As Rik Mayall’s character Richard Richard once mused in the award-wining sitcom Bottom, “You have to laugh, don’t you?”
And Richie is definitely right; humour is essential to life. Bottom, Mayall and partner Adrian Edmondson’s self-deprecating answer to Waiting for Godot, set out to remind us that comedy has a deeper function than simply amusing us: comedy is the bare bones of humour.
The simple act of making someone laugh is truly an essential ingredient to a fulfilled life. Quite simply, in my opinion, without comedy, life has no purpose.
This is the thinking behind the Graves Gallery’s exhibition ‘Comedians: From the 1940s to Now’, an array of photographs of comedians taken from the National Portrait Gallery’s collections.
To quote the exhibition’s introduction, “Humour is a core part of being human. It can bring us together or highlight our differences, and can make difficult situations bearable.”
The portraits and their subjects are diverse in every possible way.
This eclectic time-line takes in everyone: from the music hall and post-Victorian silent film veterans, to writers of absurd radio sketch shows, classic double acts, and the alternative wave of the 1980s; all the way to the people you may very well find gracing your screen on a panel show tonight.
Alexei Sayle shares a room with the cast of The Goon Show, who are displayed across from Jack Dee.
Max Miller and the Crazy Gang, amongst others are almost totally unfamiliar to me, but as I progress further around the room, I recognise a complex network of associations and projects, linked together by influences and collaborations.
It is also a personal network; my knowledge of each one stems from my love of another, and each one has led me to another in turn.
The fact that an exhibition of such a thing exists at all, let alone one containing pictures from the National Portrait Gallery, indicates that comedy has a much bigger role than simply keeping us amused.
The inordinate effort put into such a diverse scope of projects, and the efforts of the Gallery to commemorate so many of them, shows more than a mere function; comedy is a culture, a way of life, that is constantly developing and expanding.
Every act has its own agenda.
Closer to home, the University’s very own improvisational comedy troupe, the Shrimps, know this all too well.
When asked about the inspiration behind their work, Shrimp member Pete Antoniou says: “We mainly do it for the laughs, but with an occasional theme. We do try to get people involved, and push our workshops.”
The nature of their show is such, however, that even those who decide not to try the workshops are utilised within the performance itself.
“Improvised comedy always seems more impressive” says Pete.
“Because we come up with something coherent and funny off the top of our heads, based entirely on audience involvement. People can walk out thinking ‘I added to that’.”
As the network of influences at the Graves Gallery proves, comedy will always beget comedy.
Just as the Goons influenced the Pythons, who influenced Reeves and Mortimer, who influenced Adam and Joe, the Shrimps are dedicated to introducing others to comedy performance.
“It’s something anyone can do” agree Pete and fellow Shrimp Danny Pennells.
From there, the person is inaugurated into the culture of comedy – a culture which clearly runs deep.
“It’s gotten to the point now that if I say something and people don’t laugh, I feel bad about it,” admits Pete.
In the tradition of a constantly changing comedic form where safety is often derided, there are few things the Shrimps will not do to pull a laugh from their audience.
“We try to avoid tasteless jokes and things that will depress people, but comedy will always push boundaries,” they tell me.
This is crucial; without opinionated performers, strong politics, irreverence and innovation, comedy would be nowhere near as varied as it is now.
The key is to find that perfect balance between offence and charm, to embrace the uncomfortable without stopping your audience from laughing.
It’s rare, Pete and Danny tell me, for people not to laugh at Shrimps shows. The reason for this, they believe, is the same diversity that makes the entire genre of comedy so appealing to so many people.
“We always have six different personalities in each show,” Danny explains. “
“If a person doesn’t like one Shrimp, there are five others for them to focus on. There will always be at least one that every person will like.”
The same can be said of all comedy; what sends one person into hysterics can make another cringe.
Among the many performers honoured at the Graves Gallery, so many styles are represented that you’d be very hard pressed to find someone who didn’t like any of them. Even the photographs themselves show a huge spectrum.
Comedians as chronologically far-apart as George Robey and Russell Brand muse in simple portraits, while Victoria Wood and Hugh Laurie mimic the pose with bug-eyes and faux-clueless smiles.
French and Saunders present a sequence of photos in which Jennifer poses gloriously as Dawn indignantly storms into frame and pushes her out of the way.
A sharp-featured Rik Mayall looks on thoughtfully, holding two fish on his head. Camera-shy Kenneth Horne proves as surreal to the eyes as he is to the ears, sitting in a bin surrounded by crumpled-up paper. Paul Merton is hugging a psychotic-looking dolphin. Spike Milligan’s head is in a jar.
The crowning piece is surely Annie Leibovitz’s fantastic picture of John Cleese dressed in a black bodysuit, hanging upside down from a tree like a giant fruit bat.
The exhibition shows the true nature of comedy as diverse, inclusive, expansive, and essential. And that’s pretty good for an exhibition that claims to have only set out to “make you smile.”