There’s a tried and tested path to refining a comedy show for the Australian festival circuit. It goes something like this: get up night after night in the clubs and small comedy nights, taking cues from the laughs gained on which jokes to keep, scrap or refine. The audience is the comedian’s unwitting but merciless editor, effectively working with them to road-test material until it’s festival ready.
But COVID-enforced lockdowns have disrupted this process.
Guneet Kaur was one of dozens of local comedians who had a show (a split bill with Page Bartelt) planned for the now-canned Sydney Fringe Festival. Back when venues were open, she was doing multiple gigs a week, refining and improving her jokes as she went. ‘I was obsessed with stand-up,’ she told ArtsHub.
The shutdown has made developing her craft a much more arduous task. ‘There are probably some comedians that can write and be funny in isolation, but I really need and value the feedback of an audience.’
In theory, comedians could use this downtime to write, but the uncertainty over when lockdown will end has created a sense of futility. ‘Without having anywhere to try out material, it feels pointless,’ Kaur said.
‘There are probably some comedians that can write and be funny in isolation, but I really need and value the feedback of an audience.’
Concetta Caristo, a fast-rising stand-up and the creator of the postponed one-woman show Siena, has a colourful analogy on the lack of release involved with writing, but not performing, stand-up; ‘It’s what I assume it’s like to jerk-off and not cum,’ she said.
‘I’m not writing religiously because it feels kind of useless, and my brain has switched off from stand-up comedy. At the same time, you still think of funny ideas, so I’m saving them up for later.’
It’s not just creative frustration that these comics face – there is a profound financial impact associated with living in lockdown. AJ Lamarque is both a performer (he made the NSW finals of last year’s Raw Comedy) and a producer and says the lockdown has meant he lost ‘quite a lot of money’ and the opportunity to provide work for his peers.
Government support isn’t there for emerging performers, Lamarque said. ‘Not being a business that earns $75,000, I won’t be seeing that [lost money] again. I imagine I’m not the only artist at the scale where you can earn good but not world-changing money, and [the lockdown] has a major impact. But it’s not good enough, according to the government, to be covered by their bailouts.’
Lamarque is also sensing a general pessimism from some in the industry that is impacting projects in development. ‘Last time, people were keen to keep things going … but the fatigue from this second lockdown means there’s a lot more hesitancy to commit to work.’
In addition to performing, Kaur used to run Yeah The Girls, a weekly all-women comedy night at the Chippendale Hotel. ‘Yeah The Girls was my passion project, and it really helped me financially,’ she said.
The first wave of lockdowns in 2020, which saw flagship festivals in Sydney and Melbourne cancelled, were already devastating, comedian Rosie Piper recalls. ‘When that happened, a lot of [comics] came round to mine, and we just sat around, ate KFC and cried,’ she said. ‘The aftereffects of that meant I wasn’t set up financially to do Melbourne this year.’ She now hopes to take her show, titled Goddess, to the festival next year if it goes ahead.
Perhaps surprisingly, the ebullient Caristo is generally sanguine about the current enforced hibernation. Having the creative outlet of her podcast Big Natural Talents (which she co-creates with fellow Sydney comic Lauren Bonner) has softened the blow. ‘It’s been a beacon of light,’ she said. ‘It’s a time when people are home and doing nothing, and craving content and connection. It’s great to have the opportunity to riff and share. It’s been effortless and fun.’
Caristo has taken up some television panel show opportunities and says the pandemic has made her more of a ‘chameleon’ in her comedy career.
‘It’s like I’ve lost an arm, but I’ve gained other arms, which I’m grateful for,’ she explained.
These new limbs do not, however, extend to doing stand-up online. ‘Absolutely not!’ she laughs. ‘Zoom comedy should go in the garbage! If it’s just someone doing stand-up over Zoom, that honestly seems bonkers.’
Sketch comedy seems more of a natural fit for online content. Lamarque staged some instalments of his inclusive Kweens of Comedy night online, with up-and-coming local comedians (including both Caristo and Piper) contributing sketches. He’s also embraced TikTok for short jokes.
‘It’s good to use that muscle and fine-tune it for different mediums. It’s not ideal, but it’s still satisfying,’ Lamarque said. ‘There are a few opportunities which I’m very grateful for, but nothing compares to the live experience.’
With no return to stages in sight, comedians have lost not just revenue and a sense of community, but another, often vital part of their identity.
‘Like many comedians, I’m not sure I’ve always got a super healthy attitude towards validation,’ Piper explained. ‘You get that on stage. You might have had a weird childhood, or maybe you were bullied, or you were like me and always felt weird because you’re trans. But then you get relatively good at comedy, and it becomes genuinely fun to take control of a room and create a good vibe that you’ve helped people experience.’ For now, all Piper and her fellow Sydney comedians can do is wait. ‘I’m aching to try some new stuff,’ she says. ‘I miss it tremendously’.
