Comedy which Kills women

From my column in Newcastle’s Journal newspaper, August 17th.

 

Stand up comedy needs darkness, visceral unpleasantness and naked bile and anger. And that’s just Frankie Boyle’s set. However, what it maybe could do without is the pervasive, offensive woman-hating that seems to invade the material of the  very young lads who are filling our stages in the hope of getting their first DVD deal by the time they’ve been weaned off the breast. I don’t want to think that the North East is any worse than any other region in the country for  blatant misogyny, however I sometimes have a tiny, sneaking suspicion that it’s not up there as the first place Germaine Greer would look for a holiday home. I speak having just compered a new act night. I wasn’t very good at doing it-I’ve become rusty through compering too many poetry nights where the biggest audience reaction comes from clearing their throat a bit too loudly. Nonetheless, by the time the third or fourth bloke had detailed their woman-murdering ejaculatory fantasy, I wished that I’d written some searing material which would both prove my rapier wit on behalf of the whole of womankind and lead them to a profound political conversion which would end with them holding up a banner at the Celebrity Big Brother launch saying “More Women of Substance in the Diary Room Chair Please”. Instead, I suggested one of the lads could headline a feminist conference and left it at that. This came in a week where two women in very different contexts- one a BBC production assistant and one a council worker-reluctantly admitted to me that they felt they’d hit a glass ceiling in their working lives, even though they hadn’t previously believed there was such a thing any more. I’ve been having more and more of these conversations recently. They tend to happen in whispers or low voices in the corner of a room filled with men. The tone is of disappointment rather than anger. Often one of the women will say something like “It’s just about confidence. If only we could bottle the confidence they have and borrow it”. I’m not about to burn my bra. If I did that, innocent small creatures I passed in the street could be cruelly crushed. We may just need to get some new imaginary hammers though. Not the ones in the stand up sets of men who talk bit too enthusiastically about murdering women. But ones to smash through those imaginary glass ceilings.

 

Saw this today from the Guardian’s Tanya Gold- more detail on the same issue at the Edinburgh Fringe

http://www.guardian.co.uk/commentisfree/2012/aug/17/heard-one-about-rape-funny-now

Advertisements

2 thoughts on “Comedy which Kills women

  1. Thing is, they’re not saying anything are they? All the rubbish they spout, there’s no subtext, no clever mirror, just empty brains. I tweeted a writer who was using the word rape completely out of context, as they do. He told me I was wrong, as simple as that.

    The freedom of speech thing is valid, clubs shouldn’t censor acts, if I ran a comedy club I’d ban the bastards, they wouldn’t get through the door.

    BTW, you shouldn’t beat yourself up about a bad compere slot, you’re the only one it matters to, all the others are thinking of new rape gags. Think of all the good gigs you do.

    • katefoxwriter says:

      Thanks alot Steve, appreciated. I think there’s a balance to be struck too. Young acts should have a safe space to test out the boundaries & hopefully conclude that uncensored woman-hating may not work so well. Then, female acts need a safe space where their acts aren’t being buggered up by the weirdness that ensues after three proto-comedy psychopaths on the trot.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s