Pull the Other One

Although I love jokes and pranks of all sorts, the one thing I dread is bad comedy. Tell me, is there anything worse in this world than a stand-up performer who goes on and on and on and on about something that really isn't funny? This fear of mine is so strong that it has completely stopped me from attending any kind of comedy performances in London. Until yesterday, that is ...

When my friend M. asked if I wanted to go to see Pull the Other One at the Jermyn's Street Theatre in the West End, I said yes yes yes. M. and I went to boarding school together, and she had always been the artsy one in our group. I loved spending my evenings and weekends with her, because it would always be weird and wonderful and different in some way ...

Yesterday was just as I had expected: the acts were delightfully silly. I didn't need M. to tell me that the host Vivienne Soan was her aunt. They look the same, they wear the same crazy-cute outfits and they have the same sense of humour. Among the performers, there was Simon Munnery with a stand-up act rambling on about everything and anything, including an impression of Bob Dylan; there was Holly Burn dressed in leopard print head-to-toe and pretending to be one of those totally drunk women who think they are verrrry sexy. (Typical sight outside any club in England at 2am.) There was "Pants Off", a lady in the middle of a mid-life crisis with an accordion who dreams of becoming a rock star. (Haven't we all seen these lost souls audition for the X Factor?), and there was Emi Ogle, the contortionist. Last but not least, Matthew Robins with his slightly morbid episodic operatic shadow-puppet theatre, which totally made me want to buy an overhead projector. Here's an example of the stuff he does:


Unfortunately, M.'s uncle, Martin Soan (the master of props comedy) couldn't make it onto the stage because he was driving the mini bus that would take the performers back to Peckham, and because they had to clear out the venue so quickly ... Yeah, you've gotta love these small-scale productions and their innocently sweet but honest excuses. :o)

The evening brought up a few feelings in me that had nothing to do with comedy. It got me thinking about ambitions. Performing in London's West End is no doubt something that most actors in the world would be proud of. But after a lifetime devoted to performances and rehearsals, would this be enough for me? According to its website, the Jermyn Street Theatre was once the changing rooms for the staff of the Getti Restaurant (formerly the Spaghetti House Restaurant) upstairs. It's a tiny underground venue that seats 70 people, although it feels more like 30. Last night, the theatre was only half full, and most of the people in the audience seemed to be performers waiting for their turn, or people in some way related to the performers. These people aren't famous, and I can bet you there was barely enough cash to pay for the venue hire, and the parking charges and petrol for their mini bus. So why on Earth are they doing it?

At school, I spent my evenings cramming German irregular verbs and tore my hair out over differential equations and the photoelectric effect. Meanwhile, M. did theatre, played the drums and spent hours and hours searching for berries, bark and leaves to use as natural fabric-dye for her art projects. Even in my early teens, I worked hard because I knew I wanted to achieve something. Yet, I'm sure M. wanted to achieve something too. My ambitions were conventional, hers were not. As grown ups, we both got what we wanted: I don't have to worry about the difference between a Tube fare and a bus fare, but guess who has more free time and more fun.

It got me thinking about confidence, too. When I'm 50 years old, with more than just a few lines around my eyes, will I have the guts to stand up in front of people wearing a frilly dress, an oversized fur hat or odd socks, and make fun of myself? Most likely, I wouldn't know if the audience is laughing with me or at me. I would end up going home alone, drinking too much wine and crying myself to sleep. (Typical Bohemian?)

Pull the Other One is a regular show at the Ivy House in Peckham, offering 3 hours of variety show and comedy for £10, every last Friday of the month.