Kate-Lois Elliott calls for comedy to be treated like theatre

I'm about to take my debut show on tour. The show is centred on my family living in a scary Christian cult for generations and my mum's decision to leave quite dramatically at age 16. It's about how generational trauma has shaped my identity, and it's about how cult-like behaviour is all around us, especially at the moment (point to politics). I’m really excited to tour the show, it’s been a labour of love and I’m damn proud of myself, but to date, it’s the most expensive thing I’ve ever done.

I never expected that I'd be a comedian on tour. I started doing stand-up about six years ago after spending nearly a decade in theatre. I've noticed that a lot of actors who also do stand-up will keep that part of their life quiet, and - spoiler - it's not just that the world of a comedian seems a bit cooler than that of a thespian. The industries are a world apart and, I guess, compared to comics, theatre people can come across a bit... smug? Because what separates the industries, at their core, is funding.

Theatre has a carefully curated structure, where gatekeepers are beholden (for the most part) to Arts Council grants and National Lottery funding. I'm not saying that all money in theatre comes from grants; it's still a world of nepotism and well-hidden 'follow the money' success stories, and a place where grassroots graduate companies often make work without budgets. 

The theatre industry is certainly not perfect. Drama school – though a route into an industry that’s very hard to get a foot in the door of – costs about the same as a London house deposit. However, the fact that there are pockets of money spread around the theatre world means that large venues are contractually obliged to widen their nets, keep the work diverse, keep in touch with their local communities, and offer opportunities to those who might not have access to them otherwise.

The world of comedy, on the other hand, has long been considered a commercial industry. When I was training at drama school, on a course that explored alternative and new theatre practices, we were shown all sorts of 'art'; everything from an immersive performance of a game of darts to a urinal on a gallery wall - aka an installation. That said, throughout the three years I spent learning about performance, there wasn't one mention of stand-up. It wasn't considered theatre, and it certainly wasn't considered high art.

The traditional world of stand-up, after music hall but before the Soho Theatre, is the world of club comedy: working men's clubs and beer halls full of stag dos, hecklers and predominantly white male comics of a certain age, telling predictable yet warmly received anecdotes about catching the pocket of their jacket on the door. 

There's still a place for this kind of comedy in the UK, and the success of national treasure Peter Kay has certainly proved that this sort of thing can be well-loved, relatable AND inclusive to the masses when done correctly.

There isn't always a place on that side of the industry for a lot of newer comics, who might not necessarily feel at home in a regional club because they don't fit into the box of what people think a club comic should be. Now, this isn't a dig at the people who run these shows - it's more an observation of how once an audience has an idea of what something SHOULD be in their mind, it's hard to shake it. From this, a newish breed of solo shows have formed, shows that tread the line between stand-up and contemporary theatre. 

I think it's a really exciting time for the comedy industry.

Edinburgh Fringe has historically been a bastion for experimental comedy, but it's an institution that requires artists to entirely self-fund - with the exception of initiatives such as the newly formed Chortle Hotshots, which supports comics taking their debut show to the Fringe and Phoebe Waller-Bridge's Keep It Fringe Fund, which contributes £2,500 to 180 participants. 

The budget acts will spend debuting at the Fringe is something around £7,000 - £10,000 (and going up by laughable amounts every year). People all over the industry will wax lyrical about the exploitative costs of the Fringe; it's not a hidden secret. Comics save for years to do it, sacrificing their chance to have a house deposit or - dare I say it - live comfortably. There really is no proper, sustainable funding for comedy acts to develop their work.

Not just that, but the only way to develop your skills in comedy is by performing for free four nights a week at dreaded 'bringer' gigs or poorly attended open mics. The costs then add up, including but not limited to travel costs and being strongly encouraged to buy drinks at the bar or to drop money in the bucket at the end of the show, essentially paying to perform.

It might not be as expensive as drama school, but it's a full-time job on top of your full-time job. Then, you get a bit of success, but you still end out paying out more than you earn on travel, directors, venue and marketing fees, and your own time used to develop the work can be limitless. Unless you're living off inherited wealth or you're 21 and still living at home, comedy is quickly becoming yet another creative side-hustle for the rich, just like theatre but without the funding to make small openings for other acts to squeeze into.

So how do we sustain it? Comedy deserves a seat at the government funding table. The more we experiment with what a show can be, the more varied and diverse audiences are coming to watch - people who've never come to comedy gigs, especially young people who are far more picky about what specific things they want to consume. It's becoming an industry that gives a platform to stories, and I think stories can change our perceptions of the world. We all bleed, we all cry, we all laugh. These are the things that make us human.

We need humour, and we need to laugh at ourselves. It breaks down barriers and allows us to self-reflect in a way that doesn’t feel shaming. We need to experiment with the stories we're telling because the questions we’ve asked haven't been answered yet. We need to experiment in a different way and in a different form.

The arts industry needs to catch up with itself and acknowledge that comedy shows are far more than crowd-pleasers with the same bums on seats; they’re a part of our culture. Comedians as storytellers bring new perspectives to the masses, and they do it whilst laughing at the ridiculousness of us all. Maybe that’s exactly what we need.

• Kate-Lois Elliott’s How to Belong Without Joining a Cult kicks off at Edinburgh’s Monkey Barrel on March 22. Tour dates. Her Instagram handle is @kateloiselliott

• The final Chortle Hotshots showcase takes place at The Gaffe comedy club in Bristol on Tuesday. Tickets

Published: 20 Feb 2025