This month I am learning a lot of things.
I am now part of a sketch troupe (I can't find a collective noun that doesn't make us sound like monkeys). It's Dan Antopolski, Tom Craine and me, and we're called Jigsaw. I love being part of a tiny gang, it's made me realise how lonely I had become as a solitary stand-up comic. I was spending so much time driving alone to gigs that I could now live in my car for a week without problems. I have everything in there, from deoderant to moisturiser to a selection of books, shoes and a pillow. I havent talked to myself in weeks, which I think we must chalk up as a Good Thing.
There are downsides. With every new sketch we write, we're accumulating props. We said at the beginning that we didn't need props and wouldn't use them. But after ten minutes struggle to mime a bird's face we gave up and bought a mask. It's a slippery slope, now I can;t be arsed to mime anything when Ebay's just a click away. The thing with mime is it's very difficult, takes ages to master, but once you've mastered it no one gives a fuck. It's a thankless chore. The best response you'll get from a comedy audience in response to a great mime is a small "huh" that says "I appreciate that must've taken ages to rehearse, though I'm baffled as to why you bothered. But still, I'll throw the puppy a biscuit, so here, have this small noise."
Now we're wasting zero time on mime (hurray!) but lugging round a box of props (boo.) I never appreciated how much cooler it was to wander into a comedy club, smooth an eyebrow and say "yeah, I'm one of the acts..?" Now we have to stagger through the door with a bag of poles and a huge box of what looks like childrens' toys, basically announcing "Look! Here is all our funny! We are bringing our funny to you, instead of keeping it neatly in our heads." Then we have to barge through our waiting audience, murmuring "sorry sorry sorry, mind your...oh, sorreee.." None of which inspires faith or a life free of back pain.
I used to be in an eight-person sketch group called Superclump that collapsed under sheer weight of numbers. To be a tight, slick sketch group I believe you shouldn't have to do a headcount before heading on stage, or say things like "well, most of us are here..right?" Although it felt great being part of a gang so big we dominated every backstage area and frequently eclipsed audience numbers, there is a lot less money in live sketch than live stand-up. Superclump took our loss of income stoically enough, but it's hard to remain chipper when you're sharing out twenty quid between eight and bothering the bar staff for change for a pound.
Jigsaw is only three of us, which requires very few headcounts. Again we're all stand-up comics, which means, like Superclump, our first instinct is to cram the show with funny punchlines and then stand in front of each other while delivering them. I think a stand-up's first attempt at sketch is invariably to have a few people standing next to each other having a very witty conversation and doing nothing with their bodies, bar occasional pointing and arm-folding. Basically a stand-up monologue, arbitrarily sliced up between several "characters".
After a few gigs we spotted this and decided to move our bodies a bit more, if only to prevent deep-vein thrombosis mid-show. We may have over-compensated, the show is now stupidly exhausting. I grabbed Tom's face in yesterday's show and he was so sweat-drenched I dropped his head. We laughed it off but his eyes didn't focus until later.
We're now reaching a really exciting stage of creating a show when we can see the final show beckoning coyly through the carnage, and we're all starting to argue over the finer details. I like July, the stressful month when Edinburgh performers fight. It's because I don't have much in the way of manners. I try, I do, but in the heat of the moment, in creative discussions, I reach for phrases like "that idea is shit" and "stop saying such shit ideas." It's inexcusable behaviour so I don't attempt to excuse it, I just shrug and say "well stop coming up with such shit ideas then." When Edinburgh looms and everyone gets stressed and argumentative, suddenly I don't seem so rude. My horrible personality is nicely camoflagued in other peoples' mental disintegration. Win.
So my back hurts, my manners aren't improving and I've been eyes-deep in our Edinburgh show for so long I realised I hadn't opened our fridge all week. So I did. Then instantly regretted it, a small eco-system has sprung up which I now intend to leave until September. When I return from the Edinburgh Festival I will destroy it like a vengeful god, but until then it's free to flourish.