Frank Skinner: interview
The drinking, the sobriety, the football, the chat show, the talking head: now Frank Skinner is back as a rejuvenated stand-up force, he tells Time Out
By Tim Arthur
Nov 17 2008[/align]
I met Frank Skinner for the first time at his ‘Press v Press World Series’ bowling competition, which had been organised as a semi-official launch for his new live DVD ‘Frank Skinner Stand-Up’. As far as I can recall it was great night. Twenty or so teams of media whores from various organisations were enticed to the evening with the promise of free food and more importantly, free alcohol. Which is a bit like waving a sausage in front of a ravenous dog.
I remember the evening starting harmlessly enough, passing good-natured pleasantries with Frank and the teams from Radio 1 and The Radio Times. Then it all becomes a bit of blur as the beer and my surprisingly competitive nature kicked in. I do remember moonwalking past Adrian Chiles and his ‘One Show’ team-mates firing my finger pistols at him and shouting, ‘Take that Giles! In your face. Striiiiiiiiiike-ka-ka-ka-ka!’ It was not my finest moment.
So it is, slightly shamefacedly, that I go along to chat with him a couple of days later about his return to stand-up after ten years and his new book ‘Frank Skinner on the Road’, and just hoped he wouldn’t mention the bowling incident.
Why go back to performing live?
‘I look back on it as a return to the source… that sounds like I’m drinking again! I used to look at myself as a stand-up who did a chat show or a stand-up who did whatever. Then I think I started to lose sight of that, because I hadn’t done it in so long. I did it on the chat show, but doing topical jokes, written with a team of writers, is as separate from real stand-up as doing a play. So my main motivation was to see if I could still do it. I really didn’t know if I could, you know, because things have changed. I got onto one of those lists of "the Top 100 Comics of All Time", and it described me as a “Comedian for the Loaded generation”. It drove me crazy thinking: Is that it? Is that all I am, part of that lads mags thing? Because if that’s true then I’m in trouble because that’s all gone now. People want the whole “Gavin and Stacey” thing: well acted, well observed, gentle, no-jokes-please-we’re-modern-type of new comedy and that’s not me at all, really.’
So when did you realise you could still cut it?
‘It was probably one night at “Fat Tuesday” in Islington when I was trying out some material before the tour. I was booked for ten minutes and ended up doing around 25. It was one of those nights when I felt full-up with funny things. I’d written a routine for that night, but I ended up doing loads of new stuff, which ended up in the show. There’d been times before where I’d thought: Yeah this is great. But that night I kept thinking: No this is what it’s about. I’ve fucking forgotten it could be this good.
'There was this guy in the audience laughing, and I felt like saying, “Mate, you think it’s good from there, you should come up and see the view from here!” The audience obviously knew it was going well, but I don’t think they knew what it meant to me. People think it’s the big stadium gigs that are your favourites but often it’s just one of those small venues. One of those nights where you feel touched by the comedy gods. The funny thing is someone who was at that gig will probably read this and think, “Well, it was all right, but it wasn’t that special. I’d have thought you could have done better Frank.” ’
Your autobiography was a huge bestseller, did you learn a lot about yourself whilst writing it?
‘Yeah, it was very good for me. It began as just a series of anecdotes, not a “body of work” if you like. But when I started reading them, I could recognise the behaviourial traits I have now. Like that “give me a seven-year-old child and I’ll give you a man” – not as popular a slogan as it used to be, for various reasons. Anyway, it made me realise that quite early on you’re finished, as far as your basic personality. I spent so many years on the verge of a new regime. You know: Tomorrow, I’ll go to the gym. Tomorrow, I’ll stop having premarital sex. It was always something tomorrow. And then I realised: this is what I’m like, I should embrace what I am, and stop making all these false promises.’
What’s next? A novel?
‘I wrote 60,000 words of one then stopped. To bring out a novel that doesn’t do well is one thing but not to have finished one... I might have another go. I like writing prose and not having to justify everything with a laugh. Stand-up is like walking down a road at night. If a joke fails it’s like walking into a spot where a lamppost has gone out. You don’t want two or three lights in
a row to be like that, because that would be a fucking dark road, you could get terribly lost and never come out the other end. But with a book, you can relax and concentrate on telling a story and not be a slave to the jokes.’
What kind of books do you like reading?
‘Weird stuff. Like Jean Cocteau’s “The Miscreant”, this sounds like “Late Review”, but I really enjoy the way he’s very sparse but also poetic. And I just read Herman Hesse’s “Narcissus and Goldmund” which was brilliant.’
And will you continue doing stand-up?
‘Definitely. Luckily I think there’s enough Luddites and joke enthusiasts left to keep me going.’
As I leave, Hello magazine moves in to ask him some in-depth questions about his favourite cocktail. ‘Well, it’ll be a virgin one, obviously, because I don’t drink. By the way, Tim, that reminds me, glad you enjoyed the bowling.’
D’oh!
