David O'Doherty Articles/Reviews

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http://www.theage.com.au/news/arts/l...861291892.html

Like trying to catch fog
April 25, 2006

Photo: Erin Slattery



Irish comedian David O'Doherty is one of a new breed, writes Mary O'Brien.

Comedian David O'Doherty wants to make it clear very early on that he didn't invent the internet. His resume says he did, but that's a JOKE - a joke that backfired badly when he was being interviewed on a local TV show in Far North Queensland and the presenter just didn't get it.

If he did invent the internet, he would hardly be doing the rounds as a stand-up comedian, would he? O'Doherty, who's just flown in after gigs in Barcelona and Madrid, is battling jet lag. This new-generation Irish comedian isn't slouched in a pub nursing a pint. No, he's armed with an orange juice and an irrepressible attitude.

There's no denying he's a funny-looking guy. Decked out in a big, floppy baseball hat, wearing a cheesy grin, he's chatty, loud and full of one-liners. He's carrying a large canvas bag from which he extracts a thick notepad. This is where he jots down his observations, lets them incubate for a while, then fishes them out and embroiders them for inclusion in his stand-up routine.

"The Irish winter finishes for about a week in early August and then starts again seven days later," says O'Doherty, who's clearly enjoying his escape from the dull, dark, northern, green isle he calls home.

"If you cycle you have permanent wet bum for three or four months." He doesn't think the sunny skies of Australia would be much help to his comedy.

"In this country, with the sunlight and the happy disposition, if I lived here all the time, I'm not sure I would ever do anything. I'd get enough happiness from going to the park every day and playing soccer with my friends."

The 30-year-old Dubliner focuses mostly on events in his life in Grown Up, his new show. His dear departed dog, Florence - who hated him - plays a starring role. He jokes, he sings, he plays the keyboard (the one he got for his 11th birthday). "Things can never get too serious," he says.

O'Doherty originally wanted to be a piano player, and used to practise three or four hours a day. But his dad, a jazz musician, told him to follow a different path - "You can't polish a turd, son," was his no-holds-barred advice. Instead, he concentrated on his rhyming skills and wrote a children's book, Ronan Long Gets it Wrong. Soon he was reading his works for his young readers. "There is nothing more terrifying in terms of standing up and performing than reading for kids," he admits.


While he was doing more serious stuff - such as studying philosophy at Trinity College - a comedy scene was evolving in Dublin's Comedy Cellar. O'Doherty got to know Ardal O'Hanlon - Father Dougal in the comedy series Father Ted - and later became his house-sitter.

His favourite comedian, Dylan Moran, was also getting started at the time. Moran's unsociable, drunken book-shop owner, Bernard Black, was launched on stage before going on to star in the offbeat TV series Black Books, shown here on ABC.

The big break came for O'Doherty in 1999 at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival, when he won Channel 4's So You Think You're Funny? award. The following year, he nabbed the Perrier Best Newcomer Award. Of course, making a living from comedy isn't easy, and O'Doherty juggles a few day jobs to make ends meet. He made an offbeat series about bees, and hosts a weekly music show for Irish radio. Last year's Melbourne International Comedy Festival was a turning point. It was the first time he wrote "Comedian" under "Occupation" on the airport arrivals form.

"I thought, 'I've come all this distance to do the festival, I must be a comedian now'. And the immigration man immediately said, 'Come on, tell us a joke'."

O'Doherty's decision to become a funnyman didn't shock his parents. His father was the real rebel who had become a jazz musician in '50s conservative Ireland, leaving his parents on the remote Gaelicspeaking Achill Island.

"My dad's the punk in my family, the Johnny Rotten, and nothing his three children do could ever beat that."

The country O'Doherty has launched himself from is generations from the one against which his father rebelled.

"The Ireland I've grown up in has always been full of paninis and formula one drivers owning pubs and trying to charge you six euros for a pint," he says. "This is the new Ireland, where I'm running into pubs asking 80-year-old toothless landlords whether they have wi-fi."

O'Doherty has chosen a profession that takes no prisoners. He has to write his material and deliver it with gusto, and there's always the hecklers. You've got to think on your feet, otherwise you're a goner. "At least 80 per cent of heckling is someone spontaneously shouting something that has occurred to them. If you treat that in the creative way it was offered, it can add to the show."

On stage, his laid-back approach and gentle but clever gags slowly warm the audience. He's got a light touch, a self-deprecating sense of humour, offbeat material, a charming delivery and an accent that goes down well with the audience.

He loves the challenge of comedy and lives for the excitement of live performance.

"You get these occasional nights where you make this incredible breakthrough with the room. It's like some moment of shared consciousness where everyone is thinking the same way."

O'Doherty believes humour is global. He's entertained cod workers in Iceland, factory hands in Ireland and cane farmers in Queensland. He's also performed in Montreal, New York and Prague.

"Some nights, you think you've got the whole thing sussed," he says.

"And on others, it's like trying to catch fog."