A NIGHT OF HELL AND LAUGHTER

Published by Rick on Tagged Uncategorized

For the past few months, I’ve been doing Wednesday night podcasts on Facebook with my friend and fellow comic Steven Alan Green, who was my impetus some 20+ years ago for expanding my horizons outside the deflating comfort zone of the US comedy scene and spreading my message across the pond. Our show has had several wonderful guests from both US and UK, and this coming Wednesday we will be chatting with a Canadian comic I worked with quite a bit in that first decade I was working in UK, Glenn Wool.

Glenn always impressed me as very cerebral, which works really well over here. When I came here, I was used to the in-your-face delivery that US comics felt a need to use to get the point across. In contrast, British comics would tend to leave the joke there and let the audience figure out where the funny was. Glenn worked that way, and most of the time it worked really well for him. I was witness to a night where it didn’t, but none of us came out of that gig unscathed.

It was in Weybridge, Surrey, about 15 miles southwest of London, on a Monday night in 2003. The venue was part of a successful pub chain called Slug And Lettuce, which still is well franchised throughout UK, but the Weybridge venue hasn’t survived. I don’t know or care how long that venue lasted, but I’d be shocked if there was even a second comedy show there. First off, there was no cover charge, so the regular punters were there to do their Monday night drink ritual, which for them was no different from any other night except it was Monday. “Comedy? Screw that, I just wanna get pissed.” (British slang for drunk, US readers)

Besides Glenn and myself, the emcee for the night was the Australian Jim Jefferies, now massively successful in the US, and also featured was Aussie comic/writer Bruce Griffiths, who moved back to Oz shortly after this gig, and I’m sure this gig made his decision easier. Also along for the ride but not performing was Canadian Jason John Whitehead, who became Jefferies’ designated opening act on concert tours. I would be closing the show, which was bereft of any English acts, and maybe that’s why the audience was so indifferent to us.

Jim has been successful in the US as a political comic, but his political bent was still in development at this time, so he tended to go more to the shock value. His opening got little response, so he chose to go full tilt with what he was most comfortable with. Specifically, he liked the c-word, and in this situation, he wasn’t going to edit himself. He then incurred the wrath of one young woman, who confronted him during the interval about his constant use of the word. He said nothing at the moment, but when he was beginning the second portion of the show, he remarked of one woman complaining about his use of a certain word. He then got right in the face of the woman and shouted the word, long and loud. That was the second big laugh of the night from our corner.

But let’s backtrack, because the first big laugh was the biggest, and set the tone for the entire evening. This came from Glenn, as his heady stuff was falling on deaf ears. After about five jokes in a row bombed, he told the crowd, “I think now would be the time to talk about my great big cock!” Well, at least there were FOUR of us laughing hysterically. The crowd looked at us as if to say, “What’s so funny?” It truly put the evening in the perspective it richly deserved. Of the many times I worked with Glenn, it may have been the only time I ever saw him struggle.

Glenn left to a smattering of applause, and after the interval, it was Jim chastising the offended woman before bringing on Bruce Griffiths. Bruce saw the writing on the wall, and basically phoned it in. His comedy was equally as subtle as Glenn’s, with one liners strung together, but only would work if the audience was following him, which they clearly weren’t. His material was varying degrees of brilliant, but his attitude in this performance seemed to be “If they don’t get it, it’s their loss.” Seeing what Glenn had gone through, he more or less recited his act so he could get off, get paid, and go home, which he did.

One last interval, and then it would be The Yank’s turn, after which we could all go home. I don’t remember anything specific that I did, but I think I actually did the best of anyone that night, maybe because the few that stayed seemed to be more compassionate, liberal, whatever. There was still the ordeal of heading back into London, and the train station was about a 20 minute walk.

Ah, but did the club help us in any way? Not THIS club. We asked the manager to get a cab for us, and I can’t remember why, but he refused, leaving the four of us, all quite inebriated, to find our way back. So we began our journey back to London, but not before stopping at an off-license (liquor store in the US) and getting a 12-pack of beers for the journey (back then it was ok to bring booze on trains).

I was 52 years old at the time, while the rest of the guys were all in their 20’s, yet I still felt a kinship with them, feeling they were accepting me as an equal of sorts. We spent much of the walk to the station, as well as the train ride back, laughing at how horrible the gig was in virtually every aspect. That’s what you do because there’s really nothing else that can be done or said. It’s also interesting how you can have good gigs about 95% of the time, but you tend to remember the gigs in the other 5% much more vividly! This one was definitely in that 5%.

July 15th, 2021



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