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Stand-up comedy is a comedic performance to a live audience in which the performer addresses the audience directly from the stage. The performer is known as a comedian, comic, or stand-up. It is usually a rhetorical performance but many comics employ crowd interaction as part of their set or routine.

Stand-up comedy consists of one-liners, stories, observations or a shtick that may incorporate props, music, magic tricks, impressions or ventriloquism. It can be performed almost anywhere including comedy clubs, comedy festivals, bars, nightclubs, colleges or theaters, however, it is best suited to the controlled environment of a purpose built comedy club.[citation needed][1]

Stand-up Comedy The Book Pdf Download

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The first documented use of "stand-up" as a term was in The Stage in 1911, detailing a woman named Nellie Perrier delivering 'stand-up comic ditties in a chic and charming manner', though this was used to describe a performance of comedy songs rather than stand-up comedy in its true modern form.[3]

In The Yorkshire Evening Post on November 10, 1917, the "Stage Gossip" column described the career of a comedian named Finlay Dunn. The article stated that Dunn was "what he calls 'a stand-up comedian'" during the latter part of the 19th century, although the term may have been used retrospectively.[4]

The host, compere or emcee "warms up" the audience and introduces the other performers. This is followed by the opener, the feature, then the headliner. The host may also double as an opener for smaller shows.[8] Proven comics can get regular bookings for club chains and comedy venues. Jobbing stand-ups may perform sets at two or more venues on the same day.[citation needed]

Experienced comics with a popular following may produce a special. Typically lasting between one and two hours, a special may be recorded on tour or at a show advertised and performed specifically for the purpose. It may be released as a comedy album, video, or on television and streaming services.[11]

In order to falsely frame their stories as true or to free themselves of responsibility for breaking social conventions, comedians can use the jester's privilege, the right to discuss and mock anything freely without being punished.[15][16] Social commentators have referred to the concepts of "punching up" and "punching down" in attempting to describe who should be the "butt of the joke". This carries the assumption that, relative to the comedian's own socio-political identity, comedy should "punch up" at the rich and powerful without "punching down" at those who are marginalized and less fortunate.[17][18] Many comedians have criticized the cultural rhetoric concerning "punching up" and "punching down", including Colin Quinn, who described the terms as a product of activism and "not created by humorous people."[19]

In stand-up comedy, an unspoken contract with the audience allows for the exploration of unexpected, controversial, or scandalous subjects. The reception of a joke, whether met with laughter or disapproval, hinges on the audience's understanding of the premise and appreciation of the punchline.

Stand-up comedy, distinct from traditional performing arts, features a lone comedian directly engaging the audience. The success hinges on creating spontaneity, fostering intimacy, and deterring heckling.

The audience is integral to live comedy, both as a foil to the comedian and as a contributing factor to the overall experience. The use of canned laughter in television comedy reveals this, with shows often seeming "dry" or dull without it. Shows may be filmed in front of a live audience for the same reason.[26]

Randall Reid is a comic on the rise. As he creeps closer to ten years in the comedy game he has grown and expanded his comedy outlook. With multiple finals appearances in some of the stiffest comedy competitions the Twins Cities has to offer. He uses his unique perspective to find balance between the lightest and darkest of topics. From battling his young daughter to retrieving his friend from tight situations, Reid will find away to leave a smile on your face.

Before she became the sitcom antidote to perky, middle-class moms like Carol Brady, Roseanne Barr broke that image of the chipper, wholesome matriarch over her knee via her blistering stand-up routines. "I hate that word, 'housewife,'" she'd whinge, "I prefer to be called domestic goddess." Her gripes about married life and child-rearing were delivered in that unmistakable nasal tenor; you knew her act wouldn't be a cup of warm milk and a lullaby. Watching her debut set on The Tonight Show, you can already see her mining the ground she'd end up colonizing and outright owning: speaking for a populace of average Americans unused to seeing themselves on TV. Every blue-collar comedian owes her a debt.

Years before he'd grab a camera and refine the personal comedy-drama into an art form, Woody Allen channeled his obsessions and neuroses into irresistible, intellectually wonky one-liners, delivered offhandedly in an endearing, Brooklyn accent ("I cheated on my metaphysics final in college, I looked within the soul of the boy sitting next to me"). He couched little jokes in the larger ones, as when he nonchalantly mentions attending a "surprise autopsy" or being a "history of hygiene" major on his way to bigger punchlines. After making his name in the downtown NYC nightclub scene of the Sixties and making a few albums, Allen started focusing on other pursuits. And though aspects of his personal life have forced moviegoers to reconsider their loyalties, his contributions to bridging the Borscht Belt and Greenwich Village are undeniable.

Whimsical but not frivolous, erudite but not snobbish, polished but never above a proper bit of silliness, Eddie Izzard makes intelligent comedy, U.K. division, entirely accessible. With a smirk always at the edge of his lips, Izzard lets his monologue spill downstream, swirling from eddy to eddy as he examines humankind's achievements, patterns and foibles. You might leave an Izzard show with a history lesson or a new vocabulary word; you also might also just find out Darth Vader's favorite cafeteria dish (penne alla arribiata, for the record) or how the Church of England roamed the countryside asking "cake or death?" And you almost definitely get some tips on how to turn glam-rock fashion tips into an "executive transvestitism" look that complements Izzard's one-of-a-kind turn of phrasings.

Back when he was a stand-up, Albert Brooks was as interested in how comedy works as he was whether it worked. But more often that not, he was just as interested in giving some of the biggest laughs to you (yes, you) sitting at home. His record Comedy Minus One was just half of a routine with lots of dead air for you, the listener, to perform other half with the lines printed in an insert provided. When he popped up on the Tonight Show or the Flip Wilson Show, he'd do a set about a lack of material, hock a kit to encourage viewers doing impressions at home or play a ventriloquist who poured a glass of water over his dummy while he sang "Lady of Spain." His obsessively self-referential bits still resonate with comedy connoisseurs.

The tall redhead had been working comedy clubs across the country for decades, making his bones along with countless other stand-ups. But somewhere around the time he called his four-year-old and asshole and imagined his wife giving him the "saddest handjob in America," the next-level artist we now know as Louis C.K. was reborn with a vengeance. Staring with his 2007 special Shameless, he turned a guy slinging dick jokes and absurdist one-liners into a guy slinging dick jokes and rigorously honest stories about his life and those closest to him. Since then, C.K. has challenged himself to deliver on an unprecedented scale: The self-deprecating social critic has crafted many hours of new material, one almost every year, and let the material go after recording it. In these specials, he not only mapped the mind of a lazy, horny, gluttonous dude who happens to be a dad, but a culture of entitlement in which "everything is amazing and nobody is happy." This is what a comic genius looks like.

In her fast-moving hour of comedy, Sarah shares revealing photos of her favorite French politicians, and talks about getting her citizenship, which involved quite a few missteps along the way, including the challenge of trying to get a decent photo in one of those photo booths in the m\u00E9tro station, which you need to accompany one of the many dossiers of paperwork you have to compile to live here. (If even the smallest bit of your teeth are showing, your photo\u2014and file\u2014will be rejected.) She also explains why everyone in Paris needs to have two pharmacists. I won\u2019t give away the ending of the one-hour comedy fest, but I will say this: Photos don\u2019t lie!

In this paper, we analyze how stand-up comedians protect their jokes using a system of social norms. Intellectual property law has never protected comedians effectively against theft. Initially, jokes were virtually in the public domain, and comedians invested little in creating new ones. In the last half century, however, comedians have developed a system of IP norms. This system serves as a stand-in for formal law. It regulates issues such as authorship, ownership, transfer of rights, exceptions to informal ownership claims and the imposition of sanctions on norms violators. Under the norms system, the level of investment in original material has increased substantially. We detail these norms, which often diverge from copyright law's defaults. Our description is based on interviews with comedians, snippets of which we include throughout the paper. Our study has implications for intellectual property theory and policy. First, its suggests that the lack of legal protection for intellectual labor does not entail a market failure by necessity, as social norms may induce creativity. Second, it suggests that the rules governing a particular creative practice affect not only how much material is created, but also its kind. Third, we suggest that comedians' IP norms system emerged over the past half century as technological change increased the benefit of having property rights in jokes and concomitantly reduced the costs of enforcing those rights. Fourth, we note that stand-up's norms system recognizes only a limited set of forms of ownership and transfer. We suggest that the system's crude rights structure is driven by the fact that effective enforcement requires that ownership be clear to the community. Lastly, social norms offer a way to regulate creative practices that do not sit well within IP law's one-size-fits-all mold. They do so, moreover, without imposing on society the costs of disuniformity in the formal law, including legal complexity and industry-driven lobbying. Stand-up's norms system has both benefits and costs, which we detail in the paper. However, norms-based IP systems offer an alternative (or supplementary) cost/benefit bundle which in some cases may be superior to that of formal law alone. In stand-up's case, norms economize on enforcement costs and appear to maintain a healthy level of incentives to create alongside a greater diversity in the kinds of humor produced. A final assessment of stand-up's social norms system awaits further work. With what we currently know, we are cautiously optimistic. 2351a5e196