I’ve done it again. Left out the last part of Ads Part 42. I’ve fixed it, but sorry about that. Meanwhile, the risk of Australian standup comedy lingers. This chapter got sort of blurted out, don’t know what I think of it myself.
Buckley’s ads had done some good. He was working regularly and getting somewhere, which for a comedian is no small achievement. All of the agency and Dorothy had gone to Scorers, a restaurant nightclub in the Rocks which specialized in the offbeat. Sydney isn’t exactly short of entertainment, and the competition is tough. Buckley was an acquired taste as an act, because unlike most comedians, he tended to be topical. No exciting jokes about his underwear, or his deep sexual attraction to buses, none of the alternative comedy which has proven such a great alternative to comedy.
Some of his favorite targets were other comedians. This didn’t endear him to them much, but the sources of material were pretty impressive. Buckley got bored with standup, and would improvise whenever it occurred to him. He was currently dealing with a heckler.
“Would you mind masturbating somewhere else?” (points to middle table) “Don’t worry, it’ll come, just pull your ears a bit faster and think of yourself in a little black dress.”
The guy, naturally, ranted like a maniac and was thrown out. Buckley kept on with his monologue throwing in jibes as they dragged out the heckler:
“It’s always interested me that so many Australian comedians…..you go round the furniture, mate, you’re not supposed to have sex with it…. so many Australian comedians try to be Americans. Of course all Australians grew up in Watts in the 1990s, so there’s a real cultural heritage. We know what it means to be a pseudo American street kid in Australia in your late thirties. “Woo, yo, bro, and Ooh you ho’”, and the rest of the act’s usually as dead as that, too. It’s called lack of identity, you see it on TV every day. It’s contagious, too. You leave home as a person and come back as a market sample. MTV For Morons. Think about that for a minute…
Not that many comedians could be too funny as anything but themselves. “I’m an Australian comedian, I played Star Casino, Wynyard Station, and I dress like a bin liner with emotional problems….do I know you?” The line “Do I know you?” is an old showbiz snub, it usually comes from nobodies, trying to be somebodies. There’s one guy….he does have a name, it’s just that I can never be bothered to remember what it is…..the only funny thing about him is him. He’s the most tragic example of Everyone’s Little Pet. Easy to work with, too. He does nothing. People sign him up anyway. Terrified that someone will cap his jokes, too. I was on TV one night and he was on the panel, and all he did was laugh uproariously after everyone else started. I doubt if he knew what he was laughing at, but he was on for six months, and I got thrown off that same night after pointing out on camera to one of the panel members that a dead cockroach could deliver a line better than he could.
There’s always a subtle threat of entertainment on TV. Even on talk shows. Usually there’s a sort of pecking order, where everyone smiles ingratiatingly at whoever’s got the biggest set of genitals. That person generally dominates. Give you an example; the Dominant Alpha Moron starts off:
(Buckley can do voices. First character has a too deep, too-macho drooling sound)
“Well, there’s been a lot of talk about the hospitals lately. (Buckley comments in normal voice: “Pause for laughs and some antacids”, returns to first character) What do you think, Barry?”
(Second character squeaks)
“Aw, I think doctors and hospitals are too depressing. People should lighten up and get on with their lives.”
(First character again)
“If they’re still alive….”
(Buckley imitates laughs from panel)
“A…(monotone) ha-ha-ha-ha…… (shrill) E-he-he-he-e-haw…. SHRIEK rasp, rasp….”
(Buckley returns to normal)
The last bit was this guy I was talking about….you see why I wasn’t too worried about not doing that show. I could have been out doing something exciting, like picking my nose, or waiting for a colostomy bag to fall out of the sky…. Bit like his act, really…. It’s not all fun and gravity-assisted bodily wastes in the entertainment industry, you know. Sometimes there are people……with names….usually incredibly ugly and certified no-talents, and you have to work with them. I was working with a woman on a sketch a few years ago. Try this for a conversation:
“Hullo, I’m Buckley.”
“Oh.”
That’s actually an understandable reaction to me by normal people… my mother said much the same thing. Of course, she didn’t mean it like that…Mum meant “Oh God!” This person meant “Oh….good…now I don’t have to have that hysterectomy.” Really enthusiastic listener. Obviously I was dealing with a superior idiot. I opened up the conversational floodgates a bit further:
“I’m working with you on this sketch.”
“Oh.”
Equally animated. I’ve seen bricks with more personality. Too bloody exciting for words, isn’t it? I thought my next comment was a masterpiece of understatement:
“Yeah, we’re having wild sex in the middle of George Street on top of that waiter when the police come and arrest you and I have to save you with only a salmon salad. Then we’re on the run and you get shot by a Pomeranian.”
“Oh.”
…Some people who have been on TV for a while are actually dead, it’s just that nobody cares. Anyway, it’s cheaper. I was at a bit of a loss for words by this time and was coincidentally looking for some fly spray, when her manager arrived.
“Come on….(better not say the name)….It’s time for your promo shoot.”
“Oh.”
So off she goes. The sketch just isn’t happening. I eventually manage to crash tackle the director and ask what’s happened to the sketch. Someone else is doing her bit. I naturally assumed that they’d dug up Lassie, and sure enough, in good time, along came another something-or-other, and I introduced myself. By now, you’d think I’d know better than to talk to anyone. I couldn’t get a word in:
“Oh, (girlishly) hi, Buckley. I love your work. I think you’re great. I really like your monologues. You’re so talented. I always try to catch your act whenever I’m home in Australia….”
Originally, it was so overdone I thought she was joking. She had to be, I thought. But no, she wasn’t, and she never shut up. It was excruciating. I could only put up with a few hours of it. I eventually escaped this smarmy sow by sneaking out a window while she was telling me that she wanted to name her kids after me…. when we had them. I mean…. Buckleyetta……really…….
Naturally, I insisted they bring the conversational corpse back to do the sketch…”