AVC: Did you ever do stand-up?
TF: At a very amateurish level in Chicago. Very safe open-mic nights. More like coffeehouses than actual comedy clubs. But I really admire stand-up, and I think I would have loved to learn how to do it. I think it's terrifying and thrilling. A really cool thing to do. It's a dying art, in a way.
AVC: It's sort of a distinct art form from being a comic actor. There's a great Mitch Hedberg joke about how when you get really good at comedy, they want you to be an actor. 'You're a really good chef. Can you farm?'
TF: Right. It's a separate, special skill. And so many people get into it just to get opportunities as an actor. That's why, when you look at people like Colin Quinn . . . that's their art form. The art form they want to master and are so brilliant at. That's what I think is cool.
Is standup dying, and if so, why? When's the last time you sat down in front of your tv -- or even in person -- to watch someone tell jokes**?
**necessary caveat: The term "jokes" above is shorthand for a variety of live comedy performances. As I've written about in the past, the late 1950s and 1960s saw a marked change in American comedy,
from the world of brash, polished joke tellers to a world where comedians focused on material that was much more personal, more relevant to American lives. from the world of brash, polished joke tellers to a world where comedians focused on material that was much more personal, more relevant to American lives. Stereotypical mother-in-law jokes faded away, increasingly replaced by irreverent satire, political humor, biting cynicism and a more intellectual approach to comedy. As Joan Rivers once observed, "Audiences nowadays want to know their comedian. Can you please tell me one thing about Bob Hope? If you only listened to his material, would you know the man? His comedy is another America, an America that is not coming back."
So when I said "jokes" above, I didn't really mean just jokes. Carry on.
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