Rob Gilroy: Making A Stand #9
This week I’m in the very fortunate position of being able to write about the latest instalment of my Jolly Mixtures sketch night – because if you couldn’t make it down, the next best thing surely must be reading a blow-by-blow description of it online, in the cold and sober light of day. Am I right guys? Guys?
Usually the night takes place on a Thursday but due to scheduling conflicts this one was hastily brought forward a day. If the rest of the Avengers thought they had trouble working around Downey Jr’s diary, then they’ve clearly never tried to organise, write, cast and rehearse a monthly sketch show via Dropbox and Facebook. I’m not saying it’s harder than saving the world, I’m just saying you stand to disappoint a lot more people.
But enough of superhero rotas, we must concern ourselves with more pressing engagements – namely; this month’s Jolly Mixtures. I know you’re all dying to know what went down – which sketches worked, which didn’t, who was wearing what, who slept with who and countless other gossipy titbits, so I won’t delay.
As if a journalist from OK Magazine had rocked up at a working men’s club in Bradford, I am here with all things jolly, mixtures and showbiz. Think of this as that bit on GMTV (sorry, Daybreak) where they speak to that incredibly tanned Scottish man in L.A via Skype, who proceeds to tell them nothing of any actual worth, and certainly nothing we couldn’t have already read in Grazia.
It’s a funny thing; the day after a show. You spend a long time (or if you procrastinate as much as I do; a couple of days) working towards it then suddenly it’s gone and all you have left are memories, and not very trustworthy ones.
It’s a lot of work – getting the gang together, booking venues, writing for it, rewriting for it, printing out posters, putting up posters, going back and changing the rewrites for it because they never actually worked in the first place, revisiting where you put the posters and putting up new ones to replace those ones that blew away in that last bout of bad wind that we had.
Remember that? Shocking stuff, wasn’t it? I nearly lost my fedora. All these tiny factors build up and accumulate throughout the month, like gout in Anthony Worrall Thompson. Sometimes you lose sight of what it’s all for. Why did I write that sketch about Julius Caesar piercing his nipple? Did I download the BaHa Men’s album for a reason? Was it wrong to cover that speed camera with our poster? Sure, the flowers on the lamppost will attract the eye, but is it ethical?
The more you do to get organised and sorted for it, the more like hard work it seems. Now, don’t get me wrong; I have nothing against hard work – I once got to the final level of Super Mario Bros in one sitting (if we’re not counting extended periods of pausing to allow for eat and poo breaks). All I mean is, with the group being spread out in various locations, doing the prep stuff individually means that one of the most fun aspects of sketch comedy – team work (and the free drugs) – is somewhat absent from a large part of it. It’s only when we all come together on the day of the show that we actually get a bit of much needed social interaction.
In that sense; sketch writing would be a very good occupation for hermits and agoraphobics, if you don’t mention the standing-on-stage-in-front-of-a-room-full-of-people bit.
Preparing for the show is similar to weeing on a train when it goes through a tunnel. Suddenly everything goes dark, you feel somewhat disorientated and you have no idea whether it will be a hit or a miss. You can ask for feedback from the others but seeing ‘haha’ typed out doesn’t really carry the same weight as the sound of laughter. If it did then my short-lived foray into comedy nights on MSN Messenger would have been much more lucrative.
By the time you’re all together and you’re getting the sketches up on their feet (an industry term, probably nicked from faith healers.) then everyone has read it ten times over, knows the rewrites and is still wishes we were doing the Caesar nipple sketch.
However, once rehearsals start proper – that’s when some of the magic comes back. Finally, as a comedian, you can do what it is you’re programmed to do – show off. Even though it’s just to the other three; you can mess around, add silly lines, silly sounds and hell – even do the robot while shouting ‘BANTER’ and if it makes the others laugh then it goes in the sketch. These little additions don’t guarantee that the sketch will work better, but at least if you’re laughing, then somebody, somewhere may do too.
But even after all that, all the rehearsing is done, all the jumbo sausages and vacuum cleaner props are assembled – the nerves still come. The fear strikes like workers unhappy with their prearranged working environments (satire). The buzz of getting everyone together dies down and the panic returns – will it be funny? Will people laugh? Is there mileage to be had in imperial piercings?
You can never be certain until you’ve done it. The sketch, I mean. Not actual piercings. And that’s what we did last night. We walked right into the lion’s den and goose-stepped round whilst honking an invisible horn. And you know what? People thought it was OK.
Oh, and I slept with everybody.
Jolly Mixtures will return…on June 20th. Because it’s booked in and everything.
