James Acaster: Generational Talent?

Let me start by saying that the title of this essay is bold. Extremely bold. Of the three people that will probably read this blog, two will be disgruntled by the boldness of the claim. One may think at first glance that I am just some average joe who’s seen James Acaster on 8 out of 10 Cats does Countdown and is immediately proclaiming him to be the Messiah of stand-up. In response, I have to tell you that I am no schmuck. In the last ten years I have easily over 100 different stand-ups live, and a great deal more online; I have seen legends of the art such as two of my great heroes, Stewart Lee and Tim Minchin; I have seen veterans such as Simon Munnery and Reginald D. Hunter; I have endured pricks like Jonny Awsum and I have been underwhelmed by household names like Jack Whitehall; I have seen Kiri Pritchard-Mclean and Rachel Parris before they were popular. In short, I know my shit. So when I claim that James Acaster is potentially a generational talent in the comedy industry, I do not do so lightly.

I first saw James Acaster in 2015 at the Edinburgh Fringe festival. At this point, he had maybe done a couple of bits on Mock the Week, but certainly no more. My family and I didn’t really know him, but in the beautiful Edinburgh way we took a punt on him. You can’t really fail when you go to something random at Edinburgh; it’s either something totally brilliant, something so bad that it becomes brilliant, or just quite good, which is better than nothing at all. The best thing about Edinburgh, however, is that once in a while you see something truly magnificent. It is such a rare thing to be shocked in this way, where you can scarcely believe what you’ve stumbled upon. But this is the feeling I had when I first watched James Acaster. I was in complete and utter awe. Since that evening, I have followed James’ career avidly. I feel proud when I see him on the telly, and weirdly protective of him; I don’t like it when comedians become too commercial and mainstream, especially when they’re good. I like having a niche interest. Weirdly then, I have decided to share on a public platform a complete review of his stand-up career so far. So, strap in, I guess.

Acaster’s first major work was, of course, Repertoire; a series of 4 stand-up shows which are loosely connected to one another, but which function perfectly as stand-alone shows. Already on a conceptual level this is very ambitious and commendable. I can’t think of many comedians, aside from Stewart Lee, who would attempt this, let alone pull it off, and there is a reason for this: most comedians are presenting what is essentially a refined version of themselves. There is nothing wrong with this, per se; in fact I think it often makes for great comedy. Greg Davies, for example, just does pretty middle-of-the-road standard stuff, but he gets away with it because his persona is so likeable and engaging; there’s nothing genius about it, but it is definitely good comedy. Acaster, on the other hand, has a different approach. Rather than a refined figure, Acaster presents himself as an extreme version of himself, bringing out all his eccentricities. What this means is that he is able to use his imagination with regards to the narrative strain of the shows to its full potential; when you have a character as eccentric as this, you have to have an eccentric plot to match. So, rather than just mere stand-up shows, these are engaging stories. What’s more, when he puts himself in the shoes of this character, he sees the world in a different light, and crucially, he brings out the funny in what people see, but don’t observe. And then, as if this wasn’t enough, the call-backs throughout this set are sublime. Normally, if a comedian can make one call-back to a previous joke, they’ve done something a little bit clever. If a comedian can link two or three together, it’s a job well-done. Acaster links anywhere between 10 and 20 together in a single show. Not even Stewart Lee can do this as well as James. The key thing here is also how well he masks them. Every joke is delivered like a throwaway joke, and the narrative itself is so engaging that we get distracted from them, and so when they come back around, what we’re left with is sheer disbelief at his genius. In fact the first time I saw him, when he was doing Represent (Part II), I never wanted to see comedy again, for I never thought I would see anything that would surpass it. The whole project is a sheer joy.

However, when a comedian does something as special as this, so looms the inevitable question: ‘do they have anything more to give?’ I must confess that, after his specials had dropped on Netflix, I feared for him. He began to gain serious traction, making regular TV appearances on panel shows and as a celebrity guest. In fact, he has reached a point where he has not one but two major podcasts and is now a co-host of Hypothetical on Dave. In my eyes, he was in serious danger of becoming mainstream, and in the words of Tim Minchin, ‘nothing ruins comedy like arenas.’ So, when I finally managed to see his second major work, Cold Lasagne, Hate my Life, 1999, (albeit virtually), I was somewhat nervous. After 5 minutes, however, my nerves were eased.

Fundamentally, this project is an attempt to assert himself as something greater than just a good comic. This is not necessarily a piece to bring in a totally new audience, but rather, filter the pre-existing one; he’s really trying to appeal to an audience that knows about comedy. The eagle-eyed amongst you will have noticed 3 references to the godfather of British stand-up, Stewart Lee, and that is deliberate. Stewart Lee has built his career by actively rejecting the mainstream audience and retaining only those who actually understand (on some level) his comedy. I got the impression in this piece that Acaster is now trying to do the same. He references immediately that he wants to be rid of the ‘old people and chrizzos,’ and he takes a dig at the Michael McIntyre viewers among the audience. This is exciting to see, especially from a comic who has broken out in an age when comedy is far more widespread and commercial, as he seems to be prioritising the art form by doing this; something which is seen less and less, as comedians such as Jimmy Carr and Katherine Ryan sadly demonstrate. However, what really intrigued me about this project was Acaster’s exploration into his own mental health. This is a far more difficult topic than we’re used to with Acaster, and on paper it shouldn’t really work. Mental health comedy is a difficult area to navigate, and if it evokes too much sympathy, it ceases to be funny. In addition, Acaster’s prior work seems so light-hearted that this style would seem out of place dealing with such a topic. So, how does Acaster get this right? The crucial thing is that we see a clever shift in persona. Rather than the chaotic energy of Repertoire, his energy is far more focused, as if channelled by his frustration and anger. It certainly seems closer to his true self, but Acaster maintains the distance between the art and the artist, meaning that the persona Acaster presents is still not really him. This is so effective because it means that we are not laughing at comedy at the expense of a real human being, but rather a fictionalised form of himself within a certain narrative. Hence, we don’t feel guilty for laughing, nor do we feel overly sympathetic towards him. It is a perfect balance between the art and the artist, and any more either way and the show doesn’t work. In addition, this persona also allows him to become more political; the anger of the character is directed towards Brexit, towards ‘challenging’ comedians like Ricky Gervais, and towards his unworthy audience. So, in essence, this is Acaster flexing his writing muscles in a new way; rather than just pure imagination, he brings in genuine intellect. This is Acaster showing the comedy scene just how good he really is.

I may be biased, of course. When you see a comic live when they’re relatively new, and then see them become successful, you want to have a certain ownership of that. I almost feel a part of his success. But I truly believe that he is a generational talent in the making. His writing is novel, imaginative, clever, and increasingly intellectual. His presence on stage is engaging, complex, fascinating and very nuanced. He is a very versatile performer, and yet he never truly strays from his unique Acaster style. Put simply, this is someone who understands comedy. I like to think he will become better and better, but even if he doesn’t, it doesn’t matter; 35 years into his life, and he has already achieved greatness.