How we laughed

What differentiated these critiques of New Labour from the earlier assaults on Mrs Thatcher is that in the 1980s satire was essentially optimistic. Left-wing comedians genuinely hoped that crooked Tory greed would be replaced by Labour probity, virtue and self-sacrifice. How laughable that sounds now. One of New Labour’s unintended bequests is a pandemic of cynicism. A trust deficit has opened up, a permanent and unbridgeable gulf between what politicians say and what voters know politicians are really saying. When New Labour’s generals seized control of the message, their mastery of propaganda became their most discussed attribute. So, quite by accident the electorate was treated to a decade-long seminar in the theory and practice of political falsehood. Result — every voter in the land is as wise to the arts of public hypocrisy as the sneakiest libel-spreader in Downing Street’s dirty tricks department. Paradoxically, this has removed politicians from the list of legitimate targets and placed them beneath the attention of comedy. Quite a stroke of luck for Brown who has the misfortune to resemble a walking caricature. The bruised eyes, the surly hair, the pained Presbyterian manner, the strange jaw-jerk at the end of each sentence and the smile that seems to be wired up to a different power-source from the rest of him. What a feast for the comics, but they ignore him because he presents something exhausted and irrelevant. To wallop him with mirth, to give him the 21-gun salute of satire, would be as pointless as granting a squashed earwig a peerage.

Comedy has turned elsewhere, and the circuit thrives as never before with freak-show acts, music-hall turns and caustic, foul-mouthed grandmothers. On the South Bank this spring you may catch sight of a vast purple upside-down cow, the Udderbelly, a mobile comedy arena normally resident in Edinburgh. The bill features a range of established acts and emerging stars, and prices start at a crunch-compliant £7. English audiences won’t be familiar with Lewis Black, an agreeably dyspeptic social commentator from Washington. ‘Thanksgiving — when we commemorate the first time the Protestants and the Indians sat down together and gambling was invented.’ Sir Tim FitzHigham is a young adventurer who barely qualifies as a stand-up at all. His set consists entirely of anecdotes inspired by his CV of eccentric stunts: crossing the Channel in a bath, rowing up the Thames in a paper boat, fell-walking on Vesuvius. Topping the bill is Joan Rivers with her blend of twinkly-eyed misogyny and taboo-busting mischief. She was the first American stand-up to make gags about 9/11. She’s still making them. ‘Two and a half thousand widows, each with a cheque for five million dollars. There’s got to be six happy.'

Udderbelly will be at the Southbank Centre from 27 May to 19 July.

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cecil porter

April 30th, 2009 5:01pm Report this comment

"Before YouTube, comics reluctantly toured in order to promote their cash-making DVDs. Now the position has reversed. Recordings make relatively little and the major revenues come from ticket sales."

Maybe it's different in the UK, but in the USA, touring has always been where the money is at.

JohnAnt

May 2nd, 2009 12:44am Report this comment

The best Ben Elton joke I know is the story (not told by him) of a reporter interviewing his father, an eminent physicist and expert in higher education, back in the 1980s, when Ben's career was still nascent. 'So what about your son?' came the rather hapless question. 'What about him?' was the reply. 'But...he's a well-known comedian!' faltered the journalist. 'Is he really?' replied dad in a mildly interested tone.

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