Rob Gilroy: Making A Stand #1
Here’s a new, weekly column from aspiring character comedian Rob Gilroy (stage name Jerry Bucham). This week, Rob talks about why he performs stand-up as a busker from Bristol…
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People often ask me; “Rob, why did you decide to do stand up as a character as opposed to yourself?” To which I normally say “Leave me alone, I’m just buying some coleslaw. Stop following me around the shop.” However, once I’ve purchased my mixed-veg side dish and bought a machine-made latte from the in-store cafeteria, I sometimes stop and ponder this conundrum – why did I decide to perform as a character? What was the reasoning behind such a decision? Does asking yourself questions like this actually help with your understanding of problems, or does it just scare off Morrison’s lunchtime clientele? I can now confirm I have finally settled on an answer. Not for the questions-thing though, turns out that’s 50/50.
The real reason I perform stand up as a character is pretty simple – I’m an incredibly dull person. That’s all there is to it; I wish I had a more psychologically complex announcement; it’s all repressed psyches, schizophrenic episodes or attempts at being the Robert DeNiro of the Laughter Lounge but I can’t. I can’t even say I’m one of those dubious people you sometimes see on Sally Jesse Raphael that claim to have a family of four in their head, I’m just frightfully dull. Being dull is an incredible setback in the world of comedy and also in the world of online column writing. I’m surprised I’ve been allowed to get this far, to be honest with you. If you’ve started reading this with the hope of an intriguing insight into the world of comedy then you should probably lower your expectations. I’m truly sorry.
Don’t get me wrong; I do try to be a lively, bubbly and entertaining person but, aside from the symptoms of increased cholesterol and patches of gout common with those personality traits, it never really comes off. Now, I can be an absolute scream at dinner parties, but then when you work for a Murder Mystery firm, that’s sort of a prerequisite.
Try as I might I’m not an interesting person; most of my clothing is bland, unadventurous and comes in at least fifty shades of grey (that’s not a euphemism for nipple clamps and arse beads). I once went through a phase of dressing extravagantly in the hope of fooling people into thinking I was something special. The beauty of that is; you get invited to all the cool parties but by the time they realise you have nothing to offer but armpit farts, you’re already half cut on Babycham and a six pack of scotch eggs. However, despite my hopes, this plan never came to fruition as I was so worried that I looked stupid, I spent most of the day sat in the dressing room of Top Man with the skinny jeans stuck round my thighs, crying into a pair of furry winkle pickers.
The problem is; I don’t actually know what sort of person to be – am I a jack the lad? No – I’ve tried that but drinking WKD brings me out in a rash and I’ll be damned if you’ll squeeze me into a pair of espadrilles. I’ve tried being a man’s man, but not in that way. It involved a lot of string vests and working out in the gym but it wasn’t for me. There’s something about striking up a conversation with other sweaty men whilst your nipples are on show that never quite put me at ease. I’ve also tried being an opinionated person but the problem with that is; I have no opinions. I tend to cherry pick my beliefs from whatever I come in contact with, which means most days are a moral struggle, especially if I see the front page of The Daily Mail first. The other problem with recycling others’ views and arguments is that you can come a cropper when questioned about it. I mean, the other week I saw a documentary on Robert Mugabe and, well, let’s just say my mum wasn’t happy with the dinner conversation that night.
So you see – this is why I don’t perform stand up as myself. Imagine seeing this pathetic excuse for a person on stage and expecting them to entertain you for an evening. It’s not going to happen. At some point, someone is going to have a panic attack and it’s more than likely going to be me. Nothing turns a comedy club into a hostage situation quicker than giving a bewildered person a microphone. And yet, if I’m performing as someone else then for that brief moment in time I can forget about my many failings as a person. I can recite any opinions and be safe in admitting they’re not my own. I can also wear anything I like, firmly in the knowledge that I probably do look stupid.
Not only that but once the night is over and I’m back in my own clothes with my own voice, if someone says; “That character act was sh*t”, I can say “Yeah, he was. What an idiot.”
It works for me.
Rob is performing as Jerry Bucham at The Stand, Newcastle on Friday 5 April and Saturday 6 April.
