Just Not That Funny

London is known throughout the world for the strength of its comedy scene. On any night of the week, you’ll be able to find a line-up of good quality acts at a variety of venues be it at an institution such as the Backyard Comedy Club or the King’s Head in Crouch End or smaller rooms in the upstairs of a pub.

I see a lot of comedy as a friend of mine is trying to break into it. By way of support, I go and watch as he tries to entertain. Sometimes he is good, eliciting laughs by recounting the occasion by which he was almost mugged. The intended assault failed on account of the attacker being so drunk that he fell over and cracked his head on the pavement. There are other times when he is awkward, retreating into himself as the laughs are not coming and his insecurities rise up, reducing him to a stilted shambles.

He is decent enough and his amiable patter is unlikely to draw outrage from a crowd. However, the same cannot be said for a lot of the acts that appear at open mic nights. There are a great deal of acts who delight in being offensive and I say delight because there is often a visible enjoyment in the awkwardness that they cause the audience to suffer.

I don’t shy away from confrontational comedy. A comic I greatly admire is Doug Stanhope, a performer who consistently pushes at the boundaries of subjects that are considered taboo. However Stanhope, along with Frankie Boyle at his best, has a moral imperative or an intellectual rigour at the heart of the material. He is confrontational because he feels the need to disrupt an audience’s complacency. But all these young imitators seek to do is to revel in the ill-feeling they create through being crass and wilfully insensitive.

One recent occasion illustrated the smugness and misplaced arrogance of a generation brought up in a post-political correctness age. It was an orthodox night that had been going quite smoothly. Then one comedian took to the stage. He had already got through some uncomfortable material about Baby P when he made a joke about Madeleine McCann.

A woman on the front row piped up, saying, ‘Madeleine McCann is my friend’s cousin.’

Instantly the comic responded, ‘No Madeleine McCann was your friend’s cousin. Because she’s dead now.’

This changed the whole atmosphere of the night. Rather than one of joviality and enjoyment, there was now a feeling of rancour. I’ll admit there is an aspect of humour in retrospect because of the awfulness and crassness of the incident but the look on the woman’s face spelled out how stupid and unnecessary this had all been. No-one’s world view had been challenged, no-one had been asked to think and all that we, the audience, were left with was a harrowing spectacle brought on by the misery of an innocent party.

It was dismaying for me because I don’t want to have the sensation of having to wag my finger and lecture others about the need to use the freedom of speech responsibly. All I’m saying is that if you’re going to get up on stage, just make sure you have something worthwhile to say.

Image by Loz Flowers courtesy of Flickr