I never meant to become a comedian. It was an accident. Just something I could do. To be honest I never meant to become a mother either and I had five kids. It seems my destiny in life is to take the unintended path.
My comedy career started in the mid ‘80’s as part of a uni revue, I did a comedy monologue and then someone in the audience booked me for a gig. I was funny. I didn’t realise at the time. It was just how I saw the world. My trauma survival strategy turned out to be stand-up training! I love that about life. Nothing is wasted.
Back in the ‘80’s in Australia, stand-up comedy wasn’t a big thing like it is now, and in Brisbane when I started there was only the occasional room in a dive bar where you could get up and do five minutes. I got my stage time at poetry nights at the Story Bridge Hotel. Poetry audiences had a generosity that your regular pub crowd didn’t have. And by the time I was on they were so glad I wasn’t a poet, I could have yodelled and they would have been happy. So in those rooms I had these moments of thinking I was brilliant when I was probably well below average. It didn’t matter, that tiny self-belief sustained me.
When I started it was tough. I mean, brutal. Now, for new comics, the worst thing that happens is no one laughs at you – I’ve had to console newbies who are devastated by a quiet room. When I started out you’d leave the stage bleeding. I’ve had obscenities chanted at me, I’ve had men expose their genitals, I’ve been followed into the carpark, I’ve been hit in the head with a beer can. It was terrifying. But I didn’t stop. I decided early on that they wouldn’t beat me. Women’s voices needed to be in this space, and just by turning up I was making a difference. That’s what I told my 19-year-old self as I cried on the bus on the way home. But every time something shitty happened I told myself that I was stronger, that I’d survived as bad as it could get, and that gave me a strange kind of freedom.
There weren’t many women on the scene when I started performing, in fact I rarely shared a bill with any women. The men never spoke to me backstage. They drank beers and smoked, and made jokes. I sat quietly on a chair and looked at my notes. Like a complete amateur. I wasn’t cool, or composed, or popular. I was just bloody persistent.
Audiences groaned when I was introduced. It was like a performance extreme sport. But every now and then I’d crack through, and that was enough for me. I was intrigued. One day I wanted to walk into a room, step on stage, and be able to capture a crowd. I couldn’t imagine walking on without every joke written out word for word. Being able to speak without verbatim reciting. I was in awe of those who seemed to just put their drink down, walk out and kill. I was still writing my ideas in Texta on my arms. I was still sick with fear.
But it happened. I got better. More women turned up. More diverse cultures. There is often this statement that the woke agenda has killed comedy. As a woman who has had to take the stage after a bunch of fat girlfriend gags, hateful mother-in-law tropes and good old rape jokes I can only say, ‘that’s bullshit’. Our comedy scene has got so much better. You have to be smart. On point. And backstage, well it’s a lot more welcoming. Our industry has grown, and there’s a greater sense of inclusion and support. I love that.
And now I stand backstage with my arms unmarked by Texta. I have no list of ideas. Just years and years of experience. And I can do what I thought I would never be able to do. Take a crowd for an hour, and make them laugh. Without a set plan.
That’s what persistence does. This year is my 40th year as a stand-up comedian. It’s also my last. I’m stepping back. Stopping stand-up. And when I do, I will leave a space for other voices to fill the space.
Maybe there’s a sad little girl, right now, sitting in her room trying to make sense of her world, who will be the next big comedy sensation. I certainly hope so.
Mandy Nolan’s Soapbox column has appeared in The Echo for almost 23 years. The personal and the political often meet here; she’s also been the Greens federal candidate since before the last federal election. The Echo’s coverage of political issues will remain as comprehensive and fair as it has ever been, outside this opinion column which, as always, contains Mandy’s personal opinions only.
For four decades The Echo has printed the stories some people loved, some people hated, and some pretended not to read. If you want us to keep telling the truth, the real truth, not the sugar-coated version. We’ll need your support to keep the presses rolling. 
