Vlad Ilich on how to relate to British audiences when they can’t even remember your country’s name

Living in the UK is hard enough. Living in the UK with English as your second language harder still. Then there’s the problems of finding a job, opening a bank account, getting an insurance number. And then you decide to do comedy. Okay… unless you have a penchant for self-loathing, which I assume you do if you are in the performing arts, then this piece is for you.

If you are a curious reader, then grab some popcorn and revel in the fact that some people have it worse than you.

Any comedian who’s packed up their bags and has landed on UK shores will surely know that there is no easy way of carving out a spot for yourself on the comedy circuit. There is no easy way to do comedy. Unfortunately, but perhaps for the better in the long run, there is no formula or rule how to make great comedy.

You have to dig deep and find your own voice – and if you’re foreign, that also means translating the punchline and hoping it still lands. 

Much of our jokes, if not all, are inexplicably tied to the cultural matrix in which we operate. If you take a joke out of its base, it will be like taking an engine out of a car. Sure, the engine is still working, but only if is attached to the body of a car. 

This has been the debate with many of my British and non-British colleagues and the pain and agony that comes with wondering why something doesn’t come across as funny in a different cultural setting. Is it the delivery, is it the mood of the joke? Was it too dry for them? Does the punchline, when translated, change the meaning of the joke? 

First, let’s begin by saying that a good comedian is a good student of life. A good comedian is relatable, being able to connect with the audience. Relatability is the shared emotional space between a performer and an audience member. Once the connection is established, the comedian divulges information of a specific experience, in a comedic way. 

This can be done in as many ways as there are jokes. It could be a misdirection joke, a twist, intentionally leaving out information to surprise the audience, create then release tension, using all the different tools the comedian has at their disposal.

If you come from a small country at the edge of Europe, like I do, you will experience roadblocks at every basic step in your journey, starting from the introduction. I still remember my very first show here.  

‘My name is Vlad, and I’m from North Macedonia,’ I said. Wonderful, not only have 90 per cent of the people in the room not met a Vlad, but they have also only heard the name of my country in a Eurovision song contest.

I pat myself on the back. ‘Well done, minus points for relatability.’ The only advantage, if you’re in a similar situation is that your name and where you’re from sparks curiosity in the viewer’s mind. Curiosity is not yet relatability, so now you share more information, to help them get closer.

I shared with them a story from my childhood, a quick glance into my innocence only to find more blank looks. ‘Soviet cartoons, what is he on about?’

Much of those first routines I’ve kept, growing and polishing them over the years, until they turned into beautiful bits of comedy that I’m today proud of. I would like to share a few pointers, and the first question that arises from that experience is:

If comedy comes from expectations, where do you begin when the audience has none?

You can, for example, broaden the area in which say you’re from, which will give the audience a chance to create expectations based on a broader set of information, although this runs the danger of falling into stereotypes in the long run. You can also try and bulldoze through and force a connection, this won’t always work.

If that has worked for you in the past then continue to use it, and if you’re looking to enrich your set even further, I’d recommend looking into blending the elements of two different cultures. That way, relatability lies in the intersection between the two, creating something instantly recognisable for the audience, and as a bonus, something very unique. You can use this as a resting place, before you jump onto the next bit. 

A joke I heard a long time ago at an open mic, from a comic whose name I can’t remember, went something on the lines of: ‘We have a Latvian museum, it’s like the British Museum, except we have a tank. Who has a tank in a museum? Oh well, at least it’s not stolen.’

Simple as this joke seems to be, it is the perfect example of that intersection, enriching your background story while also meeting expectations in the field of information the British audience possesses. 

Another aspect to consider is that humour travels across cultures and there’s a difference in the way stories are told. Keywords that often describe British humour is self-deprecating, dry, witty, sarcastic and they certainly have a level of truth to it.

The mood behind British humour often is: ‘Everything is crap.’

I’ve seen hundreds of comedy shows where a British comedian will elicit laughs on the fact that they’re a failure, that they’re somehow miserable or end up short-handed at the end of their routine. 

While that not may always be the case, this is another premise worth exploring and adapting your style might certainly help, especially at the start of your journey.

While all of this might seem daunting, there is a most positive final note and that is that British audiences are very generous in allowing you to examine their culture through the lens of an outsider. Using observation to point out what’s peculiar about British society, or how it’s done differently to wherever your home is, whilst remaining in that intersection of cultures to maintain a connection, will most likely allow them to warm-up to you…and laugh! Just remember to be kind. 

Good luck! 

• Vlad Ilich: Vladislav, Baby Don't Hurt Me is on at Pleasance Courtyard at 8.30pm

Published: 21 Aug 2024