Days of our laughs

From a little show even its producer didn’t think would last, 7 Days now commands respect, writes Alan Perrott.

The 7 Days team might be tearing into their 11th series, but one question never goes away: ‘‘How long can it last?’’ That is peculiar given its tent pole status within our comedy industry, not to mention its reliability as a MediaWorks ratings cow. And if we’re going down the numbers track, it’d also be worthwhile including the dozens of international careers it has spawned, the mortgages it’s enabled, and the eight kids and sundry weddings so far celebrated among the support crew.

7 Days is now a lot more than a few cheeky laughs of a Friday night. It’s a multi-platformed beast built on punchlines, savage putdowns and enough expletives to earn all concerned a soapsmeared toothbrush. And we love them for it. At last count there were nearly 3000 names on the waiting list to watch the live filmings, which at 70 punters a pop means a long wait.

So, with their 10th anniversary celebration due in August and nothing (surely) left to prove, why does ‘‘the end must be nigh’’ thing linger?

Especially when, last year, none other than veteran British comedian Griff Rhys Jones came, saw and was conquered. Speaking after his 7 Days appearance, he told The Classic’s owner

Scott Blanks: ‘‘I can understand why it’s doing so well, everyone is a character on their own sitcom. They’ve developed roles.’’

That comes from hard work. More, say visitors such as Jones, than with British shows such as Mock the Week. 7 Days’ live filming routinely runs five times longer than the broadcast show, which is unheard of.

The three leads – Paul Ego, Jeremy Corbett and Dai Henwood – especially, lift up flopped lines with a laugh or a follow-up gag. It’s a nurturing vibe because, as they say, the show is funnier when everyone is riffing.

That became clear when patience levels tanked towards the end of filming for the first show of the current series (at one point Corbett pointedly told the stage director ‘‘I think it’s more important that it’s funny’’. ‘‘Oooo,’’ went the audience). If anything, the angst added an all-in-it-together edge that carried them through to the ‘‘thank you New Zealand on Air etc’’ kiss off. But it’s not simply professionalism. There’s a vested career interest.

Paul Ego was mostly known as a breakfast radio host before the show changed his life. He remembers being in Christchurch in 2008 when the call came, dangling the role of team captain.

‘‘That was one of the greatest moments of my life, actually.’’ Is he serious? Who cares.

Even so, it wasn’t until funding was approved for a third season that he started to think they might be on to something.

‘‘None of this was expected. It’s like sitting in a bar with your mates every week, and that can’t be work, can it? And the live tours where we fill these big theatres, that’s the coolest I’ll ever be. Sure, sometimes people yell, ‘you’re shit’ but that just shows you should never invite your family.’’

Another to feel the 7 Days surge is Melanie Bracewell. Having surprised herself by winning a competition to appear on the show in 2014, she felt so guilty about those who missed out, she was obliged to give stand-up a proper go.

After working up some material and appearing on the 6.30 Show auditions at The Classic Comedy Club, she was back on the telly in March 2017. The resulting exposure means tickets to her own shows sell themselves, she gets regular work on TV3’s

The Project, and she’s a regular festival fixture in Sydney and Melbourne.

‘‘God knows what would have happened to me if I hadn’t entered. My prospects weren’t looking good. I’d applied for supermarket jobs . . . yeah, but nah, every time. Even now I still don’t know whether to call myself a comedian or someone who does a bit of comedy . . . not to sound w...y, but I don’t want it to go too far. Being even remotely known really cramps your Tinder game.’’

Like the swan though, the easy humour the viewer sees hides the mental thrashing going on beneath the surface. This is producer Rob Brown’s world and, with his team of writers, he assembles, test drives and often writes the set pieces for each regular segment. Brown also selects the panels, an ongoing juggling act of meeting diversity targets, fitting in with tour schedules and hitting up touring comics.

There are constant deadlines. After the prep is done, filming runs from about 6pm to 9.30pm each Thursday. Editing visuals then runs all night (care must be taken with delicate egos), and into the next day before sound editing can kick off at 5pm

Friday. The odd stuff-up has seen the show broadcast at 9pm that night from his laptop.

He far prefers that to those times when a writer has to sit in for a misplaced comic.

‘‘It’s like the coach coming on to play,’’ says Brown, ‘‘and the guys are like ‘show us the jokes’ and you pull a humour hammy in the first minute. There’s no win in that situation, only losing.’’

Head writer Nick Rado has appeared many times under his own steam; he’s a real life stand-up who also has a sideline in cruise ship comedy, the new frontier for New Zealand comedians. In a weird way he even credits the show for his marriage. He was amped from a writing session when he turned up for his first date with his now wife, and the zingers were firing.

If 7 Days has a benevolent uncle, it’s The Classic’s Blanks. He’s nurtured the talent now on show, counselled them through its early years and then watched as their box-office appeal grew.

Now the show feeds his Auckland club which, in turn, feeds the show (via the 6.30 Show) – a lovely comedic ecosystem.

But the biggest trend of late has been touring comedians wanting a crack. ‘‘I used to have to ask but now they bring it up themselves. I think it’s the swearing,’’ says Blanks.

So yeah, 7 Days is almost 10 with no reason to fear the future. If TVNZ is finally in the game, having bought the rights to the annual Comedy Gala, original 7 Days producer Jon Bridges says that only means more work for comedians.

Now running MediaWorks’ The Project, Bridges smiles at the evolution of a show that started on Radio New Zealand (Off the Wire), had its first trial run in TV3’s loading bay, and in his wildest dreams he thought it might survive five years.

‘‘I’m amazingly proud of it, as is everyone who works on it. I remember, way back, going over that week’s jokes with the TV3 lawyer and he looked up at me and said very seriously, ‘OK, I’ll give you Gerry Brownlee’s nutsack, but I have to draw the line at [we’ll leave that to your imagination]’.

‘‘That’s when I thought ‘this job is f...ing amazing’.’’