Alexander Bennett brings self-excoriating comedy to #EdFringe 2023!

Alexander! The last time I was in a room with you was back in 2019 with “They called me Daddy punchlines.” That poster is still there, slightly tattered, in the upstairs room at the Waverley bar.

The Waverley bar is lovely. It really only has two floors as a venue and it gets baking hot. But it was a great free fringe venue for walk-up. Although once a week, there would be a fiddle band downstairs and some potential punters would see that and think “maybe not” and leave again!

Well then, how are you feeling about coming back up?

I am feeling great about it. I used to be one of those comics who went every year, and then the pandemic happened. I didn’t go up last year, so all of a sudden, it’s been four years since I did my last run.

Kind of mad. How does that even happen?

Now, obviously your new show, “I Can’t Stand the Man Myself,” continues your general theme of comedic self-excoriation.

Yeah! Why not keep establishing the brand?

And where have you taken this show that you haven’t taken other shows? Why is this the Heineken of your creative creations?

I would definitely describe it as the Heineken.

Well, during the pandemic, like a lot of people, I had my own little existential crisis. I realised that a lot of my problems essentially come back to self-hatred. That is the root cause of a great deal of my problems. So the show is basically written as a kind of mantra to remind me that that’s the thing I need to work on.

But also, the subtext of every comedy show is that the performer hates themselves, but I’ve chosen to make that front and centre. I think it is a hugely important thing in terms of why people behave in negative ways, certainly in why men behave in negative ways. And I had never seen anyone do a show about it. So I thought “I’ll do that!”

Now, this year you’re with Gilded Balloon, in the grand old Patter Hoose?

Yes. Nine, nine o’clock. Like everyone else on at nine o’clock, I thought I’ll go on at nine. That’ll be after all of the main shows. Then the brochure comes out and you think, “Ah, sh*t.”

It seems to be five o’clock and nine o’clock is where everything’s bunched this year.

You could probably use it as the basis for a study on group psychology?

Yeah. You know, luckily I’m only competing with Frank Skinner and John Robbins.

That’s fine then. To be fair Frank Skinner will be well on the way to being sold out, so it’s not really competition. Anyway, what do you think keeps bringing everyone back to Edinburgh? It’s not as if it’s getting any cheaper!

There are very, very few places where you can really, really work on one show and then kind of present it in a big splash. From a stand-up comic’s perspective, if you’re a touring comic, you’d normally work up lots of work-in-progresses and eventually feel it was ready for touring. That’s all well and good if you’re at that level.

There are a lot of us, with some profile, but who aren’t at that level. Having the kind of platform to say to people and to the industry, “Here’s the thing I’ve been working on….”that framework doesn’t really exist elsewhere. Also, what used to be more important than that was just the sheer creative side of, “Oh, I can do what I want for an hour. Okay. I’ll make a game show, I’ll make a weird thing, I’ll make a big event or do something stupid, or something really odd, but unfortunately, the sheer costs are wearing down the creative side. But it’s still there now. It’s still there.

In the end, there’s just no other comparable platform for you to. It’s the only structure there is to go, “This is the show. This is me really putting myself out there, let’s spend thousands and get eviscerating reviews doing that!”

The arts are too often a voluntary act of self-exploitation for most of us. Best we don’t think about it. So when you’re putting together a fringe show, you’re considering your slot, how long you’ve got, and whether your show is very written or if you’ll be learning it word for word. How do you approach the wibbly, wobbly side of being a stand-up?

I find that a tricky balance in Edinburgh. I’ve done a lot of improvised audience interaction, which is a skill set I like to showcase. Audiences respond well to moments that clearly happen in the moment. In Edinburgh, with just an hour to deliver everything, there’s little room for keeping things loose. If you’re doing a straight stand-up hour like me this year, there’s less room for looseness compared to when I used to incorporate songs and props.

I grab opportunities to be playful, whether it’s a joke or an act. It’s about giving the best version of myself in this hour. I seize those opportunities and adjust the delivery or add playfulness. Some parts of my show are deliberately written to provide a foundation for further development.

Finding the gaps and exploiting them is key.

And do you know when you’ve written something good? I mean, I know when I’ve written a good review. I can tell when it’s worked and when it’s not as good. Does it jump out at you?

Yeah, to be honest, I’m not one of those comics who writes 20 jokes and tests them on stage. If I write something good, I generally know it’s good. Then it’s a question of how good I can make it and articulation.

So when I perform it and get a certain reaction, I evaluate it. It may be good, but not as good as I thought, or it’s good and slightly better than I anticipated. Then I think about the articulation. Have I conveyed it in a way that lets the audience understand what’s funny about it?

I can’t think of a time I’ve said something on stage that I definitely think is funny and it didn’t get a reaction. I’m saying this outside of the context of a gig where everything goes wrong. In a normal gig, you know what’s good and what’s not going well. But sometimes you just get stared at for 20 minutes.

Well, your show’s subtitle is that you’re interrogating or trying to banish your critical inner voice. Has putting the show together helped with that? Would it be problematic to your comedy if you banished it altogether?

I don’t believe in the idea of “he solved all his problems and now he’s not funny.” That’s not how it works. Because you know if you were to resolve all your issues…

Well, that’s Michael McIntyre, isn’t it?

And it turns out all he needed to solve his problems was millions and millions of pounds…

How odd!

My show is definitely a kind of statement of intent to myself. So it’s the beginning of a long process.

Have you found your other shows have helped you with your own self-development or where you wanted to get to personally speaking? You’ve made a name for yourself as someone who puts it all out there, has it been a net good for you?

I think it has been. I was chatting to Siân Docksey yesterday – I’m directing her show this year. We were chatting about some of the stuff that’s in my show, and Siân was being lovely – basically looking after me, going, “Is doing this over and over again gonna make you miserable?”

Every comic has a different relationship to their material, but I do find talking about this stuff cathartic. As a person, I really struggle to express anger and things I’m angry about, and I’m angry about most things. Being on stage and talking in a very open way is a kind of anger valve release, but it’s anger in a positive way. It kind of releases the same tension in a more constructive manner.

Better to use it as fuel rather than being controlled by it? You’re channelling it?

Yeah, very much so. I don’t know why I ended up with this sort of material, because I used to do characters, and then I focused on one character act for a while. Since then I’ve become a straight stand-up, which is weird considering what I’ve done in Edinburgh over the years. But then I’ve always thought it’s good to experiment, and no one told me what the right thing to do was. So I just went off and was weird. I don’t know why I’ve ended up doing this kind of self-deprecating stand-up, but I suppose I like watching that sort of thing, and I find it inherently cathartic myself.

Who are or were your own comedy inspirations?

Well, when I first started, it was basically Ronnie Barker, Rick Mayall, and Rowan Atkinson. And before that, cartoons with really good comedy writing like The Simpsons and Futurama, amongst others. And then the first stand-ups I saw that really made an impact were Billy Connolly, Eddie Izzard, Jack Dee, and Dylan Moran. It was quite easy to understand how you could get on stage at a pub and do stand-up. I watched them on open mic nights, and Billy Connolly, in particular, had a strong influence.

Is Billy responsible for your grooming?

He’s not! He’s not responsible! But the thing about Connolly is that even as a child, he felt like someone I knew. That kind of connection set something off, and I thought, “Let’s see if we can do this.”

Yeah, and I think most of the stand-ups I like the best are in their own box, if you think about some of the people I’ve just mentioned. Dylan Moran, for example, is very much in his own category.

Ah, back when Dylan had his home in Edinburgh, I passed him many a time in the street, and managed never to say a thing. Momentous days. Anyway, Edinburgh approaches! Do you feel ready for the practical side? You’re an old hand at it. Is it like putting on your favourite pair of socks and just wandering in?

Well, the four-year break is so weird, in that it’s been four years and now I’m back. Yeah. I’ve done the fringe many times, but I’m still young. Ultimately, it boils down to wanting to sell tickets and make the show as good as possible. I’m doing everything I can to achieve both of those things. I wish I had more time to work on the show because the admin of Edinburgh takes up so much time. But I know where I can get the show to and what I need to do to get it there. You don’t stop working on the show once you’re at the fringe. I’m healthfully apprehensive, but it’s not my first rodeo here.

How do you want your audiences to leave then, cowboy? What do you want to have done to them in the hour you’ve had them at your mercy?

Ideally, they’d be first of all, sexually aroused. Secondly, disappointed in themselves for feeling that way. And then generally confused.

I think that’s refreshing because everyone else just wants the audience to come out saying what a good time they’ve had, rather than feeling shame and needing a therapist. But to be honest, if you can commit an audience to feel shame coming out of a show, you’d still sell out in seconds. It would be like an experiential, “I’m coming, give me some more of that, traumatise me please.”

Yeah, it’s strange to be back at a full-sized Fringe again. I did pop-up last year just to see which way the wind was blowing and if Edinburgh was still functioning as a festival, which it appeared to be. I also went for the glorious 2021 Fringe where there were virtually no shows.

But now it’s a full run, and I’ve been trying to book lots of guest slots to advertise myself to the audience. And I’ve forgotten just how tiring Edinburgh is.

Yeah, it will be fine. And you know, as someone who knows their way around the fringe, you’re now directing other people and fulfilling a pastoral role. How are you approaching your status as a respected figure that people look to for advice?

Well, I would entirely resist being seen as a respected figure. Though, when I do another session with Siân, I’ll refer to myself as being in a “pastoral role”. It’s flattering that anyone would want me to direct them, and I love it, I’m good at it, and I enjoy it. But in terms of being a respected figure at the fringe, I’m not. There are some real comedy nerds who would know who I am, and I’m grateful for them. But part of the ongoing project is to make more people know who I am, hence being in a paid venue this year. That’s the project.

How is it as an experience moving to a paid venue from the Free Fringe? How does it affect how you feel about it? Does it change your experience?

It is different, other than the cash. Ticket sales are different from just trying to sweep people in off the street, so it brings a different kind of anxiety. On the free fringe, you do everything yourself, which has its positives and negatives. Being in a paid venue with PR this year creates a lot of work, which I’m glad to be doing, but it takes a lot of time. It’s more work, and there’s more financial stake involved. But at least there will be someone preventing random people from just wandering into the room, and in many ways, it’s worth it for that.

I’ll start wrapping up now, you’ve been very generous with your time! Have you developed your elevator pitch for the show? Have you been practicing your sales pitch to the unsuspecting comedy victims?

This is an issue because, you know, I want to be out there pitching the show myself to people. Come and watch me talk about how much I hate myself for an hour: it’s really unappealing as a pitch. So I’ll have to start conversations with people, try to be charming and funny, and then say, “Come and see the show. Don’t worry about what it’s about.” Because the elevator pitch of my show is basically an anti-elevator pitch, which is listening to a man like… And obviously, the audience I want is the audience that can identify with that and find something to relate to in their own life. But in terms of approaching random strangers on the street and trying to get them to buy a ticket, it’s better if they just think I’m funny.

To me, what comes to mind is that you’re making a show out of the way people talk to each other when they’re very familiar with each other and make fun of things that possibly they wouldn’t allow outsiders to make fun of. But they still find it hilarious. You’re inviting your audiences over to that intimate side of your humor.

Here are the things that you probably only joke about with yourself or with one other person, but I’m opening it to you as well. Come on in, it’s going to be hilarious, and you might recognize yourself.

Well, I’m going to have to send you some money now because you’ve written me an elevator pitch. But that’s just how it makes me feel.

@alexanderybennett

Guy backs out of flirting #comedy #standup#standup#flirting

♬ original sound – Alexander Bennett

Are you embracing TikTok?

Embracing is not the word. I’m fighting it off with a knife, fearfully, regretfully, and timidly. I have put some TikToks out. But honestly, treating it purely as a marketing tool and feeling like I have to put videos out for that purpose makes me cringe.

I understand that if TikTok helps sell tickets, it’s worth it. But I have no interest in building a career solely on TikTok or other similar platforms.

The Fringe Society seems to be quite fond of TikTok, and though the QR has plans to join the crowd, TikTok will never capture the magic behind a good set.

Exactly, all the best Edinburgh shows I’ve seen fully utilise the hour-long format to build something meaningful. It’s not about condensing everything into short clips for advertising purposes.

It can be tedious to view everything as a marketing tool and create content specifically for that purpose.

Absolutely. The content I share on TikTok is more often clips of my crowd interactions during club gigs. It’s not me in a poorly lit room doing a bad sketch in a silly costume.

Well, that would be entertaining too. You should go for it.

I’m not sure how I feel about that idea, but I’m comfortable with being recorded in a club environment. However, basic crowd interactions don’t have the same impact as my full shows. When I engage with the audience based on their professions and riff off that, it doesn’t showcase all of my skills.

For sure. It requires a specific skill set to effectively engage with the audience in that way.

Exactly. People who are familiar with my excoriating Edinburgh shows may not be aware my more light-hearted interactions, that “Oh he really ripped that guy worked in I.T.” muscle I also possess.

You are a Swiss Army Knife of comedy!

What does the magnifying glass do?

It’s for small children to burn ants with?

I believe that’s what it says on the box.

Anyway! Thanks for chatting, I will send you, or rather TikTok you some pictures of your refreshed posters in 6 months time to keep your spirits up.

If you can get a photo of the poster I spent a small fortune having put up in the Potterrow Underpass, I’d consider it a favour!

Consider it done!