Sarah Millican--The Queen of Comedy

by Tina Campanella

  It’s an attitude that led her to begin constantly honing and perfecting her act, something that she still does today. Whenever she puts on a new show, Sarah says she does at least 30 previews at small venues before she even sets foot on a main stage. She tries things out, checking what works and discarding what doesn’t.

  ‘I love writing new jokes,’ she says. ‘I love trying new jokes out. I love the feeling they get when they work. I love the process of shaping a show. It’s a bit like gardening – you know that not all your seedlings are going to take, but at the end there’s going to be a good tomato plant.’

  It’s a process that she took very seriously, even at her first gig. ‘It’s hard work. It’s not hard work like being a nurse or being a fireman. But it’s hard in that there’s no magic formula. You’ve just got to work your arse off.’

  As she finished that first five-minute slot, she bounced off the stage, feeling more alive than she had in months. She was in control of her life again, and it felt good.

  After being congratulated on her performance, the first thing she did was pick up the phone and call home. ‘Yeeess!’ she squealed, full of excitement. Her next words were particularly poignant. ‘Dad, he may not love us, but there were 50 in there who did,’ she enthused. ‘It was the best night of my life.’

  It was the ultimate therapy for Sarah and it helped put the pain of her husband’s rejection into perspective. For the first time, she must have understood that she was starting to heal. As she herself has explained: ‘I’d already had the worst kind of rejection. An audience not laughing is nothing when your husband’s just told you he doesn’t love you anymore. To have one person look at you and go “No”… somehow 50 people in a room going “No” isn’t so bad. They’re only judging you on 20 minutes of material, not a seven-year marriage.’

  Sarah had finally found the direction she wanted to take in life. She wanted to be a stand-up comic. And most of her early material would be inspired by the one thing she loved more than anything: her family. After all, her audience had found the jokes about her dad hilarious.

  She threw herself into gigging, supported by her family and friends, Kate Fox, and her civil service work colleagues.

  Sarah was focused. Determined. After each performance she would listen to herself on a dictaphone, analysing her performance and the audience’s reaction to her jokes. Only a solitary giggle? Out it went. A raucous belly laugh? The joke was moved further up in the running order.

  She also worked on perfecting her pre-show routine – a must for any stand-up. There’s nothing glamorous about it: no final sweep of blusher, or spritz of perfume. Instead, Sarah’s is fundamentally practical. ‘I always have a proper last wee,’ she says. ‘So, like, I might do a few wees but then I’ll have to do the big one that’ll be the last one. And I also check my nose. I blow my nose and then I check that it’s clear because I think if you came out to an audience and they didn’t laugh, one of the reasons they didn’t laugh shouldn’t be that you had something hanging…’

  Ever sensible, Sarah kept her day job, filling out forms and tapping away at her computer, while itching to leave the office. Because at night she would get in her car and drive to wherever her next gig was – and she loved every minute of it.

  Sitting backstage with other comics, she finally felt truly comfortable. ‘I was never very popular at school, but here I was funny and interesting. I could be myself. Comics are a bit messed up, but when you put us all together, we’re okay.’

  She had found her career and her people. She didn’t care how long it took, or how much hard work it would be. She would make this world her own.

  CHAPTER 5

  On The Road

  ‘To be a stand-up you just have to have the bottle to get on stage. To be a good stand-up, that’s something different. You have to be funny and like trains and not mind crying on trains, and you have to be good at showers…’

  One of the biggest draws of stand-up comedy is that it looks deceptively easy. You don’t need artistic talent or model looks to get up on stage at an open mic night – just the confidence to face the audience and a few sharp observations about life. A laugh here, a laugh there, and the next thing you know you’re in showbiz, right?

  Sadly it’s not that easy. The reality of life as a stand-up comedian is that it is a tough and – ironically – unsociable lifestyle.

  American comedian and all-round funny man Will Ferrell calls stand-up comedy ‘hard, lonely and vicious’. Many in his field would wholeheartedly agree. For the hundreds of comics who drive around the country to bars and clubs to perform, many would admit that they sometimes feel as if they are paid to travel, not to make people laugh. They spend a lot of time alone, making their way to small gigs, and the hostility they face when they get to their destination can be soul crushing. As a result you have to be tough and fearless to get up on stage.

  ‘Going on stage in front of an audience is nerve-racking,’ Sarah admits. ‘I have a really good “I’m having a lovely time” face. It’s fake. You can fake confidence until you get it. As soon as I have a couple of big laughs under my belt then that confidence is real. There’s nothing better than making people laugh. I love it. It’s the best job in the world.’

  For Sarah, who had already experienced what was – for her – the worst kind of rejection, it was a challenge she enthusiastically faced. Every giggle she elicited from the audience meant one more person who loved her. Every tear of laughter streaming down an audience member’s face counteracted one she had shed over her marriage break-up.

  So she threw herself into the world of comedy and was determined to make it her own. In any spare moment she had, she worked on her act. ‘I think you can break it down into do-able chunks and ultimately get where you want to be,’ she says.

  She admits she stopped paying attention at work, but her colleagues were still supportive. The flexible timetable of being in the civil service gave her the freedom to gig, while the specific mechanics of the job proved invaluable.

  ‘I worked with them for a long time at the Jobcentre. Taking people’s claims, loads of things like that. I always liked dealing with the public, and I guess that’s why, when I talk to the audience in my shows, it’s that bit that’s a transferable skill. I was good at customer service, always enjoyed that, because it makes each day totally different.’

  She was and still is grateful to her colleagues. ‘They were very good to me,’ she says. ‘They said I was a breath of fresh air – that’s what they put on my leaving card, which was really nice. I think because I was quite entertaining round the office they just went, “It doesn’t matter that she’s not very good”. My focus was entirely somewhere else.’

  As her act became more accomplished, she began to get more and more gigs – further and further away from home. It wasn’t unusual for Sarah to leave work, drive for two hours to a pub, perform for 20 minutes, then drive straight back home again. ‘Comics tend to travel a long distance to a gig – they live this weird existence, they think nothing of driving for several hours to get somewhere, perform and then drive back through the night. They never see mornings!’

  Eventually Sarah got used to her new life. ‘This older woman in my office once said: “Where are you off to now, then?” I said I was going to Sheffield, and she said, “On your own?” And I remember thinking, “Yeah! I do a lot of this. I’m actually quite independent. I do a lot of stuff on my own!”’

  Soon she was spending more time in her Nissan Micra than anywhere else and was forced to do things she had never expected. Sometimes she would sleep on the sofas of people she hardly knew and became an expert on other people’s showers. ‘I’ve thought, this must be what it’s like to be promiscuous,’ she has joked.

  In the car, she listened to BBC Radio 2 and must have wondered whether she would ever hear herself on the radio station. It often has comedians in its studio and even holds the prestigious New Comedy Awards, which Sarah would soon become very familiar with…


  Spending so much time in her car didn’t however turn her into a mechanic. She would still call for help when she got a flat tyre.

  Her most potentially embarrassing moment behind the wheel came in the early hours one morning, when she undid her bra on the way home from a gig before spotting the police, who were randomly pulling people over. ‘Luckily they didn’t pick the woman with her boobs on her lap,’ she says.

  She spent a lot of time in service stations, and has clear views on what she’d like to see in them. ‘I’d like carveries to open in service stations,’ she says. ‘If I could get a choice of three meats at 2am that might be me done for life. Comics eat at weird times.’

  Slowly she started to get paid for her routines and although it wasn’t much – probably barely covering the cost of travel – she was happy to feel like she was making her new career work.

  Her civil service job only paid her £9,500 a year, so she didn’t feel like she was giving up a huge salary when she finally decided to give up work and be a full-time comic. Her colleagues were as surprised as she was. ‘I think my bosses at the time were hoping I’d throw myself into work, but instead, stand-up became my therapy, where I felt valued. The idea of making strangers laugh… it was a euphoric sensation.’

  Sarah was blossoming. Carving out a new road for her life to take was liberating and she enjoyed the thrill of being up on stage. It was cathartic too – most of her early sets consisted of anecdotes about her divorce and how her family helped her deal with it.

  Sarah found herself surprisingly relaxed with her audience. Her homely look and string of floral outfits appealed to both men and women and the vulnerability she seems to exude protected her from the worst of the heckling and booing.

  It also made the swearing and sex talk all the more shocking – ‘like hearing your nan swear’, as one fan puts it. ‘It was never intentional, this look,’ she told The Independent in March 2012. ‘I never got up on stage and thought, “I’ll wear a flowery top so I can talk about dark evil things,” but it just so happens that that’s the way I dress.’

  Kate Fox says that Sarah became a swan the moment she tried stand-up. On stage she makes it seem effortless, but like all the great comedians, that effort is a result of intense practice.

  British comic Rudi Lickwood agrees. He says: ‘People usually think that Robin Williams used to just get up there and just riff and it was brilliant. This stuff is just coming out. What people didn’t realise is that Robin Williams used to go to the theatres and the venues before and he would block where he’s going to be, what he’s going to do, when he’s going to say it, who he’s going to say it to, as if the audience was actually there. That is practice. That is rehearsal. Sometimes one word can make all the difference between people getting it and not getting it and the only way that you can be assured of that is by practising.’

  The other thing that Sarah knew would help in her new career, was recognition. And in order to get recognition she began to enter competitions…

  Sarah’s Top Stand-up Tips

  ‘Being funny is not enough. You have to work hard.’

  ‘Train journeys can be used for napping, writing, plucking rogue hairs (lighting is great) and crying if tired.’

  ‘Travelodges are better than B&Bs.’

  ‘Some budget hotels have takeaway menus at the front desk.’

  ‘Being nice to people – other comics, promoters etc – is the only way.’

  ‘Bitterness and resentment is unhealthy and can slow down or stop your progress. Stop looking at where your peers are and concentrate on your own career.’

  ‘Ask advice from other comics, especially those you respect, but take it all with a pinch of salt.’

  ‘Forums (aside from finding out about gigs) are a waste of your time. Write some jokes instead.’

  ‘You get really good at figuring out people’s showers, from sleeping on a lot of sofas.’

  ‘Fizzy sweets do a good job at keeping you awake on long drives.’

  ‘Confidence goes a long way at hard gigs. Even if it’s faked.’

  ‘A new joke that works can lift the rest of your set. Some people say it’s better than sex. It’s not. But both at the same time would be awesome and awkward.’

  ‘Learning to drive means you get to go home more and can do last-minute gigs. Train ticket prices make the latter almost impossible if you can’t drive.’

  ‘If people give you a lift back to London, you’ll get dropped off at Trafalgar Square. If people give you a lift back to Manchester, you get dropped off at your door and some will even wait to see you go inside. Manchester is smaller, I know, but still…’

  ‘A notepad is your friend. Your memory is not.’

  ‘Harness every funny thought you have. It makes writing so much easier if you have a starting point.’

  ‘Recording early gigs or those where you’re trying new material is invaluable. Your memory will just give you a blanket “It was great” like a dismissive ex. A recording will enable you to say that spontaneous ad-lib again and again.’

  ‘It’s not a good idea to churn your set early on. Get a bullet-proof 10 and then extend.’

  ‘A smart man told me to write every day and gig every night. It’s good advice.’

  ‘Audience banter skills can be learned.’

  ‘There’s no rush to do the Edinburgh Fringe. Do it when you’re ready and do as many previews as you can get your hands on. No such thing as too ready for Edinburgh.’

  ‘I’m always impressed by people who keep “parking money” in a compartment of their car.’

  ‘Never ever use someone else’s material. If you’re told your joke about X is similar to someone else’s joke about X, get in touch with the someone else. Often it’s dissimilar enough to keep using. If it’s the same, you will probably have to drop it. But that’s fine, you can write more jokes. Integrity is important.’

  ‘Write your own put-downs. If a heckler gets the better of you, go home and write a suitable put down so if it happens again, you’re bloody ready.’

  ‘Don’t drink before going on stage. You need to stay sharp. (This may seem a little harsh but I am a little harsh).’

  ‘When writing, put the funny bit at the end of the sentence.’

  ‘Put new material nights in your diary regularly to give you something to write towards. When you’re on a bill with your peers, aim to be the best. When you’re doing an open spot at a big club, aim to be the best.’

  ‘Always look in a hotel kettle before using it.’

  ‘Keep emergency biscuits and water in your car.’

  ‘Keep small UHT milks (stolen from hotels) in your cupboard at home for cups of tea after long stints away.’

  ‘Watch from the start of the show if you can. You need to get the feel of the room and find out where any problems are.’

  ‘I love an inspirational motto. I used to have: “What have I done today to make me a better comedian?” and: “Just work harder”. Might sound a bit wanky but worked for me. I don’t believe in coasting it with a good 20 minutes. You should always be getting better, writing more and learning new things.’

  ‘Turn up the volume in the audience, so if something that normally gets a round of applause gets a big laugh, turn up the audience. So a small laugh is a bigger laugh in your head and a bigger laugh is a round of applause.’

  ‘Never comment on a quiet audience or low numbers. Don’t piss off the people who came. They don’t know they’re laughing less at that joke than people did last night unless you tell them. Don’t bloody tell them.’

  ‘Ignore chat if you can in a rowdy room but deal with hecklers.’

  ‘Don’t shy away from hard gigs and tough rooms. What you learn doing those gigs stays with you and makes you more bullet-proof.’

  ‘If you live and mostly work London, get out and travel the country.’

  ‘Try to see your friends and family.’

  ‘The 11 O’Clock Rule’ (Millican’s Law)
is great for getting over hard gigs. The rule is as follows: If you have a hard gig, quiet, a death, a struggle, whatever, you can only be mad and frustrated and gutted until 11am the next day. Then you must draw a line under it and forget about it. As going into the next gig thinking you are shit will mean you will die.

  ‘Equally, if you nail it, slam it, destroy it, whatever, you can only be smug about it until 11am the next day (in the past, I have set an alarm so I could get up and gloat for an extra half hour) as if you go into the next gig thinking you are God’s gift to comedy, you will die.

  ‘That is Millican’s Law and it totally works. It means you move on quickly. It has stood me in good stead.’

  CHAPTER 6

  Firm Friends and First Awards

  ‘My dad said he was going to build a cabinet for my awards, but I didn’t let him! You should never have an awards cabinet.’

  In her first year on the stand-up circuit, Sarah put herself in the running for four highly competitive awards. The first was Funny Women, a stand-up comedy competition entirely devoted to women. As such, it was the perfect place for Sarah to showcase her post-divorce routine, which although not totally ‘anti-men’, still heavily appealed to women who had gone through a bad break-up.

  Founded by Lynne Parker in 2003, it was a relatively new competition when Sarah entered. It had the sole intention of honouring females in what is generally perceived as a male-dominated profession. Sponsored by Babycham, it also raised funds for various national women’s charities and attracted national television and radio coverage.

  The competition had three stages, which Sarah flew through. Selected as one of the 20 acts competing in the semi-finals, Sarah gained more confidence in her abilities as she won each heat. That year, the finals were held at The Comedy Store in London – the country’s first ever American-inspired comedy venue.