Performers' Blogs
Scotland Could Be Considered a Summer Holiday
In the Corner with Sarah Harpur - Wed, 3 Aug
I am meant to be leaving for the Edinburgh Fringe next week. It is bitterly cold here, as it would have to be for a trip to Scotland to be considered a summer holiday. It must do Scotland's self esteem good, knowing that at certain times of the year, its murky streets could be considered a place of warm retreat. It must feel pretty smug, being the brunt of all crap-weather related jokes, knowing that people are coming there by choice, and they will leave there one step closer to skin cancer, and / or the addition of some sweet liver spots, crows feet and freckles.
I am moving through the cliched phases of grief. I do think that I have made the right choice by staying behind. It is not the fun choice, it is not even the “Hey look at me, I am so brave and endearingly naive” choice. It is the correct choice.
No one likes to have their life dictated by money, or a lack of it. It is a hideously stressful way to live. I have definitely upped the anti-oxidant levels in my face cream to counteract the Festival-chasing scars that are mysteriously accumulating between my eyebrows. In case you missed my very subtle analogy, I have aged considerably in the last year. I look at least 366 days older than what I did a year ago. And the accumulative effect of aging an extra day per year will be catastrophic. Imagine how hideous I will be at age 365. I will totally look 366. Then not even dear, sweet and loyal Mojo Coffee will sponsor me. As a child, being short equated to a youthful appearance. As an adult, it does not play so much. Even dwarves age, just ask Gimli. He is a walking 'before' picture on Extreme Makeover- Face Edition.
But now, due to my decision to walk away, I do feel a huge weight has been removed. My accumulated debts from last years 9 festivals are gone. My bank balance is this weird black colour. I am also in a position to perhaps buy a new pair of jeans, or the good soap that doesn't itch your skin and make it feel like it is going to tear if you move too quickly. I may even go back to drinking soy milk, one of my Mariah Carey diva indulgences.
Normally, I would call this decision to not go 'quitting' or 'failing'. But as I get oh-so-wise with each waking moment here on your Planet Earth, I am starting to see things a bit differently. I am getting better at seeing the bigger picture, and learning to keep some cards a bit closer to my chest. Normally, when playing poker, I would never fold. Even if I had nothing in my hand, I would rather risk all then fold. Consequently, I was out of a night-long session within twenty minutes. Now I know that all the rock-star poker players, dripping with hot ladies and bling bling; actually fold more than than they play. This time I have folded, but I am playing to win. Deal me another hand, dealer man, you, with your stupid visor and questionable choice in waistcoats! You know why? Because DJ Big Sez (that's me) still has some sweet, sweet chips left and she'll be here aalllll niiiight! Oh yeah!
- Sarah Harpur - http://harpursbizarre.com/
Shakespearean Optimist
In the Corner with Sarah Harpur - Mon, 25 Jul
Last week I had to throw in the towel regarding my trip to Edinburgh. As a stubborn / ridiculous person I did find it extremely hard to do. This return trip has been planned for, even before I returned home last year. I have been eating sausages as an athletic build up to deep fried haggis. I have been knitting scarves and watching Braveheart.
This week I have gained a bit of perspective on the situation and the bitter taste in my mouth is slowly leaving. I have chewed up the Panadol, washed it down with a cup of tea and the numb is kicking in.
At the moment I am trying to find someone to fill the Harpur shaped hole at my venue. My venue and time slot was locked down last year, so to make a no show at this late stage is very bad practice. I am currently trying to sort this issue myself, as opposed to leaving it to others. It is not much fun having to find someone to replace me, I have to sooth the waves of psychosis that surge, screaming ‘It should be meeeeeee!’ and ‘If I can’t have my 5.30pm time slot at the Rat Pack then NO ONE WILL’ combined with the desire to cook their pet rabbit a la ‘Fatal Attraction’.
I think the thing that is getting me through this phase is a philosophical approach, one that tries to reason that this scenario is for the best; when one door shuts another one opens, every cloud has a silver lining etc. I know that relentless optimism can be tiring; it is very easy to be optimistic when everything is going to plan. Right now things are not going to my plan, so I just need to hope that my plan was wrong and something worth sticking around for will emerge. Maybe I will have a brain transplant with Dylan Moran when he comes to Wellington in August. Maybe Edinburgh will spontaneously explode and if I was there doing my show I would end up as fried mince. Maybe a fundamentalist vegan was planning to assassinate me on opening night. Maybe I would have come home to thousands of dollars of debt and lost sense of purpose.
I am a Shakespearean optimist. This is not a tragedy. If there are survivors at the end of my show, then it is technically comedy. Something good will come of this, I have no idea what at this stage, but there is no point in declaring oneself an optimist and a hard-core-calculated-risk-taker if one knows exactly how things are going to pan out.
Cul-de-Sac
In the Corner with Sarah Harpur - Tue, 12 Jul
The long and winding road to Edinburgh 2011 has turned out to be a cul de sac.
At this stage last year, things were still very much up in the air but I had many sponsorship irons in the fire. There were many variables, some known unknowns and even some unknown unknowns.
But alas! This is not the case for Sarahtron 4million this time around.
This year I was super organised, ahead of schedule and on top of my many proposals, synergies and begging letters. Which means, last year I had no idea what good fortune/dividends lay ahead. But this year, I know my goose is cooked. And it’s a pet goose, so it’s even more sad. Poor Jonathan Goose.
My solo one-hour shows are off the beaten track. I am not based on or creatively inspired by any other comic. I don’t pick up the overflow of a sold out Ricky Gervais gig or the straggling late-comers to an already started Sarah Silverman performance.
My new show, Immortal Combat, takes you on a surreal, sometimes creepy, always good-natured, multi-media journey through my thoughts on Immortality vs Legacy.
This sort of comedy does not sell itself. I have consistently been met with either wide-eyed confusion or enthralled, engaged macabre-loving rapture.
This means the walk up appeal to these shows can be less than others.
I am careful not to sell or advertise my shows as something they are not. So if a Hen party of 20 drunken women/beasts roll up to a comedy club with two shows billed: One promising tales of debauchery and jokes about people from Lower Hutt OR some smug hot yoga enthusiast asking you to enter into a “Willing Suspension Of Disbelief” whilst speaking to you from the future, dancing to Kate Bush and singing about her dead Dad; I don’t see that $300 coming her way.
The people who like and support my live shows do so with huge enthusiasm and massive encouragement. I am aware, however, that it is not everybody’s cup of tea. And that is absolutely fine.
But I will not change what I like to do and how I like to write.
I like my material. I have faith in it. But being different costs.
Festivals are a struggle for all acts. I have heard of wonderful performers selling out their run at festivals and STILL losing money due to inflated venue hire, marketing costs, travel (especially if it is outside of NZ), accommodation and living expenses, registration fees and time away from the inescapable ‘day-job’.
Edinburgh was to be my fourth festival for 2011. Adelaide Fringe was in March, Dunedin Fringe (where I won Best Comedy) again in March, NZ Comedy Festival in May; and then Edinburgh in August.
That’s a new marketing run for each festival. Travel, accommodation, living expense etc. x 4 and we are only half way through the year.
This is why sponsorship, Creative NZ funding and corporate support (thank you Mojo Coffee) are so integral to getting shows seen.
The industry is filled with capable, talented and brilliant performers, but not necessarily the spending power of a public who can support them monetarily.
Janet Jackson said “The best things in life are free.”
Thanks for that, Janny (we are pretty good mates, I can get away with calling her that); A good laugh is free. A joke. That’s free.
But getting your bloody show to a festival is not free. It costs, Janny.
It costs money. And lots of it. It costs tears. And frustration. And self doubt.
I have been cavalier in my comedy career since it was born just over three years ago, here, in Wellington.
I have brought shows to every corner of NZ, to Australia and to the Daddy of all festivals, Edinburgh. But this year, after three wonderful, tearful and exhilarating festivals, I have run into a brick wall. And it hurts my face.
I just can’t make Edinburgh work without sacrificing too much of later in the year. Time I have set aside for creating. Working on scripts, next years show, a book. Time that I would then have to spend temping in the Department of Labour paying off the four or five grand I could potentially lose by shutting my eyes and just boarding that plane to Edinburgh.
I have made an executive decision. This Lion/Human hybrid will retire to the cave lick her wounds. This ‘lioman’ will come back stronger, safe in the knowledge that although she is missing the greatest festival on the planet, that although her award winning show will now not get it’s UK airing it deserves; she is not condemning herself to 8 months in admin to pay for one folly.
I have done Edinburgh and it is wonderful. Am I disappointed to not be going this year? I am gutted. I am as gutted as Drew Barrymore when she was in the first Scream film and was hung from a tree, then actually gutted.
But there comes a time when good sense must prevail.
With a glossier mane and shinier teeth, I’ll be back.
- Sarah Harpur - http://harpursbizarre.com/
On Average, It's Six
In the Corner with Sarah Harpur - Thu, 7 Jul
Today it is one month till the opening night of my show at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival. I say night, but my show is at 5.30pm, it is more of a daylight thing. But there is no shame in having a daytime show. Edinburgh is light till 11.00pm during August. Last year I had a 2.30pm slot, which meant my show attracted people who needed something to do after lunch or time to kill before the show they ACTUALLY wanted to see began. So compared to that, 5.30pm is a primetime slot!
At this stage, my inbox is inundated with special ‘artist only’ advertising deals. When you consider that tens of thousands of artists will be coming to the festival, these deals are not so special anymore. I am pleased that I have been to this festival before, as I now know that to spend hundreds of dollars to promote ones show could possibly be the biggest waste of money since the electric bread knife. During the festival, Edinburgh is at saturation point with thousands of hopefuls desperately trying to herd some of the millions of tourists to their show. The Royal Mile and surrounding streets are caked with discarded flyers, brochures and leaflets. Every wall is plastered with posters. And a poster may only see the light of day for half an hour before another one is slapped on top of it.
Edinburgh may be the biggest fringe festival on the planet, but that is in no way a guarantee that your show will get seen by the right people, if any people at all. I am told that the average number of people to a show in Edinburgh is 6. That’s right, six. How’s that for living the dream? The bad thing about small crowds is that it can be awkward for all concerned. The performer is embarrassed that more people did not come to their show. The audience members are embarrassed that they chose to come to the show with only 2 other people in the crowd. It takes a while for the comedian to accept the fact that a spattering of giggles can be the best to hope for; and for the audience to accept that their horrific laugh has no place to hide in this small forest of people. When that happens, everyone chills out a bit and the more intimate shows can be a lot of fun. The good thing about a small crowd in broad daylight is that it makes you appreciate a full house of jolly drunk people in the dark.
At this stage I am still waiting to see if I am even able to get there. A couple more declines of my proposal lie opened on my dining table and dotted through my inbox. I don’t like my fate being left to the goodwill of others. Especially in this financial climate. The prospect of me spending a month in Europe in the summer, while I know is extremely hard work, does not evoke feelings of empathy in others. If I was blind, with a terminal disease and a hungry puppy, people might feel more charitable, but at the moment my plight does not really warrant a symphony of violins.
I am trying to stay busy. Ordering flyers that may never be handed out, looking for flats in Scotland and handing in my notice to my landlord. I have lived in the same house for five years now, and in two weeks I am moving out. Only time will tell if I am moving to Scotland to rub shoulders with the biggest names in show biz; or to a cave in the country, licking my wounds and concocting plans to create a new breed of sheep.
- Sarah Harpur - http://harpursbizarre.com/
The Deft Art of Waiting
In the Corner with Sarah Harpur - Tue, 28 Jun
I am still waiting to hear back from my prospective benefactors in regards to getting to the Edinburgh Fringe Festival in August. I am an orphan, they: my wealthy uncle who is happy to pay for my upkeep, but is not interested in spending time or affection on me. I am Julia Roberts, they are Richard Gere. Except Julia Roberts is a comedian, and Richard Gere is an above-board, professional sponsor of legal and morally appropriate goods and services in the form of plane tickets.
At the moment, I have had enough interest from my potential sponsors to remain hopeful. But it has been a couple more weeks of extra waiting now, and I am in limbo. I do not know whether to start packing my suitcase, or start handing out my CV at Pak'n'Save Petone.
The waiting is starting to wear on my self esteem. I am wondering: Would they call me back if I had only emphasised my enthusiasm by putting a few extra exclamation marks in the proposal? I am wondering: if I was funnier, prettier, skinnier or richer, would get a returned call? Did I say something wrong? Am I ugly? Do I deserve love?
Not one to leave my fate in the hands of others, I have turned to other ways in which to raise capital for my journey. I had my first of two fundraiser gigs on Saturday night. It was with 2011 Billy T winner, Nick Gibb, in his home town. A chance for the Manawatu to support their success stories! A chance to see some award winning comedians! A chance for more exclamation marks!!!!
While the gig was lovely, a 200 seat venue with barely 40 seats filled does not pay ones way to the UK. While the crowd was amazingly supportive, enthusiastic and delighted, the profits would not even pay for a one-way flight to Palmerston North. I know this, because I just checked.
I was meant to have my second fundraiser this weekend in my hometown of Dannevirke; but with only 3 tickets pre sold, I decided to postpone it for a few weeks. Fundraising can be an expensive endeavour, and I refuse to walk away from a fundraiser where I walk away in a broker condition than when I started. I will drum up the Dannevirke New! Publicity stunts! Banners from Planes! People will come! Just not this Friday, it would seem.
So for now, I wait for the call. I will plan more plans and I will wait.
While I wait, I will work on my Edinburgh show. I like my show. I am proud of my show. It is original, it is clever, it is funny and I have worked my ass off on it. But it could always be better. I will nitpick, I will dissect and I will focus my energy on making sure that when I get to the Edinburgh Fringe Festival, I have with me a show that deserves to be there.
Waiting is lame.
- Sarah Harpur - http://harpursbizarre.com/
There and Back Again - A Comic's Tale
In the Corner with Sarah Harpur - Tue, 21 Jun
It was this time last year and I had just booked my first flight to the UK. I was to attend the one fringe festival to rule them all. Edinburgh. And I was excited. As long as I had been a comedian, I had yearned to travel to the UK. The home of the BBC. The home of the best written, most original comedy shows on television. The home of chips and gravy.
But I had always had the same, seemingly valid excuse. “I can't afford this”.
It was time to change tack. I paid my $800 registration fee, hoped for the best and stocked up on beans and pasta.
I was sitting on the plane, leaving for Edinburgh with only £300 cash to last 5 weeks in the UK (my rent alone cost £500), I got a phone call. The Max Foundation were awarding me a $2,000 scholarship to help towards my trip. Like any proper girl, this convinced me that I was 'meant' to be going there. And I cried. Shame.
Good luck came to me in the last minute, and my career is glad it did.
I performed my 1 hour show 19 times, amongst thousands of performers from all over the world. Some of them were world class acts. Some of them were university students. Some of them were yet to be discovered stars. Some were filthy carnies trying to make a buck on the Royal Mile posing as 'Living Statues'. “Get a real job!” I would silently hiss at them as I handed out flyers to tourists who reveled in telling me how much they hated comedy, especially when performed by females.
Prior to this festival, I had performed my 1 hour show just four times. I got more stage time in a few weeks in Edinburgh than I had in the 2 years leading up to it. It was comedy bootcamp (except I was not getting sexy abs and a toned booty, I was growing an extra layer of insulation from my discovery of Ben and Jerry's ice-cream as an effective cure for self doubt).
After three weeks of performing daily, in front of crowds from all over the world, even when I was tired, broke, emotional and fed up; I finished, feeling exhausted, yet bullet proof.
I was heckled, had people walk out of my show, cry, buy me beer, and wear my 'Dead Dads Club' badge with pride. I made professional contacts, amazing friends and ate deep fried haggis. I drank at the same bar as Dylan Moran. I cried only 3 times on day 18. Apparently that is hard-core. Most people cry way more than that.
Edinburgh was a beast, but it did not smash me up and liquefy my bones as I expected it to.
It made me tough.
A year has passed and I'm going back. Armed with the knowledge of things I now know, I intend to make this years festival even better and more productive.
But this time, this year, I have not yet booked my ticket.
“Why not, Sarah? They only get more expensive by the day!”
Yes. I know this. But my pursuit of professional growth has cost me considerably. Money is a measurable language everyone understands. Let me get out the tape measure. Imagine a twenty-something year old Netballer supplementing their income with some temporary work at the Department of Labour. Now imagine that person having to spend over 50% of their net income on Netball shoes. That's what I did (as you may have realised, netball shoes are a metaphor.)
I rely hugely on grants and sponsorship to get to festivals. For example, Mojo coffee have been a massive help this year and last; I am fiercely loyal and grateful for their support (I will drink Mojo coffee till my teeth have assimilated the same shade as their delicately roasted coffee beans).
I have not bought my ticket yet, because I physically can not. But do not fear!
I have spent the last few months working like an Orc (but a non-evil one) trying to hustle some flights. One by one my proposals have come back declined. But hope remains.
Yes! A seed of hope! I have my last proposal in the hands of the correct people. I sleep with my phone. I am awaiting a response-slash-miracle. I am Gandalf, I have done my bit, now it's time to see if those hobbits come back with good news.
Till then, I will continue to tap my wizard wand impatiently, asking the same questions I ask myself time and time again- 'Can lightning strike twice?' followed by 'Am I brave- or stupid?' then 'Why don't I just get a job at the Department of Labour and do comedy as a hobby?'
- Sarah Harpur - http://harpursbizarre.com/
