Slaying the sacred cow: an interview with American satirist Will Franken

Slaying the sacred cow: an interview with American satirist Will Franken

04 February, 2013
by: Emma

"I find the hypocrisy of political correctness one of the most absurd characteristics of our present time." 

Amongst the whispers, award rumour mills and gossip that spreads like wildfire through the Edinburgh Fringe each year, we found one name kept cropping up again and again last August. “Have you seen Will Franken’s show?” was a question we were asked at several points during the festival, and by the third or fourth time, were happy to report back that we had. Franken's Edinburgh debut – Things We Did Before Reality – is an explosive one man sketch show; an hour-long barrage of satirical vignettes lampooning popular culture, self-righteous liberalism and social sacred cows with a Chris Morris-like level of absurdity. Later this month, Franken will perform his hit Fringe show at the Soho Theatre, before moving to London full-time. We caught up with him (via email) in San Francisco...

Last year you took a show to Edinburgh for the first time. How did you enjoy the experience of performing alongside hundreds of other comics? 

That question really takes me back, Spoonfed (CHUCKLES, LIGHTS A CIGARETTE). I think comedians by nature tend to be competitive. Ridiculously so, sometimes. Which is why we use terms like "kill" or "slay" to signify a good show. But in Edinburgh, I underwent a sort of ongoing ego death throughout the festival. I think for my first two shows, I had my typical worries about numbers, audience reaction, etc. And then something kicked in after the second performance where I realised that in order to survive, I had to let go of everything in a very mystical way. Consequently, it was one of the most beautiful experiences of my life and I didn't want it to end.

What's the comedy scene like in San Francisco and how does it compare to the UK? 

With the closing of the Purple Onion last summer, (SIGHS) San Francisco is essentially a ghost town. I've been pining for six months to come back to the UK, the land of my comedic influences, for nearly six months and this time I'm staying. That being said, San Francisco essentially gave me my name and career. Not having a television or film industry to speak of, as LA or New York, the city tends to lend itself towards more experimentation and creativity. But I've always wanted to live and work in the UK, I was just rather slow in getting around to it. Also, I think the business side of comedy is treated more seriously in the UK. America is becoming saturated with hobbyists. 

You’ve had a few different jobs over the years. What prompted you to give comedy a go? 

I believe I was born to do it (LEVITATES). I've been fired from almost every normal job I had because I kept joking around all the time. Sometimes I would actually get hired on the basis of being funny and then fired for the same reason a few months later. I used to be a receptionist and I would answer the phone pretending I was a voicemail system. It's amazing how long somebody will speak to you if you pretend to be a robot. I moved around a lot, always trying to find the elusive "normal" life, but never found it. I went to New York first to do comedy and my impatience prevented me from consistently waiting in long lines for open slots. A few years later, on a whim, I ended up living in San Francisco in my car. I walked past a thinly populated open mike at a coffee house, realised with three hundred dollars to my name and no place to live I had nothing left to lose, got up on stage and things, quite honestly, just took off from there.

Your act has lots of different voices and characters - do you find you talk to yourself a lot?

Yes. But usually when there are other people around (TALKS TO HIMSELF). They call it narcissism. I've been known to use characters and voices as a way of avoiding emotional intimacy. I took a girl out once and spoke like my friend from Cavan, Ireland the entire night. When I'm happy, I'll talk to myself in the house a lot – even sing. When I'm upset, it comes out more in spasms. I'll rehearse potential confrontational arguments with others by myself in the shower. But that is how I write. I never sit down with a piece of paper. I talk to myself and make faces until something writes itself. 

Who or what inspires your work? 

If something or somebody pisses me off, I'll eventually find a way to turn the situation into a satirical piece. It's a great form of revenge. I haven't had cable TV for over twenty years, but I always turn it on in a hotel room or at a friend's house and the bits just write themselves. I'm big into making fun of sanctimonious types. I'm working on a bit right now where two Mexicans are arguing about whether or not to go the States legally or illegally. One of them is on a laptop, diligently looking up citizenship tests, and the other is screaming at him: "Have you gone loco? Do you know what white people are doing for jobs there, man? Making video game apps for Facebook! The time is now, Pedro! Let's go wash some dishes and buy a plasma TV!" That's just a comic rendition of my desire to return to the United Kingdom. Private or public, macrocosmic or microcosmic, it all goes through my satirico-absurdist filter at some point. 

Your comedy often draws comparisons with psychedelic drugs. Do you think your earlier drug experiences influenced your act in any way? 

I think marijuana was very freeing for me (SNORTS A LINE, TOSSES BACK HAIR). I smoked pot for a long time, but gave it up a few years ago. In my early years of smoking, it definitely freed me up creatively and I think it might have saved me from the traditional linear comedic output of set-up, punchline, set-up, punchline. I think I wrote some amazing stuff on weed. But over time, it does make one lazy. Instead of getting high and creating, I was getting high and thinking about creating. Then I was getting high and playing flash games on a laptop. So I decided to quit. When I was in my teens, I had some very beautiful mystical and spiritual adventures on peyote and LSD, but I don't think I actually created anything during those trips. It was more of a soul-cleansing type thing. Man. 

Your comedy satirises society and political correctness - have you ever encountered any negative audience reactions to this or do you tend to find people are more relaxed because they’re watching sketch comedy? 

That's a very good question, Spoonfed (KISSES ASS). I don't get it often, actually, and I think you're right, it's because it's sketch comedy. I find that I can get by with a lot of stuff behind the veneer of a character. That being said, I have had a few occasions where people have thrown hissy fits. Ironically, one of them was at a hip-hop, poetry slam, shock humour show in Oakland. A few of them rushed the stage and I had to sprint for the parking lot. I won't go into details because it was so horrific. But it's funny how the tattooed, alternative, fuck the church/ government/schools set is always the most uptight. Political correctness is anathema to any serious comedian, especially a satirist. I'm not a mean comic. I just do what I find is funny. And I find the hypocrisy of political correctness one of the most absurd characteristics of our present time. 

When was the last time you really laughed? 

I was driving with my friend Shane the other day and there was a limo full of drunken blonde girls a few lanes over (I guess the American equivalent of a hen-do) They were waving out the window, bouncing up and down to some hip-hop. My friend says to me: "let's flip 'em off." So we rode up to them and just held out our middle fingers and started making other sexual gestures with our hands. I don't know why I thought that was so funny. It was so guttural, but sometimes there's a place for guttural. I go highbrow, I go lowbrow. We chased them for a few blocks and I laughed hysterically all the way. 

Will Franken: Things We Did Before Reality is at the Soho Theatre from Thursday 28th February-Saturday 9th March. 

Book tickets 

Read Spoonfed's Edinburgh review.

Emma