Dave O'Neil Articles

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Waking Dave O'Neill
By Chris Beck
July 11 2002


Dave O'Neil has clocked up 12 years in the comedy business and he is tired. The comedian, writer, film maker and anchor for Kate Langbroek and Dave Hughes on Nova's breakfast radio likes to take a nap straight after the show. In the afternoon of this interview he has missed his snooze. He rubs his face, squints and leans his head closer and closer to the kitchen table, although he is far from concussed. Later, he will perform at two venues before rising at 4.30am to begin the next working day. A busy life, money coming in. But it wasn't always like this.

Is it necessary to be on the dole when you start as a comedian?

I don't reckon it is but, gee, it's just a fact of life. I spent four years on the dole. It's good for your comedy. There's more laughs in failure than there is in success, I reckon. No matter what, if you've lived off the dole and part-time work for a while you still live pretty cheaply. I bought a secondhand SAAB for 10 grand and it broke down all the time so I swore I'd never buy a car for more than five grand. I don't see the point of a flash car or a flash house. I'd rather spend money on food.

O'Neil, 37, gets plenty of hosting gigs and he refers to himself as the straight man on the radio show. His largely observational humour is not designed to offend and his casual manner deflects the odd biting comment. No one is likely to walk out in disgust while O'Neil is meandering around the stage, chin down and tummy out, talking in a kind of prepared stream of consciousness.

You present as a friendly, easy-going fellow. Is it difficult for you to dislike?


I find it really hard to hate people. I'm pretty forgiving, really. I don't like confrontation. I was one of two head writers on Totally Full Frontal but I was the good cop. I don't like private schools, the Liberal Party, snobs, television executives.

Is there anything about the person you are that gets in the way of your comedy?

I don't like nasty humour. But every comedian's done a little bit of that, I reckon. The worst thing is when you tell a joke about someone and then you meet them. I once did a routine about one of my neighbours. He had invited me and another comedian to his house for a cup of coffee after a comedy night. We were walking up the driveway and he turned around and said, "Look, I want to get one thing straight - I'm not a poofter or anything." I thought it was pretty funny so I used it in my act. One night he was in the audience and he was pretty upset. I learnt my lesson. It's easier to put yourself down. The audiences like that, too. I don't like arrogant performers. I like entertainers who show a bit of humility.

You use your weight problem in your comedy. But are you sensitive about it?

It doesn't worry me that I'm fat. You meet some comedians who are really big and they get really sensitive about it. You make a fat joke and they say, "What are you trying to say?" and you think, "Well, have a look in the mirror." You've got to be open for it yourself. Someone once called me "an overweight lightweight", which I quite liked. But I am trying to lose weight.

One of four boys, O'Neil has an identical twin brother who is slim, works as a Red Cross delegate, lives in Switzerland, speaks French as a first language and is married with two children. O'Neil has never married, though he has been in a relationship for 11 years.

Are you still identical?

We both ended up in fields where speaking is important. We used to be really identical. We shared a room at home, moved out and lived together until we were 25. We were in a band together. When he left to go overseas I started putting on weight. He had always been there to be compared to; we used to get mistaken for each other. I fell off stage two years ago and fractured my vertebra and he didn't feel a thing.

As he grew into puberty in Mitcham, O'Neil planned on an unremarkable life. His father was a trades teacher and as a teenager he listened to 3RRR and 3XY in bed. In his mind, as he twiddled the dial, people in show business were from another planet.

Did you think that where you come from determines your life?

Well, in the outer suburbs you didn't know anyone who had been on television or flew a plane. Everyone in our suburb went on to be a tradesman, teacher or a nurse. Then occasionally there would be someone make it in a band - like the bass player from Boom Crash Opera went to Mitcham High. That was really exciting for us. You never thought it was achievable. It was only when I started to do stand-up that I realised that normal people do this stuff. When I look at what my twin brother has done, it's pretty amazing, really. He lived in Somalia, Bosnia, Rwanda for several years; he'd visit prisoner-of-war camps and stuff like that. While he was doing that I was doing gigs at the Espy. I see my dad in me sometimes. I comb my hair forward; I don't care about my appearance. I'm starting to get involved in community things like he does. We have a similar sense of humour. One night my Dad was telling my girlfriend's father about going to Singapore and her father said, "Yeah, well Singapore's got some the worst human rights crimes in the world. And Dad goes, "Yeah, well you don't notice that in the motel room."

Dave O'Neil is one of the speakers at the National Screen Writers Conference in Hepburn Springs this weekend.

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http://www.smh.com.au/news/planning/...366154269.html


Profile: Dave O'Neil
Lucinda Schmidt
April 4, 2007

Photo: Estelle Judah



The meaning of life for this comedian is family and making people laugh.
Even as a teenager, comedian Dave O'Neil knew he didn't want a regular job. He remembers being 16 and telling a shop assistant at Eastland Shopping Centre in Melbourne how much he'd hate to work nine to five and the shop assistant replying "well, one day you'll have to".
It was true, for a while. O'Neil, who is part of the breakfast team on radio station Vega FM (with Shaun Micallef and Denise Scott in Melbourne), tried his hand as a field officer for the Red Cross, then spent a year working in public relations before being sacked.
"The company was going broke but I was the weakest link," says O'Neil, who then spent four years on the dole before his observational humour landed him a fill-in host's job on radio station Triple R. That lead to a permanent breakfast host slot, followed by stints at Triple M then Nova, before he swapped to Nova's sister station, Vega, last year.
As a child growing up in the Melbourne suburb of Mitcham, O'Neil had dreams of being a writer or on the radio. But his father had other ideas, telling him he'd be a good teacher because he got on well with the kids in the street. So O'Neil went off to teacher's college.
"Like a lot of creative people, I didn't know what I wanted to do," says O'Neil, who realised when he finished his training, aged 20, that he never wanted to be a teacher.
He dabbled in an arts degree for a year, then completed a public relations degree at RMIT, leading to the unhappy job which ultimately forced him to try to earn a living doing what he loved.
As with so many of Melbourne's comedians, O'Neil's first taste of the spotlight (apart from an early appearance in the Scouts' Gang Show) was at amateur night at the Last Laugh Theatre. He started sending out scripts to various comedy shows, which were initially rejected, but he eventually ended up writing gags for popular television shows including Full Frontal and Micallef.
"I started earning as a writer before I earned anything as a comedian," O'Neil says. But the role that really made his name was as part of the top-rating breakfast team on Nova, with Dave Hughes and Kate Langbroek, targeted at 18- to 25-year-olds.
How hard was it to make the switch last year to Vega, a station aimed at over-35s? "It wasn't my idea, they realised I was unhappy," O'Neil says. "I was like the anchor, the straight man - it was more about Hughesy and Kate."

He's still essentially the anchor on Vega's breakfast show, though O'Neil says he has more opportunity "to do things". For example, when he ran into Western Bulldogs player Chris Grant last year and offered him a hot chip, Grant shot back "no chips until October" (after the footy season ends). That encounter spawned a running gag, a T-shirt, then a club, which held a big hot chips party last October.
Another difference, O'Neil says, is the older demographics means he can talk about his kids on-air. There's plenty of opportunity to gather material, because he spends every day from 10 or 11am, when he knocks off work, with his two children, aged three and 20 months.
Clearly, he has indeed escaped from the nine-to-five treadmill so many of us are on. "Yeah, I'm living the dream," O'Neil laughs, with a tongue in cheek undertone. "But it's much harder looking after kids than doing comedy."
THE BIG QUESTIONS
Biggest break My career has had many small breaks, there's not one massive break. Filling in for breakfast on Triple R, which lead to a job, going to Nova then Vega. Most comedians are the same.
Biggest achievement Having two healthy kids. And being able to earn a living off comedy for the past 15 years.
Biggest regret Not starting [comedy] earlier - although it's good to have had other jobs to remind you that that's why you got into comedy, to avoid those types of jobs. And not buying a terrace house for $100,000 in Carlton. It'd be worth $1 million now.
Best investment My house [in Melbourne's inner west]. We bought it for $200,000 five years ago.
Worst investment Shares in Golden Valley Mining Company. The geologist faked the sample and the shares went up. I didn't sell, he ran off and I did my dough.
Attitude to money If you've got enough to live well, you're doing all right. I was on the dole for so long, you learn to be happy with what you've got.
Personal philosophy Find something you enjoy and make that your job. I've had so many unhappy jobs.