Rob Gilroy: Making A Stand #56
"A lot is made of the young, white, male comedians that seem to dominate clubs and TV shows, but I don’t really feel as though I fit with them."
Hey you, what do you think of our new look – not bad is it?
It’s fair to say Giggle Beats scrubs up well when you smear it with tinted moisturiser and have a squirt of Britney Spear’s Midnight Fantasy.
Obviously, that’s not really how you make a website look nice. The reality is, you bung an extra twenty quid to some I.T whiz who wears a Big Bang Theory t-shirt while stuck in a poorly ventilated office, surrounded by empty crisp packets and issues of Empire Magazine.
Not quite so glamorous now, is it?
This e-facelift has got me thinking about image in comedy. My image in comedy.
It’s hard to define where I sit in the line up of comedy looks – but it’s probably somewhere between Peter Lorre and Marty Feldman.
I think we can all agree, I’m not Mr Showbiz.
I don’t wear a shiny suit and command attention on the stage – I slink on self-consciously and just about take charge of the microphone. If I’m not quick enough there’s always an audience member waiting to jump in my place.
A lot is made of the young, white, male comedians that seem to dominate clubs and TV shows, but I don’t really feel as though I fit with them.
It’s true; I do own a checked shirt or two – but I tend to look like I work on a cattle ranch.
I also have a ridiculous amount of product in my hair, but that is less to do with style and more to do with holding back the tide of male pattern baldness.
Neither do I fit into the cool, leather-jacket clad punk comedian category.
I’ve never been an anarchist. I didn’t even complete my degree to be an architect.
Punk isn’t a genre I warm to easily. I’ve found myself listening to the Sex Pistols thinking – “If only they’d used some rhythm guitar – it would really pep this song up a bit.”
It’s hard to be anarchic when the only thing I’m capable of mocking is my own self-esteem.
Besides, I don’t think comedians should be cool. It defeats the point. We’re supposed to be the idiot, the moron, the Louis Walsh of society.
If comedians think they’re the cool ones, then who do the uncool kids despise? I didn’t get where I am today by being popular and trendy.
How I look on stage has to reflect the type of comedy I do.
When I was a character comic it was easy – it didn’t have to reflect me, it had to reflect someone else, someone more extreme.
I’m as bland as it gets, and aside from walking on stage in a suit made from issues of People’s Friend I have no idea how to play up or play down that element of me.
The way I dress is nondescript – neither too trendy, nor too pathetic. At first I thought it was a clever attempt to seem unspectacular, now it’s clear I’m just forgettable.
Clothing seems an odd thing to think about. Surely it should be about the material and the performance?
Yeah, maybe. But coming from a sketch/character background it is something I think of. It helps to define your persona before you open your mouth.
Think of Russell Brand or Milton Jones, Dara O’Briain or Tony Law – these people look like their acts. But not in a bearded lady sense.
That’s what I want – to look like my act. I want people to feel they know me before I open my mouth.
Not the real me obviously, I’ve no intention of scaring anyone – but the ‘me’ I am on stage. I want that to be clear.
It’s not about being ‘cool’ or looking outlandish or even being arty-farty; it’s simply about enabling an audience to understand where you’re coming from.
Very few things are funny if you can’t work out the intention behind them. Anything that can help clarify that starting point helps sell the joke.
I’ll keep experimenting with my ‘look’ and hopefully I’ll nail it.
I’m not there yet, I’m currently going through my ‘Artist Formally Known as Jerry Bucham’ phase, but I’ll find my image and boy, will it be funny!
In the meantime, why not look at this site – pretty isn’t it?
