Amid all the comedy at the Cat Laughs Festival in Kilkenny, the child sex issue struck a note of ontroversy and danger, writes Deirdre Falvey, Arts Editor
What does a comedy festival seek to do? Push the comedy boat out and take risks with a bit of danger? Or give a huge number of people at a variety of gigs a good, not-too-challenging night out, with a smorgasbord of styles and materials? Both, ideally.
A big talking point at this year's Smithwick's Cat Laughs comedy festival in Kilkenny was Doug Stanhope, an American comic regularly described as "edgy" and "dangerous", and sometimes tiresomely compared to the late Bill Hicks. On Thursday night some people walked out during his act. Then, on Friday, at a full house of several hundred for a mixed bill of comics in Langtons, there was uproar.
It was a kind of triumph of misjudgment - a massive one by Stanhope and a lesser one by incoming festival director Eddie Bannon. Stanhope arrived in Ireland, read a few papers and realised that the hot topic of the day was under-age sex and swiftly wrote a routine on the subject - all well and good and commendably diligent (most American comics coast on acts they've been trundling around the US, sometimes for years).
Though he admitted he was in the dark about the story, Stanhope ploughed on, with some nonsense about the notion of statutory rape, saying that when someone's ready for sex, they're ready for it. And he talked about abuse victimhood lasting for years, becoming an excuse for "everytime they're 25 minutes late for work", how being fiddled with wasn't as bad as being beaten black and blue.
Stanhope's misjudgment came in failing to understand the story, or realise the deep feelings it had evoked, and how immediate it all was, and his comments - which came over as confused, ill-informed and obnoxiously offensive rather than challenging - tipped the balance for an audience already simmering with anger at what they'd read in that day's newspapers. In theory humour should be capable of helping to cauterise the worst of wounds. In practice, though, it's not a good idea to spark a cigarette in a fireworks factory. Bannon's slight misjudgment was in putting Stanhope on mixed bills - he's a "builder" and can't rattle off 20 minutes of gags.
While it's refreshing to see a comic who is trying to tap into something real, on this occasion he screwed up and the audience turned dramatically against him (chanting "off, off, off"). He was called off stage early, and Dara Ó Briain whisked into place ("are you cheering for me or because he's gone?"), a safe pair of hands to talk about Ryanair and our daft licensing laws. The audience's sigh of relief was palpable.
Stanhope was moved off the remaining mixed bills in the festival, but did his solo shows. Alone, he was far removed from the earlier mess, a stand-out piece of stand-up. Blunt and crude, his stage persona is a 40-year-old who is wasted from a lifetime of overindulgence and sleeping in his car (though he looked remarkably healthy for a physical wreck). But in a sea of soft observation about life's funny little ways, he was trying to provoke, to make people think about things, like the way we kid ourselves about work. "At least black people knew they were slaves."
Bannon's response to the Stanhope debacle was that some of the comics seek to provoke healthy debate and deal with controversial issues. "We are not a festival who censors comedians but we completely understand if any member of an audience chooses to leave if they find material offensive or unsuitable."
He has taken over the directorial reins from Richard Cook (who started the Cat Laughs along with festival producer Lynn Cahill). Cook is now chairman of the board, and was in and out of gigs delighted to have his hands off. Before the festival Bannon said that as a comic he loved to see an edgy comic who might stir things up and alienate 80 per cent of the audience, but as a festival director his reaction is horror at alienating 80 per cent of the audience. Stanhopegate pointed up that very dilemma.
Bannon's festival was busy, varied and vibrant, retaining one of its joys - the mixed bills - with a bit of innovation like the art installations around town, and the expanded "roadshow" where a selection of the comics tour the country this week.
Stanhope joked that he was playing ever smaller venues in Kilkenny, that he'd spent 16 years building up his self-esteem and three days in Kilkenny had knocked it out of him.
Also suffering from low self-esteem, at least in their adopted stage personas, were Marina Franklin and Nikki Payne. Franklin - not so much a sassy black American mamma as a Harlem comic who does a good line in sassy black American mammas - talked about why she goes for bad guys and why she breaks the hearts of any man who shows vulnerability. She seemed slightly startled, whether at her own behaviour, or because Irish audiences got some of her terms of reference. Canadian Nikki Payne's act was a mix of self-hatred and evil-minded minx, mocking her speech impediment and appearance. A most peculiar turn.
At the other end of the scale there was the more usual observational stuff. John Bishop ("I'm not from England, I'm from Liverpool") was very likeable, talking about driving from Waterford to Kilkenny - "It's the only country in the world where the roads are like Scalectric", (which I think was a reference to not being able to overtake).
Boothby Graffoe had a great line in odd fantasy, including a chat with his kitten. Ardal O'Hanlon skilfully played an audience which has moved away from expecting Father Dougal (thankfully) and got a good response. Aussie Adam Hills, always likeable, was in top form with guff about cultural differences. Kevin Gildea, easy with the audience, offered a mix of charm and cackle, with a dark edge. Rich Hall has bite and edge too, and this weekend had laryngitis, which he managed to make a virtue of.
And there were the bang-bang-bang merchants. The ubiquitous Jimmy Carr was ever efficient with his string-of-gags-delivered-with-a-sneer routine. How long can he keep up the live stuff when he is on the telly every second night? Also in the joke-laden category, but with a slightly more structured set and a more appealing persona, was Canadian Stewart Francis: "I do self-deprecating comedy. But I'm not very good at it." Bang. "My girlfriend says I'm afraid of commitment. Well, she's not really my girlfriend." Bang. Into a bookshop: "I'm looking for a book, How to Deal with Rejection without Killing. Have you got it?"Bang.
In contrast, Barry Murphy's proud boast was that he had one new joke this year (Diarmuid Gavin telling a joke about two monkeys. You had to be there), but he managed to coast on it and was key in events like the footie press conference and a show called Messin' with Barry Murphy and Friends. Owen O'Neill was also proud of his new joke.
Michael McIntyre was conventional but very easy and effortlessly funny, a real crowd-pleaser. He said the F-word a few times just because he was at a comedy festival, and that's what they all do, but you could sense his reluctance.
New Yorker Pete Coreale, a long-faced 36-year-old, had an entertaining act, talking about married sex and contraception, and the over-indulgence of dogs. Ed Byrne has abandoned the short-haired, bespectacled look and reverted to the geeky shoulder-length-hair image of years back, when he was a bit funnier.
The stars of Naked Camera got packed houses on foot of their TV fame, and put a good show together, primarily solid stand-up from Patrick O'Donnell, Maeve Higgins (as a loppy would-be bride in a veil, a delightful creation) and PJ Gallagher (manic, shouty stand-up and his whistling character from the TV show). With a show like this you're not sure what to expect, especially when there are two TV screens in front of the stage, and of course you can't do candid camera stunts live, but it was vaguely disappointing that the format wasn't more varied and they didn't use more screen clips.
A pleasure of Kilkenny as a festival is how it seems to take over the whole city, and there's a great vibe about, even among people not going to comedy gigs. It was hot-hot-hot, and crowded, and the streets were heaving well into the mornings. Because the place is so manageable and it's over a concentrated timeframe, you can't walk down the street without spotting a few comics, and increasingly the Irish ones are those recognised more than the international ones. This year the Fringe events - comedy gigs and a cartoon exhibition which were not part of the festival - were more organised and noticeable, and there is possibly scope to develop this. Dave McSavage made his usual unscheduled on-street appearance. And the endearingly shambolic Scot, Phil Kay, something of a Cat Laughs fixture, was seen busking outside pubs, even though he had his own solo shows inside.
The annual Sunday football match (Ireland vs Rest of the World) moved up a notch this year. On Saturday Barry Murphy (as Gunther) hosted a pre-match press conference, which was highly silly and very amusing. And a tannoy commentary from Murphy and Steve Frost made much more of the match, which, let's face it, is hardly an athletically impressive affair. For the record, the score was 4-all, and Ireland won on sudden death.
Back inside, a highspot was Stewart Lee's clever, polished solo show built around the nature of faith, belief and blasphemy. He's something of an expert, having been the subject of death threats from the fundamentalist religious right because of his co-authorship of Jerry Springer the Opera (he was also nearly prosecuted for blasphemy until the authorities realised, as he says, "that it wasn't 1509".)
Contemptuous and clever, this was an intelligent show that meandered entertainingly down many comedy byways. Like, for example, comedy plagiarism. He reminded us that a couple of years ago Jimmy Carr threatened to take Jim Davidson to court for pinching his material - though, as Lee pointed out, "if Jim Davidson's interested in your material, maybe you should have a look at your material". The show ended, and outside the venue, pint in hand, there was Jimmy Carr, chatting to Doug Stanhope. Only in Kilkenny.
