Joking apart

Published on Wednesday 9 April 2008 15:06

QUESTION: WHAT'S BRIGHT-RED AND wobbles like a jelly? Answer: Me preparing to do stand-up comedy. No, it's not much of a punchline. But the thought of getting up on stage to perform a routine wasn't tickling my funnybone. After enlisting for a Funny Women workshop in Glasgow's òran Mór, with the option of entering an open-mic competition later that evening, I had the jitters.

Although I wasn't quite sure what was in store, I was hoping it wouldn't involve total public humiliation.

The Funny Women organisation was set up in 2002 by comedian and producer Lynne Parker, as a reaction to a misogynistic comedy booker she was working with at the time. Along with co-producer Cecilia Smart, she organises the high-profile annual Funny Women Awards, raises money for women's causes (this year's charity is Ovarian Cancer Action) and puts on events nationally. Just the evening before our workshop, she had held a special Funny Women Live evening at ran Mr, as part of last month's Magners Comedy Festival. It had featured comedian Shazia Mirza, novelist AL Kennedy and River City star Frances Healy, among others.

It seems that nurturing female talent is necessary, as stand-up comedy remains a resolutely male pursuit. "Stand-up is, and always has been, macho," comedian Jennifer Saunders said in an interview last year. "It is difficult for women to break into it."

So the Funny Women workshops aim to help girls gain the confidence to perform. The long-term goal is to level out the statistic of men outnumbering women four to one on the live comedy circuit. Thankfully, this is already changing, albeit slowly.

"Women are still in the minority, but there are more taking part than ever," says comedian of 14 years, Viv Gee, who also runs a part-time Stand-Up Comedy Workshop at the Ramshorn Theatre, part of the University of Strathclyde.

"I now get about four women in a class of 20 people, when there used to only ever be one, at most. In fact, I'm probably teaching myself out of a job."

While mixed-sex classes with Gee sound interesting, my whole stand-up experience might have been a lot more intimidating if there had been blokes in my workshop. There would have been a lot more pressure not to let the side down.

Even without the boys, I'm feeling nervous. Thankfully, as soon as I arrive in the stale beer-smelling bowels of this converted church, Parker and Smart work hard at making me, and their four other victims, feel at home.

"I've had a text from Jan Ravens," says Parker. "She's just been on BBC Radio 4's Women's Hour. They were having a discussion about female comedians and she mentioned Funny Women workshops." Now, that's a good recommendation to get us started. For the uninitiated, Ravens is the star of Dead Ringers and the voice of a few Spitting Image puppets. I'm starting to feel I'm in safe hands.

As the session begins, what soon becomes apparent is the total diversity of womankind who aspire to a career in stand-up. There are the fresh-faced youngsters in their early twenties – Fiona Marie Simpson, a "professional waitress", and Karrie Dorozynska, a Red Dwarf fan, physics student and self-confessed nerd. Dorozynska shares her favourite joke with us: "Why are mathematicians so pale? Because you need a sin and a cos to get a tan." Only a few of us, recalling a little mathematics from school, get it.

Then we have thirtysomething Canadian, Jennifer Larkin, "a performance psychologist, actor, writer, researcher and healer", and Glaswegian Mary Ware. She's come along to get over her stage-fright and because, she explains, "the life expectancy of a woman from the East End of Glasgow is only 55 to 60 years old. That means I've only got a couple of years left ... So this is Mary-time."

The first exercises Smart gives us are really just ice-breakers. We each have to chat for a minute about ourselves. Then we have to pretend to be the person next to us and chat for another minute. What becomes obvious is that we easily remember the idiosyncratic, amusing nuggets of information contained within each other's speeches.

"We naturally pick out those bits, despite the fact that we're all very different people, who think in different ways," says Smart.

I deliver my impression of Ware completely deadpan, but others are less restrained when impersonating those they've met only 15 minutes before. It's not always flattering. Dorozynska's impression makes me sound like a stuttering oaf.

For the next stage of the workshop we're given another easy project. We have to write down things we love, hate and wish for. Our answers range from the mundane to the ludicrous.

After we have read these out, Smart suggests ways we could develop them into jokes. There's certainly no exact formula to this. However, I do notice, when listening to the others brainstorming, that a confident delivery is important. Also, a funny voice helps, and an unexpected twist always gets a giggle.

Simpson, for instance, looks so angelic that whenever she swears a laugh is guaranteed. But she's soon not the only one turning the air blue. Larkin suggests we all use the word "pubes" in our routines. It seems a surefire, if childish, way to raise a smirk.

If you've ever been along to a comedy venue such as Jongleurs in Glasgow or The Stand in Edinburgh, you'll know that swearing and edgier material is the main difference between a live act and watching comedy on the box.

"Stand-up is a whole different kettle of fish," says Smart. "By the time comedy has got as far as the TV it's been sanitised for the viewing public." Taking this on board, I start cursing like a trooper and channelling Joan Rivers.

Once we've roughly developed our jokes, Smart starts to teach us "stagecraft". My palms are already sweating. She demonstrates how to stand, the best way to hold the microphone and how to deflect any comedian's worst nightmare – hecklers. Surprisingly, we're not encouraged to develop any withering one-liners for ammunition. Instead, she suggests we ignore the crowd member shouting at us. If we show any fear or forget our lines, she says, "we might have lost the attention of the whole audience".

It's then that we each take our turn on stage. I'm third up to the mic. Simpson and Dorozynska are on before me and I'm impressed by their confident calm – Smart tells me later, "I've got a really good feeling about those two. They're so young, but they really know their stuff."

Then it's my turn, and time seems to slow down as I walk up the stairs to stand in the spotlight.

I'm afraid my gabbled material isn't much to report back on. Let's just say it's more than a little surreal and has a storyline involving Su Pollard, accordion playing and cannibalism. I take the advice of Parker and utilise my tale-weaving skills.

"As women, we don't celebrate the tradition of storytelling enough, even though we're great at it, and it's the essence of stand-up comedy," she says.

Also, although Smart suggests we memorise our notes before we go on stage, I clutch mine like a safety blanket. The bright light shining in my eyes also helps, as I can't focus on the expectant gaze of the audience.

Despite the fact that I race through my material, I get a couple of laughs and feel completely buoyed up. Afterwards, each of us gets some constructive criticism. I'm allowed some special treatment, because I've made it clear I'd rather eat glass than do this kind of thing professionally. "Considering you've never wanted to do stand-up before, that was phenomenal," says Smart.

Hurrah. I realise that performing in a boozy club somewhere would be completely different – I'd probably get a beer bottle thrown at my head. However, the wonderful thing about Funny Women workshops is that they are nurturing and confidence-boosting. So, even though I'm not brave enough to enter one of the Funny Woman Awards regional heats later that evening, at least I won't feel so daunted if I ever have to make a speech.

Also, we've made a few new friends today. That's the thing about laughter – it unites all kinds of people. Gee notices that fact in her classes.

"Comedy workshops can make life more interesting," she says. "They encourage you to see things from a different angle and give people a bit more confidence when it comes to public speaking. But most of all, there's always a great camaraderie that forms between people who like to laugh."

The next Funny Women workshop at ran Mr, Glasgow, is on 23 April, 5-7pm, and costs 45. The Awards Showcase follows at 8pm, 5. Workshop participants or those with less than three years' stand-up experience can take part in the competition for a place in the semi-finals on Tuesday, 10 June at The Comedy Store, Manchester, and Thursday, 12 June at The Revue Bar in Soho, London. To reserve your place at the workshop or to enter the competition, e-mail cecilia@funnywomen. com For more information visit www.funnywomen.com