REBEKAH DEVLIN OUT OF THE BOX
ADAM is dying. Not just in a ‘‘ that joke wasn’t terribly funny’’, kind of way. This is a full-blown public meltdown. He’s on stage at Sydney’s Marble Bar and he can’t remember his first line.
He keeps checking his notes and trying to restart, but it’s like his brain has stopped being able to comprehend the English language and he can’t get any words out.
It’s horrible to watch, even from the safety of your couch. You don’t want to take delight in someone else’s suffering, but you also can’t look away.
Welcome to Comedy School, where you too can suffer public humiliation, for a fee, of course.
I once told a friend who is genuinely funny that he should do stand-up. He replied that anyone could do comedy, because you had all that time to shape a routine — it was much harder to be hilarious in real life. So what possesses people to do Comedy School and to pay for the privilege?
And can you really learn to be funny?
Comedian Rob McHugh thinks so. Though he does run a comedy school — maybe what they call a vested interest.
All these people are amusing to watch, but I don’t think it’s in the way they’re hoping for.
‘‘ She’s 28, she’s single, she’s unemployed, she’s back home living with her mother.