The crux of comediennes

When you think of leading British comedians, who do you think of? You start to think of Stephen Fry, Lee Evans, Michael McIntyre, Ricky Gervais. Easy to continue. Few would start with Jo Brand and continue with a woman. Arguments like “women are not funny” and “I just find men funnier” are still not dead. But when asked why, people struggle to give reasons.

The recent British Comedy Awards show a picture of a comedy industry in the UK that is mainly male dominated. Yes, Julia Davies won two prizes for her sitcom Hunderby and Morgana Robinson can now call herself Best Comedy Breakthrough Artist. But the other seven categories that are not split up between male and female tell us that comedy in the UK is still in the hands of men.

2012 seemed to be a female television year, with several women-centred sitcoms written by women. New Girl, Hunderby and the highly celebrated New York-based series Girls. The fact that Hunderby won two British Comedy Awards (Best New Comedy Programme and Best Sitcom) shows that there is recognition of these programmes, while the American shows New Girl and Girls were acknowledged in the U.S. at the Emmys. And do not forget the hype about a third series of Miranda. You might think that women in TV comedy now get more attention. But a shift from a male-dominated industry towards a balanced one is not really there – yet. The media attention surrounding Girls and Miranda was enormous. But looking behind the hype, they are just a few between hundreds of other, male-centred series. As comedian and comedy writer Eva Braden* says, “these sitcoms stand out, but most series are still produced and written by men”. Cariad Lloyd, a comedienne who started her career in acting before comedy “took over her life”, agrees and says about the British Comedy Awards: “It’s a shame that there weren’t more women nominated. At the moment there are less women in comedy than men; that will be reflected in nominations and awards.”

One explanation as to why there are not as many comediennes as comedians can be found in the history of comedy. The beginnings of live comedy in the UK were in music halls of the 18^th century. Stand-up and sketch comedy are still young theatre art forms in relation to others such as variety or drama. The first UK sitcom, Pinwright’s Progress, aired on BBC radio in the late 1940s. Back then, politics, business and public life were driven by men. After World War Two, with TV establishing itself as a mass medium, comedy was also produced for the screen and famous live comedians like Peter Sellers and Tommy Cooper could also be seen on TV. In the 1970s, alternative comedy circuits had formed in working men’s clubs. Women were rare in these clubs. An exception was Victoria Wood, who started there. When asked in a recent Telegraph interview if it was not a “golden age” in the eighties for comedy, she disagreed and said that it is easier for women in comedy now than it was 30 years ago because the number of possible venues has increased. But she added that there are still more men in the comedy industry than women.

Over the past years, the impact of women in comedy has increased. Female stand-up comedians are booked more often and panel shows like Have I got News for You or 8 out of 10 Cats invite more comediennes. The beginnings of a comedy scene that included female comedians began later than for men. In order to give women in the industry more chances, the Funny Women Awards were set up ten years ago. The organisation Funny Women, which also organises workshops and comedy nights in Brighton and London, gives out awards in categories from scriptwriting to stand-up. Isobel Matheson, who is an executive producer and responsible for the awards at Funny Women, says that “the comedy world is definitely changing and the future looks certainly more rosy for female performers, but I’m still tired of going to comedy nights and watching TV panel shows with one woman in the line-up”. Watching these shows does often give the impression that producers book a statutory woman and are content with that. It seems that they fulfil a duty that has to be done because we are living in a modern society and should also represent disadvantaged ‘minorities’ like women. On comedy nights, women are often second in the second half, which means they are the penultimate act. Whether the comedienne is good or bad, she is often booked for that position. It is unfair for the comedienne and also for the other comedians. They get booked for that timeslot not because of their talent, but because it looks nicer to have a woman in that position. It shows that women have to face challenges in comedy. But it also gives an answer as to why people often cannot explain why they do not like female comedians: they do not know enough of them.

Matheson is certain that women still need support, whereas comedian Braden says that there is no need for that. Although Braden took part in one competition organised by Funny Women a few years ago, she questions its relevance. “It’s like the Special Olympics, women don’t need positive discrimination”. Most young comediennes take part in competitions to be on as many stages as they can. It is not that there is a huge lack of women in performing comedy. Rather, they have to work harder than men to be seen and recognised. And that is why a lot of comediennes are not easily accessible for the public eye. People tend to generalise. If you have only once seen a woman performing comedy, you make your opinion out of that.

Women start their artistic career later than men. Many start in their mid-twenties, whereas it is not unusual for men to start in their early twenties. Female comedians have to face challenges that every woman who wants to have a family and a career has to face. The pressure of starting a family and combining that with a social timetable is hard. A lot of women end their comedy career in their mid-thirties. “Women start later and finish earlier. If you haven’t made it by your mid-thirties, you stop. You don’t have a social life, no settling down, no stability. Women suffer more”, says Braden, who is 32 and, in addition to doing comedy, works as a personal assistant. She adds that the reason why women start later is down to establishing enough self-confidence to perform comedy on stage. This is also one reason why women often choose to do character-based comedy rather than stand-up.

But arguing that these differences are because of gender is too easy and not right. Comedians Braden and Lloyd, who are both confronted with prejudices in their comedy career, highlight that there is more of a difference between every comedian rather than a general difference between the genders. “I honestly don't think you can separate comedians through gender, just as it would be hard to separate actors, scientists or teachers on their gender rather than their skills“, says Lloyd. There is also a difference between character comedy and stand-up, adds Lloyd: “It’s the perception that is different. I do character comedy, which is seen as quite like acting monologues, and I think people don't mind a woman doing that. But straight stand-up, in the traditional male stereotype, I think is harder for women“. Braden says that in comedy the audience is assumed to be male, even if there are just as many women present. The audience makes a comedy night on stage or on TV successful. It is more about how the audience perceives the comedian and this is more a socio-cultural phenomenon than the sheer difference between male and female comedy, which does not exist anyway.

“Good comedy is good comedy”, says Matheson. To laugh or not to laugh. That is what it is all about. Gender does play a role – but in the same way as age or geographical background does. Comedy is political. Not only the jokes but the industry itself reflect changes in society, economy and social movements. The “women in comedy” issue is more a topic that has its roots in society itself and is due to an interplay between many factors. We can see that from the history and the way comedy is today. The British Comedy Awards show a true picture of the industry. The comedy industry today is still not balanced between men and women, but better than yesterday and still not as good as tomorrow.

Matheson, Lloyd and Braden look positively to the future. There are problems for women, but the roots do not lie in the industry only. Women need to be more present. Hopefully, people will then start to argue: “I don’t like Joanna Lumley because of her way of talking, annoying like McIntyre. But I do like…”



*name changed

Lost and Found in Hackney

What could characterise Hackney better? Anybody missing a rasta braid?

A day in my life: Hospital, Library, Pub

My time in London started with a fight against bureaucracy from banks and – as I developed through that – I found at the end of my time in London a bigger opponent: NHS.

I was very ill. I had a sore throat (still have it) and ear aches. But I have to write four papers in three weeks (still have to write 3 of those). I tinkered with the idea of just not writing the papers. Or just writing the feature, but that was already finished and I don’t like incomplete things (I also still hate the non-layout of the blog), so I decided to search for a GP nearby.

I found one. Not only a GP, also a health-centre included. It had a website, looked legitimate. I went there exactly at the opening time. Still wasn’t very sure, because it’s in Clapton and I don’t trust Clapton. But it was Lower Clapton and I could walk there, so I had to fight my fear of crazy-drunken-female–cockney-doctors-who-were-bus-drivers-before-they-decided-to-do-a-medicine-degree-at-London-Metropolitan-University.

I went in and walked to the reception. I couldn’t really talk (the receptionist was also the first person I talked to this day) and she couldn’t really understand me. I was a bit proud that you could really hear that I was ill. I always want to show the doctor that my concerns are serious. But unfortunately this had communication problems as a result. She asked for my birth date and I said that I’m a new patient. ‘Not registered?’ – the woman said in her brisk Indian accent. ‘Not registered’ – I whispered with the thinnest voice I can do, so that the woman had to lean forward to hear me. ‘Go to hospital and register and then come back. Then you can see the doctor’. But I didn’t want to go to a hospital and register (Where? Is there a registration office? Why can’t I register here? I have an emergency!) But my answers and wishes were not heard. The woman gave me some papers to register and said ‘Got to Homerton Hospital’.

Homerton! Nightmare! But I had to. I wanted to be done with these health things, because I wanted to stay at the library all day (time pressure). I took the bus, got off and followed other people to the entrance. Fortunately, the bus driver didn’t hop off and put on doctor’s overalls. I went to the reception, where a friendly old lady was sitting. I told her my story: temporary resident of the UK, not registered, want to register, but want to see a doctor as soon as possible. She said that I could a) register and go back to the GP b) register and call a land-line number where someone would tell me the nearest GP I could go to or c) go to emergency and do a short-time registration. I took package c which sadly didn’t include a holiday in the Cook Islands but a trip to accident & emergency.

At the emergency reception I told my illness history and my personal data. Then I could sit down. After five minutes, I was called to come to the doctor’s office by a good-natured looking male nurse who had a decent age to be seen as experienced in nursing. I suppose.

I sat down. Told my story. But he only took temperature and pulse. Then I had to wait again in the waiting hall. People there didn’t look ill. I think I was the most urgent patient. I was coughing. The man in the corridor was only hobbling.

Then – finally – the doctor called my name in a very creative way. I followed him to another office. I said down. Told my story. He was looking at me. Because I had the feeling that I have to show that I’m seriously ill, I told him that I’m concerned because of my tinnitus. He was a bit irritated by then. He looked in my mouth and in my ear and said. ‘You have a sore throat. The infection is coming from there. Ears are not infected. Keep on taking Paracetamol’ That I said that Paracetamol didn’t work, he ignored.

So I went outside. First time at the doctor's abroad. First time in hospital. After that I spent eight hours in the library. Afterwards, I went to a pub.

I feel better now. Guinness helps. Always.

Loony London

London is the craziest city I’ve ever been to. I don’t mean arty-crazy, I mean crazy-crazy. Like insane. Interestingly, there are lot more mad drunken women, screaming “Hey, Gov’nor!” than men.

Does England drive women crazy?

No mad man (nor an art director from Madison Avenue) has ever told me that Jesus loves me. Only women. So often, that I’m starting to think that I must look like a person Jesus loves. I can truly understand that I’m adorable.

But it is maybe because I don’t forget my trousers or skirt when I wear leggings. I am always decently dressed. A lot of women (all ages) seem to forget that they are not fully dressed when going outside. Living in London is so stressful that you easily forget that. And tights too. Hopefully not both at the same time. I’m not that curious to know if English women wear underwear. Do they? I hope Thatcher doesn’t forget her clothes.

There is something that is wrong with women here. They don’t seem to feel temperatures. Ballerinas and rain. Frost and denim jackets. Am I so ‘continental’ that I am a cissy when it comes to right clothes for the weather? I am used to much colder weather, but looking at these women dressed in summer skirts lets my body temperature sink immediately. Maybe for some it lets it increase, but not for me. Even thinking about them makes me shiver. They will all get a bladder infection.

Now, in this Christmas time, I’m asking myself where all these crazy women will stay. I got an email from tfl today to say that the transport system will close down on Christmas Day. People are forced to stay at home and try to get out of any family trouble or not even get to their families.

I have a brilliant and humanitarian idea for solving the crazy women and transport problem. Why not let the lunatics earn a bit of money for honest and important work? Let’s get them all together and brief them to be bus drivers on Christmas Day. As I experienced, bus drivers are not quite right in the head anyway. (see Routes? Where we're going, we don't need routes!)
“Gov’nors! Next stop Canary Wharf. Get me some dosh from the cab rank!”

“St. Mary’s Church. Jesus loves you, darlings! This is the end of the world!”

I would love a bus ride with them.

How to be anybody

I recently read a blog article by an English guy who lives in Germany and wrote a ‘guide’ on how to become a proper German (http://venturevillage.eu/how-to-be-german-part-1). Some things really annoyed me, such as the suggestion that wearing house shoes is very German. You don’t wear house shoes in Britain, because there’s carpet everywhere (even in airports) and no pretty hardwood floors. Although you should wear house shoes, because the houses are badly insulated.

I totally agree that Germans wear functional clothing (Jack Wolfskin stuff). And when you are old and married, you and your partner wear the same model.

I can understand that some things in new countries get more attention there as in the home country. It is sometimes good to go back and see the similarity of countries. Like finding out that meat is also a very common part of meals where you grow up. Funny enough that a lot vegetarians that I know always say that their home country is best for vegetarians. Probably not American vegetarians. But I don’t know any American vegetarians, maybe they don’t exist there. Or a meatless diet is called there the “low carb veggie lifestyle”. Anyway, I had a big piece of roast beef as my Sunday Roast treat yesterday (but the gravy was too thin).

These “How to be” articles are mostly rubbish. They use stereotypes that are sometimes right, sometimes wrong but never achieve truthfulness, because you cannot generalise a man, a woman or a country in this case (I’m quite sure that this Brit does not live in Berlin or Hamburg, or anywhere else above the Weißwurst-border, which is right behind Kassel).

I never use stereotypes. Only for Americans. Maybe I should change the nation to Liechtenstein. I have never met anyone from there, you don’t hear anything from there and I am frankly questioning the existence of that country. So who would be bothered?

Let’s think of steps “How to be from Liechtenstein”. I can’t think of any characteristics of that country except for: be rich (mixing that up with Luxembourg?), be small (country is small, and so are you because of lack of space) and have a shiny smile (try to say “Liechtenstein” without smiling).

And suddenly the face of Berlusconi pops up. Liechtenstein must be near Italy right? Doesn’t matter anyway. All the same.

Routes? Where we’re going, we don’t need routes!

I had one of the best bus experiences that I can imagine. I was on a bus, boarding in Hackney and happy to find out that the Oyster Card Reader didn’t work and ready to enjoy a bus ride that should – according to the tfl website - take approx. 43 minutes and 4 seconds. As we were driving (‘we’ means the bus driver and me) through Canary Wharf and I was glancing at all these evil banks and some workaholics smoking in front of the glass cages (on Saturday) that are supposed to give the feeling that these money companies are transparent (ha), I was thinking that this is a very peculiar and long bus route from Hackney to Commercial Road.

After passing the “financial heart of Britain”, the bus stopped near a McDonald’s next to a dual carriageway. Engines off, lights out. I was briefly alarmed (it was already dark outside and I was still the only passenger) of getting robbed, raped or being in some way a victim of harassment whilst filmed on CCTV. The bus driver came to me in the back. I was doing the cliché of sitting in the last row. My instinct knows how to build an arc of suspense. The bus driver said: “Hey, I need to go to the toilet. I’ll be off for three minutes” And ran to McDonald’s. So I sat alone in a dark bus somewhere near the Thames. When the bus driver came back, he murmured something that sounded like an apology for the delay and then we raced off the dual carriageway and suddenly stopped at a dodgy park station. “Final Destination”, the bus driver said to me. I thought “yes, not one of the best horror movies I’ve seen, but I remember that in sequel 2 or 3, people were killed on public transport” without realising that it was the end of the route and we hadn't passed my bus stop. I told him that (about the bus stop) and he responded: “That was a long time ago, when this bus was on that route”. That the website told me that we were supposed to go there just had rolling eyes as a reaction. “Where do you need to go?” – “Commercial Road” – “Okay, come with me, we'll drive back and then get off at xyz”. When I got off at Canary Wharf, because there would be a direct bus to my final destination for that evening (and I also couldn’t remember the station the driver told me), he saw me standing on the pavement and shouted through the closing doors of the bus: “That’s not the stop!” – “I know, but I have a connection here”, I shouted back.  – “Ah, ok”. And this bus, for which I hadn't paid a penny, went off.

I now think it was a bus back from the future, where they have different bus routes and people don’t have to pay because of a communist government that came to power after the economy crashed and the Chinese took over Europe. But it will be a moderate communistic work-attitude, because the driver was allowed to go to the toilet at imperialistic McDonald’s.

No need to be afraid of the future, Marty!

Great Expectations

I think I am now at a point where I start to feel that I’m living in London. I have been sexually assaulted on a bus, said hello to my neighbours and tried out every supermarket nearby. My everyday life has a routine now. This is good. And bad. I’m feeling stuck. If I don’t change something, this routine of going to lectures, studying at home, reading in libraries and occasional nights out will be equal to the routine of my life in Berlin. Although, I’m usually not studying so much and working more (or at least trying to).

So it’s time to get a job and get to know some more people. More money, friends and drinks. I think if I would be asked during a job interview what I expect from the new job, I would answer: “friends and money”. And to make that sentence more British and not oh-so-German brisk: “friends and money, please”

No, I would probably give a predictable human-resource-management-friendly answer, because I really want the job. For money and friends. But then I need to find a company where I can assume that the people working there are good candidates for my next BFFs and BMFs. That means that Downing Street No. 10 is currently off the list. That’s a shame, honestly, I want to do the Hugh Grant-dance. Maybe after the next elections my Downing-disco-dance will have a chance, or else I become a Tory. I have to think about that properly. Maybe I will start with a Burberry scarf, just to get a feeling of being elitist and get comfortable with it (it’s getting cold anyway). But therefore I need money. And for money - a job. God, what a vicious circle.

There are actually three things that my new job has to offer me: money, friends and relevance for my “career” (please). What I want to do, you’re asking? Guess what: something in the media. I have worked in so many companies for such short periods that I have a very large repertoire of superficial qualifications in writing, editing, organising, selling, casting and putting an intelligent face on. That face is very useful. I use it all the time. Especially at university. “Who is that young woman who looks so bright?” “I think that must be Laura, she doesn't say much, but what she says sums every discussion up and brings it in context”. “Oh yes, you can see from her face that she’s following the lecture”.

Yes, because I’m waiting to drop a stolen sentence in that I read on Wikipedia. It’s just an intelligent face. Behind my forehead everything’s about money and friends. And the crucial question: who is responsible for the Jimmy Savile case?