Losing the Booze: Comedy and Alcohol
Why do we still think that comedy goes hand-in-hand with drinking? Comedian Jayne Edwards investigates
If you ask any one of my many friends what I love more, a drink or a laugh, they will start to sweat. As you stand poised, your brow increasingly furrowed, your glare baying them for the answer, their panic-stricken brain will only be able to repeat one memory: Me, in all my top lad glory stating very clearly: “I love a drink as much as I love a laugh.”
That’s who I am through and through. Until one day I saw a poster that shook me to my very core. A comedy night was being hosted in a local book shop. There would be NO alcohol.
I was completely floored. The time had finally come. I would have to chose. A drink. Or a laugh.
But in the end I just went to the comedy night and had a great time. The comedians were relaxed and fresh. No misjudged, awkward or violent heckling from the audience. No quiet tension for the safety of the acts. One woman did ask me if I could move my bag from under her chair which I took umbrage to, but I’m just a very difficult woman. All in all I just watched and enjoyed comedy and I didn’t miss a drink.
Because when you think about it, the way we still think comedy and drink go together is actually dead weird. If you need a drink to enjoy it, how good is the comedy?
This is not to mention the number of comedy nights that are ruined, and I mean RUINED, by drink. 'Old school' comedians would see this as part of stand-up, the macho beery atmos of it all. But this is an over-romanticised view of drunken heckling. It’s true that one or two acid putdowns to a singular heckle can be a beautiful thing (my trademark heckle smasher being, "Can you shut up, please, I’m trying to do stand-up comedy over here!") but when the heckler has been drinking heavily since 5pm, this will almost never be the end of it.
Trying to politely make someone twice my age sit down nicely and be quiet because they’ve had too much to drink is just dead boring, both for me and the rest of the audience. And although I am ten-men-mega-hard, when you’re not built like a brick Bernard Manning, it can turn into a scary ordeal.
I don’t know if anyone has told you, dear reader, but comedy is… quite… white. Still. In 2016. It doesn’t really reflect the world we live in. With many people in Britain not having drinking as part of their culture, nor something they wish to experience, I can’t help but think comedy has alienated many potential performers, brought up in different cultural backgrounds, by the majority of stand-up happening in pubs.
But why do we think a pub is the natural home of stand-up? Because that was where stand-up started out? Well, so what? Boiled down, all you really need for a gig is a quiet space, some tech and some chairs. There are some other admin requirements which I would rather fake my own death than do (flyering) but you get the idea.
When you’ve been to a gig in a book shop, in a museum, in a cinema, in a cake shop or even in someone’s living room, you can get a feel for what stand-up actually is. Entertainment. Not just a reason to get hammo’ed.
Fern Brady and Jo Neary perform at Manchester's alcohol-free venue Nexus as part of Women in Comedy festival. Joanna Neary: Animals and Men, 29 Oct, 8pm, £7-£10; Fern Brady, 29 Oct, 9.30pm, £5-£10