THE PROTAGONIST

I've been struggling with editing the existing episodes of The O Show because I can't reconcile my desired aesthetic with the production values achieved in the recordings of the live events. This concern has come to a head since showing my work (and this particular clip) at a talk on Saturday as part of the exhibition For Our Freedom Years organised by two of my former students Kerry Clarke and Gemma Donavan. The question keeps coming up, is the 'look' of the video document a conscious choice? Are you going for an anti-chat show aesthetic? Sadly, the answer is: I did what I could under the circumstances, so no, it doesn't have the 'look' I most want. I'd love for The O Show to approximate more closely the production values of mainstream talk shows, but I simply don't have that kind of budget. I could go for a more consciously alternative aesthetic, a highly personalised one, as Jennifer Sullivan has done with her It's a Process series, creating the set out of her own paintings and sculptures. As of now the solution is yet to be found. I want to create a visually stimulating and thought-provoking video series, but I also want to push the show forward in terms of content which means simply making more shows despite the shoestring budget. Do I put future shows on hold while I do some fundraising to acheive higher end production values or do I go on making shows that work as live events and don't translate as well to video? Does performance documentation have to be boring and ugly? Can I find a compromise?

The below TED talk video is not only fascinating in terms of the content, but it looks great. Clearly a large sum of money has gone into this. I'm wondering if I can approximate these production values for my shows with slightly less extravagant means. 

 

A collection of quotes and paraphrased statements from Trashing Performance's public programme last week which regrettably may hold less meaning here as they are out of context, but perhaps they will remind me and the other participants/audience members about what we experienced: 

At yesterday's Trash Salon, as a response to the question of how to do things with waste, I orchestrated a raffle of ideas - an exchange of unfulfilled art aspirations. These were the instructions:

I don't know who I admire more, the guests or the host.

Inspired by the Metal Comedy Lab, I have decided to put some energy into making my opening monologues at the start and end of The O Show a lot funnier. They say the best thing an aspiring comic can do is watch other comedians. So I spent a day watching youtube stand-up clips, which was exhausting and not as much fun as you would imagine it to be. The above clips gave me some confidence...

Alex Horne

Shaista Aziz

Simon Munnery

On day 2 of the Metal Culture workshop on comedy, we met with three stand up comics, Alex Horne, Shaista Aziz and Simon Munnery, who shared their back stories and tips of the trade. As a group we then discussed the differences between comics and performance artists and came up with the following key points:

• The sole intention of the comic is to amuse and entertain. Performance artists intend to produce a range of responses but also (on the whole) feel compelled to be critical of the status quo (although that can be a side effect of the comedian's material too). Performance artists might be criticised by academics, critics and audience members for being (merely) funny or entertaining.
• The comic never takes him or herself seriously. Performance artists, on the other hand, always do.
• The comic relies on hearing/gauging the response of the audience to asses how their routine is going. Performance artists don't always have such a responsive interaction with the audience.
• The audience of a comic can usually expect to be amused. The audience of a performance artist can usually expect to be bored.
• Comics perform for an audience of strangers, some of whom are openly hostile and engage in practices like heckling. Performance artists perform for audiences that usually consist of their peers who watch/listen politely and sometimes, if the artist is lucky, offer praise or constructive criticism.
• Comics like to make people feel uncomfortable, but not in a bad way. Performance artists like to make people feel uncomfortable.
• Both comics and performance artists need to consider the context of their performances, but to water down one's act is not an option.
• Penny Arcade is a good example of someone who straddles the worlds of comedy and performance art.
• Comics have to perform night after night to support themselves, often repeating the same routine for years. Performance artists (sometimes get research grants and) may spend months preparing for a single performance.
• Both comics and performance artists use their own special jargon, for example: to kill, to bomb, the setup, the punch line, heckler, blue / criticality, piece, contextualisation, performativity, characterisation, etc.
• There is no formalised education for stand-up comics other than some short courses; you can't get a degree in comedy, but a surprising number of British comedians went to Cambridge. Most comics learn their trade in front of an audience - stage time is key. Many performance artists have graduate level training in art or theatre, while others are self-taught.
  
• To use another comic's joke is to steal. To use another performance artist's piece is to re-enact, cite or appropriate.
• Mel Brimfield has succeeded at convincing us that there is no difference between Gilbert & George and Morecambe & Wise.
• At the end of their careers some comics and performance artists will find out what the long term effects of peddling filth and untruth actually are.
• When giving a talk about their work, stand-up comics tend to stand. Performance artists either sit or stand when giving lectures on their work.
  
• Much of the above isn't particularly funny and that's probably because it was written by a performance artist.

I've been whisked away for the week thanks to Metal Culture and Oreet Ashery who have invited me and several other performance artists to Southend on Sea to explore the role of humour in our work. We're spending the week in a lovely four-storey Grade II listed, Georgian building set within the grounds of the well loved and used, Chalkwell Park. Metal's mission was summed up for us as such: 'to give artists the time and space to do what ever the fuck they want to do.' These past two days have proven that this is in fact a completely supportive, interdisciplinary environment built on idealism and with the funding to fuel those noble principles. The building itself, Chalkwell Hall has been renovated to save the earth with wind-turbines buzzing between the chimneys and photovalic tiles on the glass roof; it's also totally wheelchair accessible. We're fed home-cooked meals; on Monday we had a raspberry crumble that was baked by the managing director Colette Bailey. Staff, guests and artists eat side by side with each other, giving it a homely open feeling. I've been granted time and space to explore without the pressure of producing something final, or this can be a period of intense research and production, staying up into the wee hours of the morning making art, if that's what I want it to be; it's entirely up to me. No pressure. All of these comforts and reassurances have been giving me a sense of serenity and calm, yet all the while I know in the back of my mind I've got to be funny.

Excerpt from Charles Atlas' video Rainer Variations (2002)

Since 2009 I've been thinking about Yvonne Rainer's 'No Manifesto' and how I could re-perform one of her choreographic pieces in a way that makes sense of my love of both the avant-garde and the burlesque. Charles Atlas has beat me to it.