Sarah Millican--The Queen of Comedy

by Tina Campanella

  Sarah was particularly nervous about this year’s new show, because she would be following it up with her first proper solo tour in the autumn, which had already sold out. In an astonishing act of trust – there weren’t even any reviews of the show yet – her fan base was now so large that thousands of people were willing to take a chance and buy a ticket.

  Sarah met the surge in demand by adding more dates to her tour, and one by one they all sold out too. But at least her ‘work in progress’ now had a name: Chatterbox. A chatterbox is exactly what Sarah is – a fast talker and funny with it. The name stemmed from the nickname her teachers had once given her at school, but one reviewer wryly observed a different meaning to the name. ‘Boy can she chatter, even about her, um, box, as nothing seems too personal to be off-limits for this mischievous storyteller with the hidden whiplash behind the genial glint,’ said her York preview review.

  In July, days before the Fringe would kick off, Dominic Cavendish from The Telegraph met with the chatterbox herself for an interview. He commented: ‘Listening to her in full flow, as she arrives at our Soho meeting place after racing down from her adoptive hometown, Manchester, I experience the same mixture of awe and envy you might get when watching someone speed-type…’

  She had just had her first proposal of marriage from a fan, which had brightened her hectic day. ‘I got a proposal on Twitter today,’ she had said breathlessly as she sat down for the interview. ‘That’s not normal is it? At least he did put at the message, “This is weird, isn’t it?” Yes!’

  As Cavendish noted, it was an ironic moment for Sarah, seeing as it was divorce that had propelled her onto the stand-up circuit. But it was part of the immense build-up Sarah was experiencing for her Edinburgh show.

  Soon after, Sarah packed her bags and moved to her temporary Edinburgh home for the month-long run. This year she was far too high profile for the small Pleasance Courtyard hut she had twice before performed in. Instead she was booked into The Stand Comedy Club for her entire run. The Stand is the only place at the festival that is used for comedy all year round and has live acts seven days a week. Queues regularly stretch far outside the club, and it is the fourth largest venue at the Fringe Festival, with a nightly capacity of 160.

  It also has another unique selling point for performers: ‘This is going to sound really pathetic, but there’s a toilet backstage. It really matters to me that there’s a toilet backstage,’ she said. ‘How many times have you had to queue with your audience to have a wee before your show? And if the queue’s a bit long that you start worrying that you’ll be late for your own show.

  ‘I’m really flattered that The Stand thought I was good enough to be in that room,’ she humbly told Sian Bevan, journalist at The Skinny, an independent cultural journalism website – days before the festival. ‘I’ve always loved The Stand as a venue, and it just feels like a family. The fact that they keep the staff so long is such a testament to how good an employer they are. I’ve been to The Stand since I started, just doing five spots and so on, and they’ve always treated me well. They’re very good at progressing comics. If you do well then they’ll offer you 10 minutes next time where other promoters just aren’t like that. And they’re very pro-women in an amazingly non-patronising way; where some do it to tick boxes, they do it because they like having women on the bill.’

  Despite the fact that it was by now, a common occurrence, Sarah had been astonished to find out that the run had sold out long before she was due to travel up to the Scottish capital.

  ‘I’m just astonished by my ticket sales. It’s so rare to go to Edinburgh knowing if anybody’s going to come. Anybody. Literally anybody. You go up there and there might be four people in one day, the next day there might be none. So the fact that I’ve sold out the whole run is ridiculous. And also puts more pressure on to make sure that my show’s really good because there’s actually going to be people to see it. I just love it.’

  Sarah was by now used to the hectic nature of the festival and over the years had made a lot of friends in the comedy world. So the Fringe was not only a profile-heightening, profit-making performance exercise, it was also a chance to catch up with her friends over a cuppa. ‘I love being up there,’ she told Bevan. ‘I love turning a corner and there’s someone you know. Like, most of my friends are up there. How good is it, when you want to have a cup of tea with that person, instead of saying, “well I’m in London in a fortnight”, just saying, “are you free for lunch today?” Excellent.’

  Sarah was quietly confident about the run, and her outstanding ticket sales were only partly responsible – her name was by now well-known all over the country, and thanks to her many and varied TV appearances, she was fast becoming Britain’s funniest lady. But although she was enjoying her new-found acclaim, she did have one eye on the more negative side of fame. ‘I think I’m more confident generally but you have to keep that in check so you don’t become a dick. It’s round the corner. I’m round the corner from becoming a dick and I keep poking my head round and saying: “I don’t wanna go there, don’t wanna go there!”

  ‘So I have got people… who are ready to say: “yeah, we need to have a word”. So I hope I’m not a dick, but clearly the ticket sales have given me confidence. But then, the ticket sales come from telly performances so it’s sort of indirectly given me confidence. It’s all been a bit hard to take in, because it has been a fairly ridiculous year.’

  Sarah was right; it had been an incredible year for her. But it was about to get even better – because Chatterbox was an instant success.

  ‘The only criticism Sarah ever received at school was that she was a chatterbox,’ read her promo material. ‘She still is. And now it’s her job. She hopes the same fate didn’t befall the school bike. Come and spend an hour in her charming company as she brings you up to speed on how to celebrate your fortieth, how to pick the best pudding and talks you through the five stages of tired. It’s like having cups of tea with a dirty cow.’

  Her new material ranged from the usual self-mockery to the shockingly filthy. She revealed her comic self-disgust at once spending £102 in a chocolate shop on herself, before pointing out her boyfriend’s shortcomings by describing the time he got Accessorize and Claire’s Accessories confused on an ill-fated birthday shopping trip. As for the shockingly filthy, her joke about having tiny tropical fish join you in the bath for added relaxation needs to be heard to be believed…

  She was clearly still taking inspiration from her parents’ darkly comedic moments. ‘I took me dad, mam and me sister out for a nice meal just before Christmas,’ she told the audience. ‘And midway through the meal, me mam said: “When me and your dad go, we’re going together”… I said: “Are you talking about a suicide pact?” And she went: “No we’re not gonna call it that.” So I sort of did the “what the f**k” face at my sister. And she quite calmly said: “As long as they leave me a letter explaining it cause I’m not gonna go to prison for them.”

  ‘It was just getting steadily worse, so I looked at me dad because my dad’s the voice of reason in our family, I looked to my dad and said: “What do you think about this?” And he went: “First I’ve heard of it…”’

  The reviews were more impressive than Sarah could have dreamed. Julian Hall wrote for The Independent: ‘Sarah Millican’s performance tonight is one of the most consistent and accomplished I have ever seen at the Fringe. A packed audience at the Stand, a venue favoured by many established comics as somewhere more “grown-up”, forget the meaning of the word “listless” as the chirpy Geordie gossips her way through an hour of skillful observations on her domestic foibles.’

  He observed that Sarah was no longer relying so much on the audience for her material, but added that she still maintained a close connection to them through her subject matter, notching up brownie points for avoiding clichés while implanting images that would resonate with anyone – like the guilty pleasure of wandering around your flat naked even if it means your neig
hbours rush out to buy curtains.

  The Guardian’s Brian Logan noted that Sarah invariably clings to the material she is most comfortable, but commented: ‘If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it… I’d tell Millican to change the record but she’d probably fart while doing so, then tell a filthy joke about it.’

  He also remarked that although observational comedy may have been being mocked by comics elsewhere on the Fringe – including by Kevin Eldon in the same venue – Sarah had strong faith in the laughter of recognition, especially with her jokes on weight issues.

  ‘It’s all very jolly – but that’s because Millican isn’t sending up the self-indulgent/self-loathing paradigm of womanhood, she’s celebrating it. The upshot is a show that invites us all to laugh at things as they are, and not imagine anything. At least in Millican’s case, observational material seems to spring from a fascination with the commonplace, and a genuine desire to share it. And – purely mechanically – she’s a great joke teller, topping off her tales of a divorcee and daughter’s life with bullet-proof laugh lines…and cartoonish expressions of dismay.’

  As she neared the end of Chatterbox’s Fringe run, there was more good news for the comic – and consequently her fans too. Sarah had signed a deal with 4DVD – Channel Four’s distribution company – to release her forthcoming Chatterbox tour on DVD.

  It was a bold move on behalf of the company and showed the enormous faith they had in Millican’s appeal. Liz Hadley, A&R manager for 4DVD, said: ‘Female comics have not traditionally performed as well as their male counterparts on DVD. We believe Sarah will break the mould. We’ve had huge success launching new comedians on DVD over the last few years and we’re confident we will replicate this success with Sarah. We’re very excited to be working with her.’

  They were prophetic words. Sarah’s DVD would prove the ultimate stocking filler the following year, and break records for its sales.

  But as Sarah neared the end of her third Fringe run, she began to understandably get tired and as a result felt a little depressed. ‘I was just hitting a wall of tired,’ she told one interviewer a few weeks after the run. ‘When I was little I used to cry and my mum would go: “Why are you crying?” and I’d go: “I don’t know!” and she’d say: “Are you tired?” and I’d say: “No, something’s sore!” so she’d say “What’s sore?” and I’d say: “I don’t know” and she’d say: “Are you just tired?” and I’d say: “I think so!” So I had a couple of those.’

  But just when Sarah thought she would drop from exhaustion, she was nominated for a festival award, which she was both pleased and apprehensive about. ‘It’s brilliant,’ she explained. ‘But now instead of having lovely people in your audience you’ve got three judges in. Compared to most people’s lives it’s really not a problem, it’s just that the festival is four or five days too long. I think for next year we need to get it changed. You know the bit where I start crying? Let’s stop then.’

  She had missed out on a gong the year before, despite a hugely successful show. Now, in the face of her tiredness, she was pleased to discover she had been shortlisted for the main event – the Foster’s Award (formerly the Perrier Award).

  On the night, the prize went to Russell Kane, who had been shortlisted twice previously but had never won before. The result was announced by comedy star Al Murray, who had himself won the award in 1999.

  Kane leapt up on stage to collect the £10,000 prize for his show, Smokescreens and Castles, leaving fellow nominees Josie Long, Greg Davies, Bo Burnham and Sarah Millican waiting in the wings.

  It was no reason to be upset. Sarah had delighted all her audiences and packed out The Stand every single night. It had been yet another phenomenally successful Fringe experience and she must have been rightly proud.

  But at the end of the run Sarah didn’t have much time to bask in the glory of her success. A month later she was off on tour, where she would stay until December. But those initial 25 dates weren’t anywhere near enough to fulfil demand. Month by month her management added more and more dates the following spring, bringing her total to an incredible 120 performances. It was an epic achievement for a first tour. ‘Now is a good time to tell you I’m much ruder than on the telly,’ she told each new audience. And they delighted in her giggling brand of homely filth.

  On one of the dates, The Liverpool Echo highlighted the many notices that were taped around the Philharmonic Hall’s foyer – warning that the show ‘may contain adult themes and content’. And although they admitted it posed difficulties for the reviewer (the Echo is a family paper) they praised the show highly. ‘While the smut-o-meter is turned to high, it’s all done with such warmth and conspiratorial incredulity that it would be mightily difficult for anyone to be really offended.’

  ‘The bad news is it’s already sold out,’ wrote the Manchester Evening News. ‘Some years belong to certain comedians and [our] money is on the fact that from beneath the pile of hilarious boys that made stand-up an arena draw last year, will emerge one funny female – Sarah Millican.’

  It was a whirlwind experience for the Geordie, who was steadily playing to bigger and bigger crowds, up and down the British Isles. But she was unfazed, as she told one Irish newspaper: ‘It’s not about bigger shows, but more about ticket sales. If you have a 400-seater venue but you’ve only sold nine tickets – that’s what fazes me. A full room is a joy to play; we erred on the side of caution at first and booked just 25 days, so I’m pleased it’s been so successful.’

  And although it must have been an exhausting time, Sarah loved being on tour, surrounded by thousands of people, all laughing along with her. ‘The travelling side can be tiring,’ she confided in one reporter once it was over. ‘But the shows are always great fun. It’s the best part about the job, performing live. Although the travelling is tricky. I’m looking forward to the invention of magic shoes. Click my heels and I’m in Milton Keynes. The audiences were great, I was very lucky.’

  CHAPTER 18

  Fringe Benefits

  ‘My whole year revolves around the Fringe. It’s like nothing else – I can’t imagine not doing it.’

  The Edinburgh Festival Fringe is the largest arts festival in the world. If you can crack it there, as the phrase goes, you can crack it anywhere. Nowhere else on the planet has such a wide variety of performance available for audiences to see at any one time.

  It is a theatre and comedy lover’s dream.

  Anyone who has been there will know that the array of acts on any day in August is almost overwhelming. Besides all the shows in recognised venues, it is impossible to walk down the street in the centre of Scotland’s capital without constantly stumbling across impromptu performance after performance.

  It offers an absolute cornucopia of talent, an excess of entertainment and more laughs, drama or experimentation than would be available on any TV channel in the world for probably an entire year.

  These days, the figures are mind blowing. In 2012, there were 42,096 performances of 2,695 shows. An estimated 22,457 performers took part and 1,857,202 tickets were issued for shows, events and exhibitions in 279 venues across the city. That number didn’t include the tens of thousands attending the 814 free, non-ticketed events of the Fringe, from tented comedy to street theatre.

  It is highly unusual for any actor or performer not to want to perform there at least once in their lives. For most it is an annual event where they have the chance to meet up with or just observe former fellow cast members, rivals, or friends performing their latest work – or just in passing in the street.

  For comedians, Edinburgh has become a critical return destination on their road map to success. There is not a single comedian working on television today who has not at some point appeared at the Edinburgh Fringe. Most comedians regard it as the fulcrum of their year, the point around which they anchor the unveiling of new material and the springboard from which to launch new tours.

  When Sarah Millican took her first show to Edinburgh in 2008, she
did so knowing that if she went down well, it would give her the impetus and justification she needed to carry on.

  But the Edinburgh Fringe doesn’t just provide performers with the confidence they need. It also provides amazing exposure, the sort that is impossible to achieve without being a regular on TV. For a budding comedian on their way up, the Edinburgh Fringe is the one event that is a must-attend with absolutely no excuses.

  This status hasn’t come about overnight. It is the result of a long history that in many ways reflects the vast changes in popular entertainment in Britain over the last 70 years.

  Like many of the biggest festivals, the Fringe started in 1947 almost by accident. The city’s leaders had decided the Scottish capital should host a major international performing arts festival to put Edinburgh on the map – and to start to look forward following the end of World War Two.

  Their view coincided with the search by a man called Rudolf Bing, the general manager of the Glyndebourne Opera, for a city where he could organise a major cultural event. Bing joined forces with the city’s leaders to put together a programme of arts and music that they called the Edinburgh International Festival, which was designed to ‘provide a platform for the flowering of the human spirit.’

  It was all very highbrow. While there was supposed to be something for everyone, the International Festival emphasised traditional types of performance like serious theatre and classical music over others.

  For some people it was a little too intellectual. With the festival being tightly curated, there was limited opportunity for young, up-and-coming acts to get on the bill. In various parts of Scotland and England, eight separate theatre groups were slightly annoyed that such major acts were the only ones allowed to appear in the city and decided they would take advantage of the influx of people to see if they could get an audience too.