And how about the character of Stephen – is there any of you in him?
Well, he’s a standup comedian, so I guess there is a bit.
Because he’s also an awkward guy who seems to be grappling with anxiety.
Yeah, that’s true. Yeah, I’m definitely in Stephen and Benjamin. Benjamin is hirer status, because he made something once that was a real hit, and Steven has never had a hit. One of Steven’s lines is, ‘all that’s happening is I’m getting older.’
He says that just after the scene where he bombs on stage, which is probably the movie’s most awkward moment. Have you ever bombed as badly as that?
Yeah, I think worse. Because he’s quite self destructive. It was going quite well and he kind of ruins it. And it’s because he’s not there joyfully. He’s there trying to heal a wound. And that was always the problem for me. It used to be that when I was on tour it wouldn’t feel completely satisfying, a show going well. That wouldn’t be enough. There would have maybe been 3000 people all in a room laughing and then they would leave. And if you’re not on that stage already feeling whole, but rather trying to get an audience to fill some void in you, even if the show is the best you’ve ever done, at some point they leave and you’re alone again. And the contrast is too horrific. So I’ve self-destructed like that on stage. I think it’s because you unconsciously know that the love that you’re receiving is conditional; that you have to do this trick in order that they stay, and there’s a part of you that thinks, ‘why do I have to make this much effort in order for you people to like me?’ And then there’s some aggression towards the audience because fuck them for making you do this party trick. But once you get well, then it’s ridiculous, because this is the thing that you love doing, and they’re here because they want to be here, and it really is just a room full of love. And hopefully you’ve got some love in your real life so when they leave you’ve got something that means that you don’t require them anymore.
How, then, do you deal with people in street saying that they love you? Is it hard for you to accept that they’re telling the truth?
It’s always different. It can range from people saying, ‘oh, you’re that guy; you’re that guy’. They don’t know who I am, but they’re pointing out that they’ve seen a guy. It can go from that to, ‘this very specific thing that you did was very important to me’. But I can see the differences now. At the end where someone has been really effected by something, I really appreciate hearing about that connection. It makes me feel less alone in the world. I feel useful, and it’s like, ‘oh, that’s the reason to be doing this.’ And then the other guy is nothing to do with me. That’s just a guy who’s recognised an image that he saw previously.
Are any of the scenarios in the film autobiographical?
Definitely all of the emotion is emotion that I have felt. There’s nothing in there where I wasn’t sure what the character would be feeling but I’ve sort of guessed. I don’t trust anything unless I’ve felt it. There are a few scenes that are similar to things that have happened in my life, but that’s quite rare. It’s more that I’ve wanted to express something I’ve felt.
So you’ve not been mistaken for a competition winner before [as Benjamin is on a film set]?
No, but I have felt that feeling that he has, which is of being not special in that moment when you thought that you were.
At what age did you start doing standup?
Thirteen. I retired when I was eighteen and started again when I was twenty-one.
Thirteen! Jesus Christ.
I know.
At what point did you arrive at the style people would now recognise as yours?
Between 13 and 18 I did a few gigs in some variety shows, and I entered some competitions in comedy clubs. I was a weird child, so it was like seeing a novelty act, although I was very committed to the craft – I was just in a child’s body.
I was Ben Elton for a while. And I was Eddie Izzard for a while. And then, at 21, I would say it took me about 5 years on the open spot circuit to find my voice. After then I felt like I knew how to write material.
I was lucky enough to have some magic mushrooms on the day of a gig. And I thought they’d worn off but they hadn’t, and something happened. I was doing the same jokes that I was doing before but there was a looseness and silliness that came through me, and I thought, oh wow, this is a more joyful way of performing. Obviously I can’t take magic mushrooms every time, but I think I can remember this feeling. I think I realised that I was a bit ridiculous and that’s why it was funny, whereas before I was too in it – I was too protective of myself.
I can’t imagine that you’d every want to go back to presenting, but is there anything from those days that you miss?
There’s something about the atmosphere of a studio. But It feels like something I did as a kid. When we premiered Benjamin, there was a Q&A afterwards, and someone asked Joel Fry [who plays Stephen] what I was like as a director, and I quite like what he said – that I seem like someone who’s lived several lives. And that really rang true – I guess I started doing stuff very young, so now, at 39, some of that stuff feels like a whole other lifetime, where I was such a different person. I feel very grounded in what I’m doing now. It makes sense. I don’t feel like I’m trying to get to anywhere else. I feel like I’m doing the thing I’m supposed to be doing.