4 hours ago
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How did you get into comedy?
I was in a public speaking club at school and competed internationally. I am greatly indebted to Reading Blue Coat school for giving me the confidence to express myself from a young age, particularly Mr Holleley. When I left, I had incredible confidence that I had something to offer the world, neatly wrapped in a deep ignorance of what the world actually was.
I was handed a flyer for a comedy competition outside a charity fundraiser gig my dad took to me at the Royal Albert Hall. It was called comedystars.tv, where you uploaded a video to get voted into a final at the Edinburgh festival. It was brilliantly hosted by Simon Amstell, who eviscerated the entire endeavour on the basis it contained no stars or comedy.
What inspired your latest show, Whatever People Say I Am, That’s What I Am?
Short answer: Alex Turner, Arctic Monkeys and their creative journey thus far. Long answer: I quit standup for about four years after my last tour, Manhood. I had found the entire ordeal physically and mentally draining – not least because what was supposed to last four months ended up lasting two years due to a global pandemic. Comedian friends told me the Machynlleth festival is the nicest place in the world to do comedy, so when pondering if I ever wanted to do standup again, I booked myself a work-in-progress there. I resolved that if I enjoyed it, I’d keep going. The show is a statement about public perception, identity and Arctic Monkeys.
Your show plays with the gap between how people see you and who you feel you are. When did that tension first become something you wanted to confront publicly?
Without standup I have the potential to be an incredibly isolated person. What’s brilliant about the form is that it forces you into a room of people, and the wisdom of the crowd dictates to you who you are in relation to society. Communicating your private experiences to a room full of people – having them validated, or in the case of a number of my work-in-progresses, completely rejected – proffers one a much clearer sense of who one is. Oh, and bringing it back to the show, most people quite clearly see me as [Friday Night Dinner’s] Jonny Goodman. Or Pissface. Which they are well within their rights to do.
What’s one of the strangest fan encounters you’ve had?
Very recently we moved house and I went to drop off some of our excess belongings to the local charity shop. On arrival they had a sign that stipulated it was a one-box maximum. I asked a staff member to confirm this was the case, at which point she said: “Well, not for Tom Rosenthal.” I dropped off six boxes. Never has charity felt so grubby.
What’s been one of your all-time favourite gigs?
Going to school in Reading and being born in the late 80s meant my friends and I adored The Office, so the time I warmed up for Ricky Gervais at the Cambridge Corn Exchange and got to take my best mate along is probably my best memory in comedy. Recently I’ve been very much enjoying the Comedy Garden gigs, where promoter Will Briggs gets a big tent and puts it up in various cities. But in truth I quickly forget nice gigs and will take bad ones with me to the grave.
Any bugbears from the world of comedy?
I don’t like it when comedians are negative about other comedians. Even though the industry actively rewards rampant self-promotion, narcissism and egregious behaviour of all types, there’s a fine line to tread. You are literally trading on being an extreme character – not to mention the fact you are financially incentivised to remind people of your very existence. It’s an annoying job to have, by its nature. So I think comedians should offer more compassion and understanding to other comedians, even if they’ve decided to tackle the industry in a different way or with a different style. Having said all that I do have five minutes in my show when I have a go at David Baddiel for writing about me and my dad [sports presenter Jim Rosenthal] in his book. So I guess another bugbear would be the rampant hypocrisy.
Best heckle?
One of my best friends in comedy once got heckled with: “Why do you do this?”
Can you recall a gig so bad, it’s now funny?
One thing that is true in standup and of life generally is nothing teaches you more than failure. I did the Cornbury festival once, and I followed Frisky and Mannish, a quite brilliant musical act. I was inexperienced and not good enough to handle a festival gig and following something far more impressive than a young boy talking. I was fresh out of my public-speaking club and keen to impress the middle-class folk of the Cotswolds. My dad’s friends were watching, and afterwards they gently commiserated with me. But I reasoned a part of them must have thought less of my dad’s capacity to procreate. I know it’s insane but the idea people had lost respect for my father’s sperm comprises my worst moment in comedy.
What are you most excited about right now?
I’ve become incredibly excited about the idea we live in a simulated holographic reality that we are all creating in our own minds, and that the reason we think a number of paranormal things are impossible is more to due to our scientific paradigm than their actual impossibility. Which is why it’s good that I have to get out a lot in the coming months to perform standup.
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Tom Rosenthal: Whatever People Say I Am, That’s What I Am is at Soho theatre, London, 28 October-8 November and then on tour in the UK and Ireland.
