Homepage News Reviews - Acts - Shows - Screen - Radio - Books - Clubs Interviews Awards 2006 Edinburgh 2005 - Reviews - Blog - Previews Features Archive Awards 2005 Edinburgh 2004: - Previews - Shows - Diary Guestbook Forum © Emporium Of Mirth 2004 Editor: Lauren Murphy Reporters: Fiona Wilkie Natalie Joanne	Emporium of Mirth Marcus Brigstocke It’s the recording of the last Now Show of the 12th series, and the cast are eager to get back to the bar of the Drill Hall. We annoyingly catch Marcus Brigstocke before he manages to do just that, and remind him that he’d promised to give us an interview the week before. He seems only too happy to, and, looking very fetching in a denim cap, leads us to a quiet part of the studio (vexing the staff who want to clean up) and sits us down to talk. Marcus has recently returned from a gallivant to Hong Kong, and was temporarily replaced on The Now Show by Andy Zaltsman. We begin at the obvious beginning and ask him how the trip went. “It was good, you know, ex-pat audiences are great, they’re so desperate for entertainment. So they’re very pleased to see you. Take a jar of marmite, they’d follow you anywhere. Then I had a bit of time in Thailand as well, and ex-pats of Bangkok are even more pleased to see you. It’s a bit more, kind of vivid and real in Bangkok. So, yeah, it was great a good trip.” There’s a pause before Marcus says, poignantly, “I missed my son.” We ask how old he is, and there is true parental pride in his eyes as he answers. “One and a half.” We change the subject before he gets too gooey, and ask him about his pre-comedic exploits. “Well, all sorts. I was briefly chief beverages operator in the Little Chef which is a good job to have, I’d recommend it. I worked as a dancer for a while in nightclubs…” he sees our questioning glances, and quickly justifies himself. “Nothing saucy! Just on, you know, podiums, fully dressed!” He continues. “I worked on an oil rig… sounds like I’m making these up, but I’m not, honestly, these are my list of jobs.” We must have looked incredulous without meaning to. “Rehab, before I was a comic… quite a while before. I was a bit rubbish at jobs actually…” he interrupts himself. “Ooh, Tower Records, for ages, worked in a record shop.” This is obviously the job he is most proud of. “Got all my records at a 30% discount.” He goes on to explain how Rosie Gaines managed to get him into the front row of a Prince concert. We bring up the subject we’ve been itching to talk about, Giles Wemmbley Hogg (two Ms, two Gs). We ask the inexorable question, where the idea for Giles came from. He looks adorably at the ground. “Ahh, it was me. Just me. After I worked on the oil rig, I went travelling, and I was terribly earnest. You know, I got there, I bought a sarong, I shuffled about in bare feet, I did everything. I didn’t have my hair dreadlocked, which was a mercy. But then, I came back, and I also shuffled around London in a sarong and a goatee beard and was very very Giles-like.” He considers. “I don’t hate Giles at all. I have a great affection for him. And I wasn’t an absolute wanker, but I was a bit of a wanker. You know, I was sort of espousing little bits of Buddhist wisdom that I’d picked up, that actually are quite solid.” We point out that it’s impossible to not have affection for Giles. “Well, exactly. You’ve gotta love him in a kind of retarded way.” We sensed it was about time for an anecdote. “In Thailand, this trip, I was in a restaurant on like, the second day I was there, and every guide book, the first page, says, ‘couple of dos and don’ts, firstly, don’t show the souls of your feet, the Thais really don’t like it, it’s really quite offensive. Secondly, don’t sit about with no shirt on, especially in restaurants, it makes them quite uncomfortable’. Bloke sitting like this, with his foot up…” Marcus executes a gymnastic manoeuvre and crosses one leg over the other. “…bare foot, bare top in a restaurant, going, ‘Pad Thai. We ordered two Pad Thai.’ I was just, like, ‘thank God Giles is still out there. He’s still travelling.’ Yeah, so Giles was me, but he’s a million other travellers I think.” We ask where he met his fellow writers/performers on We Are History and The Museum of Everything, Dan and Danny (Tetsell and Robins respectively). “Danny was on my course…or I was on Danny’s course at Bristol uni, and Dan had already graduated, but was too afraid and messed up to leave Bristol when he should have done. So we trapped him. We sort of grabbed him and went, ‘don’t leave, you’re brilliant!’ and he remains brilliant. I’ve always been quite ambitious, and when I went to Bristol I had a tweedy green suit and a sort of gold waistcoat, and I saw Dan doing some stuff, and at that stage all I knew was that I wanted to do comedy but I didn’t really know what, and I sort of marched up to him and went, ‘Hello! I’m Marcus. Want to do comedy, like you…’ and he was terrified and didn’t really know how to run away, so he kind of got trapped into working with me. He’s never really had the courage to leave, to be honest. And, you know, I shared a flat with Danny for years, so we’re good mates… that sit in silence snarling at each other when we try and write, but I hope the results are worth it.” We have to agree. We suggest that having the same sense of humour as your fellow writers has to be a bonus. “Yeah. Exactly. Although it’s interesting, Dan’s sense of humour is naturally quite dark. Danny’s quite, sort of, gag-based, I would say, and mine is probably more character-based. So, the three of us hopefully manage to come up with funny stuff.” We ask him about his comedy debut. “The first gig I ever did was the Kiss FM comedy competition. Kiss FM usually do a thing for open mic spots, and I’d failed to get into drama school and was very depressed, and a mate said, ‘why don’t you go and do comedy? That’s sort of what you do.’ Coz in those days I was just relentless. I did voices all the time, I was a pain in the arse.” Marcus laughs at his self-derisory nature. “So he took me, and kind of went, ‘go on!’ And I came second in this competition on, like the first gig I ever did, and I thought ‘this is great! There’s something in this.’ I didn’t do much else until I formed a double-act with Danny- we used to do stand-up as a double act. That was great for a while until we realised that as a stand-up double act you have to halve the money. So we stopped doing that.” We decide to ask what we hope is a tongue-in-cheek question; whether he makes a conscious attempt to be controversial in his comedy, or if that’s simply the unintended result. “Well, no, I don’t really. What happened was…I think my role on The Now Show was a bit… you know, not sure. For a long time, I didn’t really know how I fitted in. I was thrilled to be part of it, but wasn’t sure what to do. And then the war came along…” Marcus stops and mocks himself in an old-man voice. “Then the war came along, blah blah blah…no, the run up to the war came along, and for the first time I really found myself caring deeply about certain things, and I sort of thought, ‘well, here we go, let’s have a go at actually writing about some things that I mind about.’ And it worked really well for me in that I found it more interesting, and the audience often laughed but sometimes went, ‘no, we’re not having that.’ But in either case I found it much more satisfying. So, what I’ve tried to do is stick to the rule that if I don’t care, I’m not going to try and generate any feeling about it. Everything that I’ve done-and I’m running out very fast! Everything that I’ve done I do feel quite strongly about, so, no, I don’t try and be controversial. I kind of hope that some of the views will be challenging.” Our beloved editor chips in, asking if this rule holds true for his stand-up as well for The Now Show. “Yeah, well, that actually even more so, because it’s not being broadcast, so I can actually call people what I would like to call them, and say things I like! Although in some ways I’m more cowardly with stand-up. With radio and telly you’ve got the benefit of an edit. Last series I had a whole bit cut… I did David Blaine one week, and it was a glorious rant.” We remember it well. “And the next week, I was just spent. There was nothing left! And it was a rubbish bit I did and it was just cut in its entirety. Whereas with stand-up, that matters. People have paid to get in, and you can’t have a night that’s just completely rubbish.” Marcus sees an opportunity to plug himself. “I’m going to Edinburgh this year for the festival, so I’m trying to generate that courage to actually really talk about things that matter to me.” We ask about the main stance of the Edinburgh show. “I’ve decided that I must go through all my Now Show scripts! Coz there’s some stuff there that I could do as stand-up, and I haven’t really done that yet. It’s gonna be a question of finding a through-line. I, as of today, decided to call the show Collateral Damage, which I’m gutted to discover is an Arnold Schwarzenegger film.” We point out that this unfortunate factoid can be worked into the script, and/or a rip-off of the film poster can be used as a promotional gimmick. “Yeah, I’ll have to! I can have people coming to see Arnold Schwarzenegger. Possibly Americans coming to vote for him. But, no, collateral damage as a term, as a way of describing sort of accidentally killing children, is pretty much the most disgusting and despicable thing out there. So that’s the starting point for it, to kind of do what I do on the Now Show, find people that sicken me and confront them.” On a related topic, we ask about him recently being the recipient of a complaint to Feedback re: a rant about the MMR jab possibly causing autism. “I was quite upset, really. Mainly that no-one had complained about things that I’d done about the war! I was desperate for someone to write in and say [the old-man voice comes out again] ‘our glorious boys’ and all that sort of stuff, because I have an argument. Whereas I don’t have an argument against parents of autistic children, that just wasn’t the aim. The aim of the Rain Man gags which is sort of what upset people, the aim of that was to talk about people’s perception of autism and what it is. But then, the process of going on Feedback and actually answering some of those things, and also having the opportunity to apologise, and saying if you were offended…” Marcus pauses again to consider, obviously aware that he’s re-treading treacherous ground. “In some cases, some doctors were offended, and I think that was knee-jerk and they were wrong. But, if you were offended then that’s my failing as a writer. I’ve failed to get across the point that I’m not having a pop at autistic people.” This seems extremely diplomatic and noble of him, when it could be so easy to slate an audience for riling against the mere mention of a controversial topic, so much so that they fail to listen to the jokes and point portrayed within them. But his confrontational nature isn’t tied down completely. “I wish people would complain more, because a lot of the stuff I have burning around inside my head isn’t funny at all and I’m just dying to get into an argument. So I can shout.” We inquire as to his preferred medium for performing. Stand-up or radio? “I am essentially a bit of a tart. And when I say that I mean that I like performing very much. I write so that I can perform. I mean, I get to act from time to time, but it’s too slow. It’s not enough for me, so I write. I do enjoy writing now, but it is definitely a means to an end. So the answer is, succinctly… I’ll pretty much do anything.” We can’t complain about that. He continues about his love of being the centre of attention. “I said I used to dance in nightclubs, and it was just, like… [another voice, this time akin to an excited kid at Christmas] ‘look at me!’ You know, if I could sing, I would. I’d love to be a pop star, but I can’t sing.” Focusing on stand-up, we ask about his best heckle experience. Or worst, depending on whether he’s an optimist or a pessimist. Or something. “I’m not much good at dealing with hecklers, I get very annoyed. You know, because what I do here [at the Now Show] is similar, I get a train of thought going, and when people interrupt, that’s not in my mental script. Occasionally it’s great. I had a heckle in Jersey this week, a Brummy woman shouted, ‘Get ‘em off!’, and I went, ‘what? Get what off?’ and she went, ‘anything?’ Which I just thought was great. Best heckle I ever heard of was a bloke dying on stage and someone just went [in a perfectly bored Northern accent] ‘there used to be a pool table in here.’ Which I think is pretty much the coldest heckle in the history of heckling. But, contrary to the myth, most stand-ups don’t like hecklers. We don’t generally think heckling helps the show along. There’s nothing worse than some pissed idiot shouting throughout your set and then coming up to you and saying, ‘Eh? You and me? Didn’t we banter, didn’t I help you along?’ And you think, ‘No. I made you look like a dick because that’s my job and it’s so easy.’ I think that’s why I don’t like it actually, coz with a microphone and a few years of experience, making someone look like an arse is a doddle. I can do it in a heartbeat. And the audience generally loves it. You do a good heckle put-down, and they’re like…” Marcus somehow creates a noise in his throat that sounds uncannily like applause. “ ‘You’re the funniest man in the world!’ I mean, you take people that I think are great great comics, Ross Noble, Daniel Kitson, they very rarely what I would call heckled. They turn pretty much every heckle into a contribution to the show that they’re doing. And, if I’m honest, I kind of wish I had that ability, but I don’t, because it’s not the way that I write.” We expand on Marcus’ point about Ross Noble by suggesting that he actively encourages the heckles as part of his act (anyone who’s seen the genius Geordie live will be aware that he always finishes by asking for questions from the audience). “He does. He’s just attracted nutters. People come out with, ‘WOMBAT!’ It’s coz everyone knows he’s gonna do something great with it. I love Ross.” We mention Love Actually, Marcus’ big screen debut, in which he plays the part of Mikey, a radio DJ who interviews Bill Nighy’s character Billy Mack. Was he annoyed or relieved that he didn’t get a bigger part? He chuckles. “Ah, well, there’s the thing! Well, I don’t know. I liked the script. I think ultimately the film just didn’t work. There were just too many strands, you know? But I did like the central premise. I loved that airport thing…” Marcus is interrupted by a kindly woman asking him what time he’d like his taxi, then telling him that it has to be at half past nine. A large amount of choice. “What was I saying? Yeah, I loved that thing that the world is full of hatred, but go to the arrivals and we can see that love actually is all around us. I was genuinely moved by that, and then, travelling back just recently, I realised you only have to go about ten yards from there to see that people actually fucking hate each other. Baggage reclaim. Don’t they just hate each other? There’s a yellow line…” Marcus performs something resembling mime, presumably portraying pushing through a crowd of people to step right up to the line. “‘Fuck you! I’m standing as near to the edge as I can, and not only that, I’m bringing my trolley and family with me, and I’m gonna lean forward as well so no-one can see.’ So I realised that love actually is all around us provided it’s people that you know and you’ve arranged to meet.” Marcus drags himself back to the point of the original question. “So, yeah, I dunno, it was a thrill, like it or not, Richard Curtis wrote Blackadder, so… a day working with the man who wrote Blackadder, no matter what you think of his films, for me is a massive thrill. Just fantastic.” He considers again. “No, I was pleased with the part I had. I thought the scene was funny, and it made people laugh- when I watched it anyway, so… but it was a mixed bag, wasn’t it?” The description of it seems perfectly apt. We finish by asking for his recommendations and avoidance tips for the world of stand-up. “Ooh, crikey. I can’t say any to avoid coz that would be mean-spirited, although…” He obviously wants to name names, but restrains himself. “I would say any stand-ups that have a line that is, or is similar to, ‘Aren’t men a bit different from women?’ in their set would be avoidable. Or, ‘Ooh, cats, aren’t they different from dogs?’ Brilliant. Lots of compares to avoid. Show compares. Tons of them are absolutely rubbish.” Again, he infuriatingly refuses to name-drop. “There is a certain amount of hackery around the circuit, and it does slightly sadden me that it’s accepted so readily by audiences. You know, I look sometimes at people going out and going, ‘aren’t men different from women?’ and audiences just falling about, and I think, ‘in three or four minutes’ time, I’m gonna talk to these same people about the Hutton report.’ And I kind of get quite depressed. I sort of think, ‘I might have to tell them what the Hutton report was.’ That’s quite selfish really, but it does bother me.” Marcus shifts into a slightly more positive tone. “Comics to watch… best comic working on the circuit at the moment is Andrew Maxwell. By fucking miles. Just far funnier than nearly everybody else, and fantastically well-read, sharp… just a great, totally unfettered mind, he’s a joy to watch. He’s quite political and heavy, and then I love just really daft, silly, stupid comedy. I still love Tim Vine, and the Raymond and Mr Timkins Revue just for their out-and-out silliness. Dave Fulton’s fantastic, I’ve just toured around with him, I’m a big fan of his stuff. Excellent. Ross, Daniel Kitson.” Without needing any prompting, Marcus starts recommending comedy clubs. Or perhaps he’s just plugging his gigs. “The Glee Club, Birmingham, you’re more or less guaranteed a fantastic night out. It’s probably the best comedy club in the country. It’s laid out beautifully, the room looks nice, the audience are cared for… the grub’s quite good. They play fantastic music, and therefore good comics want to play it and it brings the best out of them. I think in London, the best room is probably the Banana Cabaret in Balham, I would say. The Comedy Store, you know, you’re absolutely guaranteed a fantastic night of comedy, but the Balham Banana is a bit more, sort of, loose. You never know what you’re gonna see there. You might get someone die on their arse, but when people fly there they really fly. That’s a good room. So go there.” Brigstocke has spoken, dear readers. See you all down the Banana Cabaret tomorrow night? The Museum of Everything, featuring Marcus, is on Thursdays, 11pm, Radio 4 (ending 22nd April) For more information, go to www.marcusbrigstocke.com Marcus was interviewed by Nat and Fee, spring 20004 RSS  Printable version	Visit our Siamese Twin Sister Site!