First published on 16 Sep 2011. Updated on 11 May 2012.
Review: Watching Sam Simmons perform is not a comfortable experience.
That’s partially down to the fact that being Sam Simmons is clearly not a comfortable experience. He’s spent years trying to create an original form of live comedy, far removed from typical guy-with-a-mic stand up (although he’s also disdainful of comedy-as-theatre, going by several of his more withering asides during the show), and the fact that he still divides and confuses audiences seems to both genuinely delight and genuinely annoy him.
It’s a fascinating dynamic. Many times during The Precise History of Things he'll step out of a piece to assure the crowd that he’ll win them back, then during a piece of comparatively accessible comedy – his Xmas-songs-as-Star-Wars-music mash up, for example – he’ll berate the audience for laughing too easily.
It keeps the room on-guard the whole time, which gives the show a very unusual atmosphere. Is Simmons’ meltdown on stage part of the show, or is he really that disappointed in us? Is he asking too much of an audience to follow his breakneck pace from one comedic conceit to another? And why is that puppet llama lip-synching to ‘Freestyler’ by the Bomfunk MCs?
That said, …Things is inarguably best show to date, freed of the need to follow some sort of vague narrative (as with Fail, for example). While the show does have a point to it, we get there via a machine-gun mix of bursts of song, voiceover vignettes, monologues, a mini-opera set in a Coles, visual aids, shonky props, a synthpop number about pinecones and a recurring trope with an Old El Paso Taco Kit. While there’s not a lot of audience work involved, there’s enough to keep the front rows nervous, and there’s a genuine fury in Simmons that means that those moments of charming absurdity (the songlet “this is how my knee works” springs to mind) are underpinned by the uncertainty of what is coming next.
While much of humour is based in absurdity and wordplay, there’s none of the cheeky chappy palliness of, say, Ross Noble; and that’s probably going to prevent Simmons ever playing arenas. It’s also why he’s so important. Simmons is unlikely to ever be satisfied with himself or his audience, and while that’ll probably make for a frustrating life and career, it also makes for some genuinely extraordinary comedy.
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There’s a reason that people have strong opinions about Sam Simmons. Some people (like, say, we at Time Out Sydney) think he’s a genius. Others find him weird and terrifying. Both groups will probably find their positions supported at the upcoming run of his show The Precise History of Things, his first show since returning from a triumphant run at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival, including a nomination for Best Comedy Show. And he can’t wait to get back.
“Absolutely! I’m so reluctantly here at the moment,” he declares. “I’m going back for a month-long run over Christmas in London. I can’t wait to go back and do it all.”
He’s not leaving us entirely, mind: “Half and half is what I’m gonna do now. Having the UK respond to what I do really, really positively has been a massive thumbs up for me, because everybody over here is so fucking obsessed with the banal side of comedy, I reckon. Dudes like me and [fellow Sydney comedian] Nick Sun have to escape overseas to make things happen because they’re too scared to allow risk in this country.”
Well, both of you have confused the hell out of audiences…
“Yeah, but what do you want?” he demands. “Isn’t that the point of experimenting? ‘Ooooh, don’t terrify the audience’ – do terrify the audience! Do stuff.”
He reserves particular venom for “the T-shirt brigade: dudes with tight torsos making whimsical observations in jeans. All that type of shit is definitely entrenched over here, and I’ve got no time for it. People like Nick and me and Claudia O’Doherty, we are the fucking answer to that. We are the punk comedy in this country, and it’s very, very necessary as a backlash against the T-shirt philosophers.”
Well, Sydney doesn’t really have a lot of venues for anything other than a regular stand-up…
“No, you work at it, and you make it happen,” he insists. “I’ve worked really hard at it: it’s not like I had someone going ‘here’s a door open for you to do what you do.’ I fucking battled hard in clubs. I’ve made a lot of mistakes so that I can take it out to an audience. This run of shows is me coming back with my cock out, celebrating and going ‘fucking hell, this is cool, look at this, look at what I do.’ I just wanna have fun with the run of show: literally just have fun every night and lap it up.”
And what is the show itself? “It’s surreal, violent, audience interaction. Because I hate audience interaction, I think it’s the lamest – ‘oh, what do you do for a living? Oh, you’re a plumber!’ Who gives a fuck?’ So it’s playing with all that, and really fucking up the audience – and it’s awesome because the front two rows are in fear of what the fuck’s gonna happen.”
For all of Simmons’ bullishness, he’s quick to point out that this degree of confidence is unusual for him. “I would have been doubting things quite furiously if I hadn’t gone to the UK this year. The nomination in Edinburgh, that’s a huge thing for me. It was like: yeah, I know that I’m doing things right now. And it’s given me the confidence to actually write a fucking amazing show for next year, which I’m really excited about.
“I’m fragile. You know I’m fragile. I’m a precious little being. But my confidence is up and I’m ready to go. It’s actually really exciting, man.”
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