comedy character we might project, it was decided that I might speak of coming down from the north at seventeen, an innocent lad who thought Land of Leather was a furniture shop,  only to be  rudely introduced to the world of gay S & M.  I’d got quite attracted to the athletic ex-para by this time;  I’d have gladly let him drive me to distraction, but was very thankful just  for a lift to the tube.

Before the course, I’d had it all worked out: my ex-lover would chaffeur me to three gigs a night, and after a not so long haul, I’d be one to look out for on the circuit; I even thought of incorporating his cute bijon frise puppy into the act and  wowing the Edinburgh Festval. Later, when I plucked up  courage to ring the magic promoter’s number we had all been made to carefully write down, to  book my first open-mike spot, it was unobtainable. It was also deepest winter, I was in pain every day, and my confidence and inspiration levels were cardboard thin.

The thought’s still there though, at the back of my mind, of how wonderful it would feel to make people laugh,  as a longer term challenge. Early in his career Les Dawson was dying in working men’s clubs; then one night he went on and said how miserable he really felt, and they loved it, because it struck a chord with their own downtrodden lives. The act  we now remenber him for was born of honesty.

Maybe I will follow in Horace’s footsteps. I’ve come a long way from the indeterminate yearnings of  a lad raised  in a part of the country where gay  liberty lay sleeping as  a mighty king,  to a truth of my own.  Expressing it through laughter will take a little longer.

By John Hartley

Copyright 2010.   All rights reserved.

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