Funnyman knows how to mine gold
Brian Regan became a comic’s comic by going far beneath the surface
Ask fans who their favourite comedians are, and the answers could well range from Bill Burr to Chris Rock to Jerry Seinfeld.
But ask Burr, Rock and Seinfeld to name someone who ranks among their favourite stand-ups of all, and the response is unanimous: Brian Regan.
Burr: “Brian Regan is one of my favourite comics of all time. He’s just the best … an absolute master.”
Rock: “No comedian in the world says, ‘Yeah, I want to follow Brian Regan.’ ”
Seinfeld: “He is one of my favourite, favourite standup comedians.”
Pretty heady praise for a 58-yearold comic who is as clean as standups come. Unlike some of those who praise him, Regan refuses to cuss on stage. His shtick is largely observational, focusing on life’s minutiae. He is akin to an intuitive detective at a crime scene, in that he’ll find comic fodder that others miss.
“Sometimes I feel like it’s a big mine out there,” Regan says. “And sometimes all the comedians are coming out with their pickaxes over their shoulders and saying: ‘There ain’t nothing left in here.’ And I’m saying: ‘Well, I’m still going in. I want to see if there are more jokes in airline travel or about food or about going to the doctor.’
“Point is that it’s endless. Hopefully, you can always find interesting things in whatever kind of subject. And it’s particularly fun to find humour in mundane subjects. But I also try to push the envelope a little and touch on issues like gun control and foreign policy. I don’t like to do the same thing. I like to be a moving target. Sometimes people are expecting doughnut sprinkles and I’m talking Kim Jong-un. I don’t want to be a one-trick pony. I want to keep audiences surprised.”
Regan is a refreshing throwback to another era. In this age of shock comedy, he refuses to be diverted from his principles and goals.
“I made up all those nice quotes from the comics, so don’t call them up directly and ask them how they really feel,” he cracks. “It really means the world to me (to have the support of those comedians). I like making audiences laugh, but if comedians in the back of the room also seem to like what I do, that’s just an extra level of a great feeling. I don’t know why they like me, but I’m thrilled.”
Regan is one of the busiest standups in the business, working over 100 cities a year and playing the biggest rooms in town. He’s done a slew of comedy specials on the tube, plus CDs and DVDs.
He made history last year for being the headliner in Comedy Central’s first live broadcast of a standup event at Radio City Music Hall. He made 28 appearances on David Letterman’s late-night show — more than any other comic. He appeared in Chris Rock’s movie Top Five and was a guest in the first season of Seinfeld’s Comedians in Cars Getting Coffee.
Yet his goal has never been sitcoms or plum movie parts. Standup is all he wants.
“Years ago I thought that you had to get on a sitcom to get a following and to perform in theatres. But somehow along the way I got fortunate enough that I was able to make the jump to theatres without a sitcom. That was a tremendous feeling. So my desire to do anything beyond standup dropped tremendously. I just wanted people to like my comedy.”
Times have certainly changed for Regan. It was 20 years ago at Just for Laughs that he went through one of the most painful episodes a standup can experience: he died on the stage. No bullets or blood — it was simply a matter of his soul getting crushed.
Regan followed the flamboyant Dame Edna Everage and had seven minutes to dazzle patrons and talent scouts. But his first bit, about the weight and girth of a box about to be transported, didn’t elicit the reaction he wanted. So he tried it again. And again. And again.
The audience was antsy. Regan lost it. It was excruciating for all to watch.
It didn’t matter that Regan had left ’em laughing all week long at a local club. Nor that he had killed the previous time he played the fest, five years earlier. The performer is only as good as his last performance.
“After I got offstage, I was numb. There was a big piece of me that just wanted to go to the airport and run away. It was so humiliating. And humbling. But I’m not that way. All I can do is learn from it and regroup.” And regroup he clearly did. “If there was a 100 per cent guarantee, I don’t think I’d like it as much. Like a bowler — I don’t think you would get great joy bowling a 300 game every time. Rolling the occasional gutter ball makes you feel that much better when you do bowl a strike.” bbrownstein@postmedia.com