How to Talk to Anyone (Junior Talker #5), DeYtH Banger [tohfa e dulha read online .txt] 📗

factors, although it’s usually just a combination of excessive drinking and poor social skills.

But there’s a type of heckle that is becoming increasingly familiar in comedy clubs, one fuelled by moral indignation rather than cheap lager. These disciples of Mary Whitehouse appear to be proliferating at an alarming rate, poised to erupt at any moment if a performer dares utter anything that could conceivably be interpreted as offensive. Such creatures tend to be humourless by nature, so it’s odd that they should settle on comedy criticism for a hobby.

Those who feel duty-bound to vocalise their dissatisfaction during a live performance should beware. For one thing, hecklers never win. Comedians make their living by taking the piss, and those with sufficient experience are unlikely to be fazed by loud declarations of fusty self-righteousness. Moreover, by taking stand-up at face value, these hecklers have already revealed that they lack the ability to judge its merits. Stand-up comedy is a form of theatre. Getting worked up over a comedian’s viewpoint makes about as much sense as interrupting a production of Oedipus Rex because you disapprove of incest.

During the run of my new show, Thought Crimes, at this year’s Edinburgh Festival Fringe, I was on the receiving end of two almost identical heckles on different nights. In each case I was branded a ‘misogynist’ for referring to Theresa May as a ‘venomous hag’, and for suggesting that she is starting to resemble an NHS poster warning about the dangers of dehydration.

The word ‘misogyny’ means ‘hatred of women’. I mention this only because so many are now using it to describe any remark that denigrates any woman in any way. No doubt by pointing this out I am leaving myself open to accusations of ‘mansplaining’ – the neologism of choice for the truly inane. But quite what my biological sex has to do with the contents of the dictionary isn’t immediately apparent to me.

For the record, I don’t hate women. I don’t even hate Theresa May. I consider her a minor irritation, like sunburn or low-fat coleslaw. My on-stage persona certainly hates her, although this does not extend to a feeling of contempt for women in general. On reflection, perhaps this would be an interesting approach to adopt for comedic purposes, especially given the tendency among many fourth-wave feminists to seek out misogyny where it does not exist. And in any case, some of the very best routines in the history of stand-up have been able to accommodate varying degrees of moral ambiguity.

Thought Crimes is largely concerned with the rise of offence culture, so I found it remarkable to see these hecklers inadvertently proving my point. These were rare instances in which the hecklers proved to be helpful, because they embodied everything that I had been ridiculing. One critic even speculated that I might have arranged a plant, given how well it served the show’s objective.

 

 

 

What strikes me most of all about this kind of heckle is the sheer sense of entitlement that it involves. I’ve often found myself sitting through shows that I cannot abide, but I prefer to keep quiet about it until it’s over, or discreetly slip away during the interval. I don’t assume that my opinion is so important that I should immediately declare it to everyone within earshot. The audience has paid to see the performer, not me.

Yet many comedians I’ve spoken to agree that this kind of entitled, moralistic response is more commonplace than ever before. Perhaps it’s related to what psychologists have identified as a general escalation of narcissistic behaviour. Or maybe it’s an inevitable by-product of social media, through which offence-seeking has turned into a kind of amateur sport. I blame JK Rowling.

The comedian Scott Capurro puts it down to economic privilege. ‘Stand-up audiences are mostly middle-class these days, so of course they’re more entitled. Comedy is like yoga or leather; it’s an expensive fetish.’ Capurro is well known for his scathing routines and politically incorrect humour. At a recent show in London, one punter pushed her way into the green room to let him know that his act was ‘vulgar’ and that he should modify his material. This is what entitlement does to people: it prevents them from appreciating just how preposterous they appear to others.

This new Puritanism isn’t simply confined to audiences. More and more critics are taking the view that stand-up comics have a responsibility to stay within ‘morally acceptable’ parameters. But to judge art by how effectively it reinforces contemporary ethical trends is entirely to misapprehend its purpose. I’m reminded of Oscar Wilde’s observation in his preface to The Picture of Dorian Gray: ‘There is no such thing as a moral or an immoral book. Books are well written, or badly written. That is all.’

Throughout history, clowns have occupied the privileged position of being able to speak provocatively, whether they believe what they say or not. King Lear’s fool can openly criticise his master because he entertains him in the process. As Salman Rushdie puts it in his short story ‘Yorick’, a court jester was empowered ‘to tell the truth, yet keep his head, jingling as it was with silly bells’. Likewise, some of the most effective stand-up is able to challenge our certainties by making us laugh. This is how we should judge its success, not by whether or not it accords with any particular moral standards. As Sam Kinison once said, ‘When has stand-up comedy been kind to anyone? Comedy attacks.’

So at the risk of sounding like a bitter comedian who is fed up with being shouted at, I’ll end with some friendly advice. If you feel inclined to heckle because something you have heard has offended you, take a moment to consider whether you might have missed the point. Believe me, there aren’t many more embarrassing sights than an outraged audience member who doesn’t get the joke.

Chapter 4.1 - Harsh Enviroment (Part 2)

Interview: Rarely Asked Questions – Scott Capurro

 

 

 

 

 

Scott Capurro should put "causing controversy since 1994" on his posters. Ever since the San Francisco comedian won the Edinburgh Comedy Award Best Newcomer prize that year he has been known for taking no prisoners when it comes to his subject matter. Whether talking about AIDS or the holocaust or anything else really he has a distinctive, witty take on the subject. This year he is talking about rich friends, worthy yoga and the miseries of home ownership. The subjects might sound like he is mellowing, but this is a man who could start WW3 with a remark about the downward dog. Go see but stand well back and wear a tin helmet.

The Trouble with Scott Capurro: 2 – 26 August (not 14th or 21st), 9.20pm, Heroes @ Boteco – 47 Lothian St. Buy a £5 ticket in advance to guarantee entry or Pay What You Want at the venue. 

 

 

Picture: Steve Best

 

 

1. What is the last thing you do before you go onstage (apart from check your flies and/or check your knickers aren't sticking out of your skirt and check for spinach between your teeth)?

 

I peruse the front row for friendly, focused faces. It’s to those peeps I’ll direct my vitriol.

 

2. What irritates you?

 

Sour talk about other comedians. We’re all our own toughest critics, so let’s leave our colleagues (and our parents) out of this constant internal conversation.

 

3. What is the most dangerous thing you have ever done?

 

I went on Grindr in Doha. Everyone warned me it was a government plot and they’d chop off my head. But I’m still here.

 

4. What is the most stupid thing you have ever done?

 

 

Aside from supporting the Green Party and taking growth hormone? Must’ve been when I asked an ageing audience member, who was on her own, “Are all your friends dead?” She said, “No, but my son is. I’m attending his funeral in the morning. He died of AIDS.” Hard to win the crowd back after that.

 

5. What has surprised you the most during your career in comedy?

 

That I have a career in comedy. I trained as an actor, so I agreed to do a solo show at the Edinburgh Fringe in 1994 because I thought Scottish men were pretty. 

Had no intention of spending most of my adult life at a Travelodge. Am now addicted to cheap biscuits. 

 

 

6. What do your parents/children (delete as applicable) think of your job?

 

My father thinks he’s the funnier one, and tells me mildly bigoted jokes he’s sure will make me a star. He suggests I do TV, and when I do, wear a tie.

My mother is dead, so we’re closer.

 

7. What’s the worst thing about being a comedian?

 

Waiting to go on stage in Lincolnshire.

 

8. I think you are very good at what you do (that’s why I’m asking these questions). What do you think of you?

 

I’m different, in that I don’t apologise for what I say. Humour makes unpalatable subject matter easier to swallow, and the sooner I can approach a tragedy, the less cowardly I feel. I like the immediacy of my act, it draws attention to peoples’ own hypocrisy and that makes me laugh.

 

9. How much do you earn and how much would you like to earn?

 

I do ok. But money is power in my biz, so it would be nice to make buckets-full so I can call the shots. Meaning, I want a Netflix series where I travel to all my fave places and eat a lot.

 

10. How important is luck in terms of career success – have you had lucky breaks?

 

Luck and timing have a lot to do with success I guess, otherwise we’d all be huge. 

Have had some luck, and some I've squandered. When I was younger, I took criticism so personally. Wish I’d been more myopic, but I prefer intimacy and reaction to owning lots of cars.

 

11. Alan Davies has said that comedians fall into two categories - golfers and self-harmers. The former just get on with life, the latter are tortured artists. Which are you – or do you think you fit into a third category?

 

Probably I’m a bit of both. I avoid stressful situations and practice yoga daily so I don’t put my fist through a wall; I also enjoy seeing fear in the eyes of those in the front row as I approach my Grenfell Tower material.

Just wondering which category Alan falls into. He has a lovely, warm presence on stage, but let’s face it: comedians are attention grabbers, and enjoy humour as an aphrodisiac, which immediately makes us contentious. Good stand up is vocational, the high from the crowd’s approving response is addictive, and chasing that dragon is never easy.

 

12. Who is your favourite person ever and why – not including family or friends or other comedians?

 

Dead: Gore Vidal. I’m in awe of his brain and envious of his lifestyle. 

Alive: Gary Lineker. He really seems to enjoy everything about his life, and he has youthful hands.

 

13. Do you keep your drawers tidy and if not why not? (please think long and hard about this question, it's to settle an argument with my girlfriend. The future of our relationship could depend on your response).

 

I’m very tidy, to the point of argument with the cleaner. In fact both my homes had an infestation of various sorts recently, and large bags of drawer stuffing (old phones, ugly candles, character glasses) were tossed. I love