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The highs and lows of being a female comedian

As a child, Eman Khallouf never doubted her ability to make people laugh. not until she went on stage exactly a year ago for her debut stand-up act. The first joke every time she goes on stage, says Eman, is that she is Jordanian and "we are not really known to be funny". But then being a female comedian often means peeling off layers of stereotypes and finding a way of making audiences crack up. "Women in comedies is not a thing in the Middle East; it's largely an American idea. When you go to Arabic gigs, you find that women will not laugh out loud and it's challenging to make the men laugh," says Eman.
A month ago, the hit Netflix show Nanette put the spotlight once again on the less glamorous, less humorous aspect of being a female comedian. Stand-up comedian Hannah Gadsby spells out the larger problem with humour produced by female comedians that essentially stems from self-deprecation and is consumed by the privileged white male. While some critics may debate if Nanette qualifies to be in the realm of comedy owing to its style of critique, what remains largely uncontested is the show's emphasis on the baggage that comes with being a woman in a space that has traditionally been dominated by men.
Would you laugh any less if the same joke was cracked by a woman? Do we as audiences demand a certain modesty from female comedians, which is not expected of their male counterparts? Could women be bringing a perspective that we ought to listen to even as we laugh? As Eman and several women in the region set out to own the comedy space in their own cultural corners, we examine the challenges they are faced with. and it's not just the gender.
THE CHALLENGES
Writing a piece for The New York Times (titled 'The Lose-Lose Life of the Female Comedian'), stand-up comic Marcia Belsky admitted to navigating the comedy space by trying to "desexualise" herself. One of the immediate fallouts of this was her conscious attempt to create humour that "didn't appear to come from a distinctly female point of view".
Camouflaging of humour is something many female comedians, especially those who are starting their careers, do consciously because of the templates set by the men in the business. Even when they eventually find their own voice, there are caveats to it. For instance, the audience that applauds a man swearing during a comedy act may not necessarily be comfortable with a woman doing the same. "In many cultures, there is a stigma associated with women speaking on a few subjects. There have been times when I have seen women talk about the same subjects as men and the audience has been disapproving. If there is a difference between male and female humour, it is also largely caused by the audience. Women do not need to talk about periods to get noticed, but what's the big deal if they do?" says Nitin.
He points to an interesting aspect - is female humour radically different from male humour? Every humour is different, points out Mina Liccione, a well-known female comedian and co-founder of Dubomedy. "I don't think it's a male or female thing; it's a personal thing. Each comedian has their own voice no matter the gender," says Mina, who, under the umbrella of Dubomedy, created Funny Girls UAE with husband Ali Al Sayed, a stand-up comedian himself, to train female comedians in the UAE.
Can women laugh at themselves more effortlessly? Egyptian stand-up comic-turned-theatre actress Lamya Tawfik certainly thinks so. "Their humour is less slapstick and tends to be more observational. Also, I notice that it's harder to make a woman laugh out loud. She will smile if it's funny, grin if it's witty and laugh if the joke actually deserves it."
Laughter is a validation of a comedian's genius. When cultural factors and biases begin to determine whether one should laugh at a joke or not, how does one genuinely assess the comedian's work? For many female comedians - including some who practise restraint in their work - the challenge is also to overcome this doubt. Mina says that whether it be their appearance, performance or preparation, women tend to care more. She argues that while a male comedian would go on stage, perform for five minutes, get a laugh or two and will likely think it's worked, a woman who performs on stage for 10 minutes, cracks up an audience, and then cracks that one joke that doesn't elicit a response will be more upset about it.
Eman points to something similar in the Arabic comedy circuit. "Sometimes, I feel that they want to laugh at my jokes, but are not sure whether they should."
Irrespective of whether they leave the audience in splits or not, for most male comedians who organise the open mic events, a female presence in the line-up means a brand new perspective. "Their voices are more nuanced; it's fresh and raw. Women, through comedies, usually offer something that we may not have thought about," says Amit Asudani, a stand-up comedian who co-founded Vdesi Laughs.
HOW LUCRATIVE IS IT?
Commitment to the cause of comedy aside, being a fulltime comedian is not something that many consider to be a lucrative prospect. For instance, Eman is a creative studio director who does stand-ups for free to create a tradition for the genre in the Arabic circles. On the other hand, 25-year-old Arzoo Malhotra, a new entrant in the field, dabbles between being a fulltime researcher and part-time comedian. It's not vastly different for the male comics; Amit, for instance, is a dentist through the week and a comedian during the weekends.
So, why are most comedians reluctant to plunge into it fulltime? Amit, who organises stand-up shows in the region, says that a lot of gigs are often done for free to keep the art alive. What really pays are corporate gigs where all that an organiser is really looking for is a funny host. Reeks of a creative compromise? "Real comedy originates from a very dark place in your life. You will see legendary stand-up comics making fun of their deepest pain and suffering. And then there is vanilla comedy where you crack jokes about other people, your family, spouse, etc. So when you ask someone who wants to do real comedy to simply be a funny host, it is a low blow. You choose these gigs because - one, they pay you and second, you get to test your humour," he says.
When comedians start out, says Mina, the gigs are not usually paid for. "Being a freelance artist in any country is challenging because there's no guarantee that work (and money) will come. It's hard work and you have to go through the grind. Getting stage time is like going to the gym for a comedian, you need to flex those comedic muscles and work out the timing of new material. It's difficult to sustain if you don't have a steady income. Hence most do comedy on the side."
What about pay parity? Nitin, who has been organising many shows and almost always makes it a point to include a female comedian in his line-up,argues that there is more of an opportunity parity rather than a pay parity. "I pay all the comics the same amount. The only difference would be that of the budget. Of course, I cannot pay the same amount to someone who's been doing this for six months as opposed to someone who's been doing it for 10 years, but I would definitely give them the opportunity, and I think those are comparatively less in Dubai."
THE AUDIENCE
In a metropolis like Dubai that is home to expats from different parts of the world, humour is more diverse. At the same time, it has to follow guidelines. Most stand-up comics - male and female - we spoke to see this as a challenge that actually strengthens their hold over the craft. Nitin Mirani cites a personal example to prove the considerable truth in that statement. Recently, he did a show where he was asked not to use the word s**t. "Incidentally, the whole joke revolved around that word. I came up with another word for it, and that made it funnier. So, having some sort of guideline is not really a limitation because it may lead to something that adds to the impact of the joke. I always joke that comedians who come from Dubai have two versions of every joke - one is for Dubai, another is for outside."
British comedian Elizabeth Bains agrees that in this respect, the challenges are same for women in this business as they are for a man. "(In this region), you need to be culturally sensitive and respectful of the authorities," she says. "This makes you more creative and observant of the funny things in life. In the UK and elsewhere, comics talk about sex and criticise governments, whereas my recent gig was about supermarket checkouts. Dubai has the world's tallest tower but its shortest checkouts, so I talked about that." Working in the Arabic segment, Eman keeps her sets "super clean", sometimes even "kids-friendly". Her jokes often revolve around her Turkish mother's attempts to speak Arabic and her own flab-to-fab journey following a surgery.
Even when they do manage to leave the audience in splits, a shocker often comes up in the form of "Wow, you're really funny for a girl" or "usually, female comedians don't make me laugh, but you did" - comments Mina says she received in her initial years in comedy. Things have changed now. "When I was younger I'd fire back a wiry remark but now I take it as a compliment. At the end of the day, I did my job while making them think and change their perspective," she says.
Arzoo reiterates that despite the limitations, audiences are willing to hear more audacious things from a male comic rather than a woman. She echoes Marcia Belsky in certain ways when she says that a woman on stage is likely to receive more unwanted attention. "Some young female comics change their names on social media because they often receive creepy messages from men after the show."
THE DIGITAL APPEAL
Today, the online space has opened up a new world for comedians. Social media itself has become an important barometer of success for a lot of comics with a higher following ensuring greater, better prospects and popularity. Can a smartly worded, 280-character tweet replace the lure of laughing with an audience? Nitin, who has, in many ways, helmed the Indian comedy space in the region, says that people are not as invested in live shows as they once were. "A live performance is all about creating a memory and what makes it work is the effort from both the performer and the audience to trust and respect each other by being in the moment. It's easy to sound smart within the limitation of 280 characters on Twitter. It's harder to make a live audience laugh. It's like theatre; you cannot watch a play on television, can you?"
Netflix has upped the game further. Today, the online streaming site has begun to command a robust popularity for its comedy segment. Apart from Nanette that became an instant talking point, the platform has featured female comedians such as Ali Wong (Baby Cobra), Sarah Silverman (A Speck of Dust), Amy Schumer (The Leather Special) and Jen Kirkman (Just Keep Livin?), among many others. In 2019, 47 comedians from 13 regions around the world will come together for a stand-up special on Netflix. Alongside Saudi Arabia's Moayad Alnefaie and Ibraheem Alkhairallah and Palestine's Adi Khalifa, Jordan's Rawsan Hallak will also feature in the show.
While Netflix may have opened a world of possibilities for women in comedies, the larger question its soaring popularity in this segment has posed is: how can the genre be kept relevant in the space it truly belongs to - live shows? The solutions are yet to come. Mina acknowledges the challenge while reminiscing about the time when comedians could perform solo for many years and tour the world with those acts. "Now with the Internet and specials on Netflix, comedians have to write and work out new material much faster. People won't attend a show they have already seen on Netflix, so there's an added pressure."
Despite the funny bones they tickle, being a female comedian is not quite roses and peaches. Peel off the layers, and the business of being funny can be challenging. Perhaps this is where a sense of humour will come in handy.
anamika@khaleejtimes.com