The Edinburgh Fringe. A crucible of creativity, a launchpad for stars… and, for some young female comedians, a terrifying gauntlet. Author Julia Raeside recalls a chilling story: a performer told, just three years ago, that a future gig hinged on a horrific, unspoken demand. It wasn’t an isolated incident.
Raeside discovered a hidden world within the stand-up circuit – a network of WhatsApp groups and shared Google spreadsheets. These weren’t for booking gigs, but for documenting the predatory behavior of male colleagues. A silent warning system, born of necessity, to protect one another from manipulation and abuse.
“Stand-up comedy is probably the worst profession within showbusiness when it comes to male behaviour,” Raeside asserts, a conclusion drawn from countless stories and a deep dive into the industry’s underbelly. Her novel, *Don’t Make Me Laugh*, though fiction, exposes this bleak reality with darkly comedic precision.
The book centers on Ed Catchpole, a comedian whose seemingly harmless exterior masks a calculated pattern of misogyny. It’s a character disturbingly familiar to Helen Lederer, a trailblazing comedian herself. Lederer’s autobiography, *Not That I’m Bitter*, details her own unsettling experiences from the 1980s Edinburgh Festival and beyond.
Lederer remembers a late-night taxi ride after a party, a seemingly innocuous situation that quickly turned menacing when a powerful TV producer entered the cab. Faced with a frightening scenario, she employed a tactic that would become a survival mechanism: she cried. A calculated move to disarm and escape, recognizing that no one wants to confront distress.
Raeside’s exploration of this world wasn’t born of personal experience as a performer, but from a lifelong love of comedy and a journalist’s inquisitive nature. Coupled with her husband’s work as a comedy writer, she had a unique vantage point. When #MeToo gained momentum, she noticed a striking silence within the stand-up community.
Friends began confiding stories of manipulative behavior, some involving comedians she genuinely admired. The warnings were consistent: “Avoid this one,” “Don’t get a lift with that guy.” The complications of shared accommodation at festivals like Edinburgh added another layer of vulnerability, creating a climate of fear and distrust.
The problem, Raeside discovered, is particularly acute in stand-up. Unlike music, acting, or ensemble comedy, it’s often a solitary pursuit. “Lone wolves,” she calls them, men who crave control – both on stage and off. This desire for dominance extends beyond sexual conquest, often manifesting as a need to exert power and maintain control remotely.
The facade of the “nice guy” is a common tactic. Comedians who present themselves as approachable and non-threatening can be the most dangerous, hiding a “harder and colder” core beneath a carefully constructed persona. The case of Justin Lee Collins, once considered cuddly and approachable, serves as a stark example.
Collins was later found guilty of a “campaign of abuse” against a former girlfriend, detailing her past sexual partners in a disturbing notebook. This pattern of control and psychological manipulation is tragically common, and often operates in a grey area, skirting the boundaries of the law.
Organizations like Get Off Live Comedy are attempting to address the issue, with a recent survey revealing that 21% of UK live comedy workers have experienced workplace sexual harassment, and 63% have witnessed frequent sexually explicit banter. This isn’t harmless joking; it’s a corrosive environment that normalizes abuse.
But speaking out is fraught with risk. Legal battles are difficult to win, and women fear retaliation, ostracization, and the potential destruction of their careers. This fear was palpable during Raeside’s book launch, when a radio interview with a male comedian was repeatedly cancelled.
The producer eventually confessed the comedian was uncomfortable discussing the book’s themes, fearing repercussions from colleagues. He was, in essence, admitting that some of his friends were predators. While the comedian wasn’t one of them, Raeside was struck by his unwillingness to publicly condemn the behavior.
The industry isn’t entirely silent. Lewis CK’s career suffered a significant blow after admitting to misconduct, but he has since made a comeback, winning a Grammy and planning a UK tour. More recently, a UK comedian faces trial on multiple sex-related charges, and the Channel 4 documentary on Russell Brand sparked a national conversation.
Despite these developments, Raeside believes the comedy scene’s unique culture makes confronting toxic behavior particularly challenging. The “tears of a clown” trope – the idea that comedians are inherently sad or depressed – masks a deeper current of anger and a fierce desire to maintain control. The power dynamic on stage translates into a desire for dominance off stage, and a reluctance to relinquish it.
