As early as I can remember, I have used humour to connect with people. It started, I would say, with impressions. I would memorise word for word the impersonations on Alistair McGowan's Big Impression on Friday night; I had Ruby Wax and Barbara Windsor down, and would be performing them in the playground on Monday morning.
Making kids laugh out on the football pitch was a pretty decent distraction from the fact that I was terrible at the game itself, until my satirical observations distracted me from kicking the ball towards the correct goal post, ending up in an own goal.
My Dad is a very funny man, putting on so many voices and bits that he made me think we were related to Robin Williams. Soon the student became the graduate, and I was able to have him and his friends in fits of laughter around the dinner table.
Class Act
Comedy definitely helped me navigate school, becoming people's funny little friend. I’d distract the teachers from remembering they set homework by hypnotising them with my latest character, until they’d suddenly come to and I’d have to switch from comedy to concern. “I don’t know what happened Miss. How could I have forgotten to do the assignment? I’m honestly heartbroken at myself.”
I’d always been a part of anything theatrical at school – as one of the artsy boys, it was kind of inevitable. But it never involved much comedy. Being funny was always something for when I was ‘off the clock’.
Much to my mother’s pride, I was almost always the narrator in my primary school productions, as I could be counted on to deliver the lines loudly, slowly and seriously so all the parents in the audience could follow the basic storyline.
I was a dancer out of school, at the studio for hours each week, but again was always told that I was quite ‘stoic’. I was taking it seriously, yes, but that also meant I wasn’t the most animated of performers.
Maid To Measure
There’s one memory that sticks out of me suddenly wielding my funny bone on stage. Or, let me rephrase that… wielding my comic prowess on stage.
It was in a Lower Sixth production of Hay Fever. I’d immediately auditioned – as I would with every play, and this one I hoped I might get the part of Simon, the son – but the director Nick took me aside and said ‘We want you to play Clara. The maid. The part is often played by a man, and is meant to be really funny’. ‘Me?’, I said. ‘Yes, who else?’.
I was nervous to accept at first. Wouldn’t dragging up as a scullery maid be social suicide? What about my hyper masc alpha reputation? But I threw myself into it, donning the bonnet and my best Edinburgh accent (thank you, Dad), and quite frankly, ate down as Clara the maid.
The world of comedy was still a way off.
Fame Game
At 18, I went to a musical theatre college to live my Fame fantasy, with hopes of flying into the West End or dancing behind Lady Gaga upon graduation. I was a great dancer and actor, and a reasonable singer. Average vocals never really got you a main part, so I focused on my dancing, hoping to be a desirable ensemble member, which I succeeded in.
I do, however, remember three separate performance classes in which I successfully leaned into my comedic side. My friend Shane and I performed a romantic dreamy farce singing ‘Starlight Express’; in another sketch I played a Spanish waiter that was a hybrid of Basil Fawlty and his sidekick Manuel; next I was performing an infomercial selling water to the masses with my best friend Tegan.
“You have excellent comic timing,” my teacher told me. “You could go far with that’. I was non-plussed. “Thanks, but I don’t think Lady Gaga cares about dancers with good comic timing,” I retorted, resolving to work on my pout and strut instead.
Sketch Appeal
Eventually in my late twenties, I decided that I would quite like to have a go at comedy. But I’d put so much effort into my dance career that I couldn’t bear the thought of switching lanes. All that work to start again doing something else?
Enter lockdown. In the first one, I watched from home as people started to post sketches and characters online, and found it super inspiring. But I still thought that when we were finally allowed back out I would be heading straight back into musicals.
But when we were locked down for a second time, I saw it as a sign from the universe (I was in my spiritual phase). I just thought, if you don’t post a sketch now, you never will. And even everyone thinks it’s rubbish, you aren’t going to see them for five months.
My close friends also sat around me, on Zoom, and asked me why I hadn't done it sooner.
I posted, and everything changed. I posted daily for five months, sometimes twice a day. The ideas kept flowing and I felt so emboldened in my comedy – and what I wanted to share with the girls online.
Avengers assemble
The final three avengers in my origin story are David O’Reilly, Daisy Skepelhorn and Mark Bittlestone.
Daisy, an agent at PBJ, slid into my DMs and asked if I had an agent, wanting to know if I’d be up for maybe comedy writing or acting. I said I had thought about it but never really figured I would be able to. We had a meeting and she signed me there and then.
David, meanwhile, is a hilarious actor, star of stage, screen and radio. He asked – or in fact, demanded – that I do an opening five-minute set at his show in September 2021. I was hesitant, but then went for it, ended up doing about 20 mins pretty successfully. My first gig was ticked off, with Daisy remarking, “Thank god, you were great!”
Lastly Mark, a brilliant comedian, gave me a five-minute spot at his gig LGBTeeheehee, which we would later go on to host together. After the spot, he asked if I wanted to do a split bill with him in Edinburgh the following year. The performer in me was delighted. "Let's go for it," I replied. Mark was, and still is, incredibly warm and generous of spirit, and was invaluable to my first outings as a stand up.
I hit the ground running, trying to gig as much as possible to get my stand up skills up to meet my stage craft. Five years later, heading up to Edinburgh and on tour with my third hour is incredibly exciting. I’m so proud of the audience I’ve built and the places I’ve been able to go with my comedy. And the best thing is, we’re just getting started.
See Christopher on tour and in Edinburgh this summer.
