Stand-up Comedy- The Hong Kong Story by Jie Chen

JUST FOR LAUGHS Stand-up comedy in South China May, 2010

May 17, 2010

Supervisor

Contents

Judith Clarke

Texts, photos & layout

Echo, Chen Jie, BSSc., International Journalism, Hong Kong Baptist University

Cover graphic Eva, Chen Dongni

Contact

E-mail: chenjye@gmail.com Tel.: +852-6846-4256

Feature Standing up for the South Off-beat Humoromics Culture Xiangsheng in New China People Vivek Mahbubani Photo story Meet the comics

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Feature

Standing up for the South “If Shenzhen and Hong Kong are really becoming one, who gets to be the boss? “Hong Kongers would argue, ‘We of course. Hong Kong has protected your plain from so many tropical typhoons!’ “But Shenzheners would protest, ‘It has to be us. All of your ernai (mistresses) are in our hands!’”

The group markets its weekly gigs on free online plaftforms. Thousands of white-collar Shenzheners supported the affordable entertainment- a ticket costs as much a Starbucks coffee.

hat was about as edgy as standup comedy could get in Mainland China. Had comedian elaborated any further, sex would have been involved, and he could risk a police visit for touching on unconvenient topics. The live comedy form has only been imported to Shenzhen a year ago from its neighbour, Hong Kong. With the many restrictions on the arts in communist China, the comics’ job is made twice as tough. They have to steer clear of sex and politics, both of which are easy targets for comedians in the English world. But the Shenzhen comedians, excited at the new enterprise, are not bothered. “You don’t have to tread the minefield to be funny. Sensitive materials are prone to amusing people, but it may also offend them, “ Kevin Zou Shu, an engineer by day and comedian by night, said.

Hu Yebi, an investment banker in Hong Kong, has a parallel career in comedy. Zou’s club in Shenzhen started out as an after work time-killer for a handful of public speaking enthusiasts, and has developed into a production company in less than a year.

If we brush aside the bleak comedy club scene, however, Hong Kong is quite the funny centre in the region. Its brand of slapstick comedy, popular-

In the self-claimed “Asia’s World City” of Hong Kong, stand-up comedy is still in its infancy three years after its first full-time club opened. In 2007, New Yorker Jameson Gong brought the American novelty to a modest basement in SoHo. Gong, dearly known to his friends as Jami, single-handedly bred a team of Cantonese comedians at TakeOut Comedy. His vision, Gong said, is to see comedy clubs dot the streets of Hong Kong, and to produce more top-notch local comedians. The training efforts and persistence paid off. TakeOut is now the flagship store of American style stand-up comedy in the city. But it remains, also, the only one. The Punchline, another Hong Kongbased club started in te 1990s, only flies in foreign comedians a few times a year, leaving TakeOut the only full-time player.

Feature ised through television and films, has entertained the Cantonese-speaking areas for decades. As for Cantonese stand-ups, it is also where it all started. The first successful stand-up in Hong Kong was believed to be Dayo Wong Chi-wah’s 1991 debut. The failing actor planned to leave the entertainment industry with a vocal gig, only to start a new chapter of his career. Wong became the trademark for Hong Kong stand-up comedy. But the success was not accidental. Professor Lo Kwui-cheung at Hong Kong Baptist University, watched an earlier show in the 1980s and witnessed Wong’s trial-and-error over the years. “I went there thinking it was a play actually. The centrepiece was a well-known DJ. He just tagged along.” Lo said of the performance, which he considered was out of context. “He didn’t quite get it. Perhaps he was too influenced by American comedy when he was in Canada, Dayo did very American bits. He was imitating the ghetto accent and the blacks. It confused the locals.” But Wong sharpened his weapons soon. By the 1990s he had established himself as a master of political satire. The Wong Chi-wah story drew new talents into the game, such as radio DJ Jan Lamb Hoi-fung, the hip-hop duo the Farmers among others. Their popularity is not solely domestic. Pirated copies of their albums scatter all over the Cantonese-speaking cities in Guangdong Province. While the performers hardly benefited from the popularity, Hong Kong was reputated as the origin of Cantonese stand-up.

Unlike the grass-root promoter Gong, though, these are celebrities, not nobodies. They had been more or less famous before they dared venture into the large stadiums and talk to thousands of people. In TakeOut’s history, the maximum number of viewers in the club was 200. Comedy education in Hong Kong turned out a harsh battle for the club, with limited commercial supports and the lack of generous patrons. Humour may be tricky, but it is fundamentally universal. When TakeOut Comedy expanded to Shenzhen, the comics met no resistence. “I was watching a program about stand-up comedy on RTHK, and I thought to myself, I could do this, too,“ Zou talked himself into the business in a flash. Zou is one of the elite members in Shenzhen’s Toastmasters Club. His expertise in public speaking, however, did not translate well in comedy. The embarrassed rookie went to Jami Gong’s comedy tutorials at TakeOut Hong Kong for help. The two clubs eventually joined force. Today, the Shenzhen leg of TakeOut Comedy reeks of a totally different air from the free-spirited Hong Kong club. The public speakers developed meticulous props, scripts and themes, with little regard to delivery. “It’s really about getting the right rhythm. The punchline is only funny when the timing is right. I used to think a good script is the key.” Zou concluded after analysing some dozens of shows.

“ I learned something from June 4th (the Tiananmen massacre). I finally understand why China has such a huge population: because no one ever died. “ -Dayo Wong Chi-wah, 1997 Some Shenzhen routines are like scripted plays aided by PowerPoint presentations. They reinvented theatrical elements in the traditional performance art, Xiangsheng, with digital devices to tell modern stories. The typical Hong Kong stand-up as most Guangdong people know it, is as unconventional as the Mainland one. The artists would be half singing, half acting and playing with a live band in large venues, as if attempting a humourous concert. Distinctively, the Shenzhen club reflects a prominent Internet culture. While their Hong Kong counterparts interact with each other offline, the Shenzhen comics are an virtual community. Most comics, audience members, even the jokes, originated from the World Wide Web. Ms Zou Mengshu bought two tickets via an online ticketing outlet for a Sunday show, she clicked the link out of curiosity. “It’d be like a humour speech, I guess,“ Ms Zou said upon taking a seat.

American comedian Butch Bradley scribbled a set list for his Hong Kong debut.

Feature One problem with the Shenzhen team, is that they are often not funny. There are many reasons for this, but the real hard nuts to crack are the intangible factors. One reason, Hong Konger Vivek Mahbubani thought, could be their deliberate effort for clarity. It only complicates the laughing points, he said. “You can’t explain jokes. I tell it, you get it- that’s a real joke. It’s like painting a good painting, a true masterpiece needs no explanation,” the comedian said. The audience culture is another issue. Professor Lo, who spent some years studying and teaching in the United States, deemed the Asian audiences to be more difficult to please. “Wong Chi-wah’s stand-up was for educated people, who had knowledge of current affairs and local politics. He gave people the impression that stand-up comedy, in Hong Kong, was elitist. People pay a handsome sum of money and expect to be amused.” He said. Comedian Matina Leung thought the basic principles that make people laugh applied in most settings, but Hong Kongers are a bit too uptight for interactions, which spoils half of the fun. “It is more difficult in small live clubs. Comedy is about charisma. Wong Chi-wah’s fans know what to expect when they go to his shows, he has much more freedom to plan his timing and build the premise. But we are a blank piece of paper to them. A unknown comic has to charm the audience with a strong stage persona to be truely heard,“ she said. Currently both clubs are booked every week for Open Mic evenings and regular performances. The frequency gives comedians more stage time to practise, pressing them to perfect their routines. Fortunately, they no longer have to tickle empty seats like in the early days. The supplies of laughter are finally recognised by some locals. However, China’s funny business is a far cry from the English markets worldwide. Television sit-coms can be counted by the fingers, let alone live standups. There is no Chinese equivalent of Comedy Central to showcase potential comics. And the number of clubs nationwide is in the single digit. Most importantly, the comics are not on level ground with seasoned comedians from other parts of the world. TakeOut Comedy, like the Punchline, invites foreign comedians to Hong Kong. Most shows are sold-out, and each time the local comedy practioners would audit and be amazed. In April, American comic Butch Bradley did a quick 60-minutes in a bar in Causeway Bay. He was still jet-lagging when Jami Gong took him on a fast-forward tour of Hong Kong. Before Bradley sobered up, the man was cracking up a room of strangers with fresh materials about the city. All he had prepared was a bulleted setlist, yet there was not a stutter or a single slip of the tongue. Except for once, perhaps“Pot... Wait, can we say pot here (in Hong Kong)? Is it legal?“ Bradley hesitated over his marijuana joke, and poked fun at Hong Kong’s subway system instead. It takes many years, and a supportive market, for a comedian to master such quick wits and spontaneity.

In retrospect, stand-up comedy in South China has been a social hybrid by default. It is not exactly American nor Chinese. They are not entirely actors, but the acts are fairly dramatic. Interactions do not always work out, but cannot be done without. The Shenzhen skits flirt with Hong Kong, and the Hong Kong comedians keep referring to the Mainland. The features paint a faint image of the essential South China. The area was one of the first to open up to economic and cultural exchanges. Both Guangdong and Hong Kong are leaning towards a more global outlook and the two sides are more connected in all aspects. And the details of this image, will be constantly updated by the popular craft of laughter.

Off-beat

4 comedians. 11 dates. 26 performances. 1772 observations.

$ $

Humouromics A comic’s search for the formula of laughter

he TakeOut Comedy club was Michael Dorsher’s lab. The comedian lurked in the dark corner of the basement, measured the output of laughter, consulted his fellow comics, and recorded every performance for ten weeks. The economics major later processed the data into a quantitative study of laughter. Some of the findings may be key to illustrating the “determinants of humour”: 1. Timing counts. Dorsher’s paper suggests that the most effective joke lasts about 30 seconds. Too short, and the audience get bored; too long, and there is not enough build-up time. 2. Size matters. The more the merrier- at least with a small crowd. An increase in audience number pumps up the volume, though the impact scales down with each additional member. Comedy is a communal experience, Dorsher reckons, and people tend to feel more comfortable to laugh in a full house. 3. Talk about comfort. Do Asians and ladies spoil the fun? Statistics show a higher percentage of Asians introduces a noticeable drop in laughter level. The researcher perceives the cause to be cultural, particularly the Asian reluctance towards showing emotion in public. But the effect vanishes in a completely Asian audience. Females also contribute to a less cheerful room, even though they may not necessarily have anything against laughing. In fact, Dorsher’s social interpretation is that men might be responsible. Males tend to laugh less with more women around, especially those on a date. Overall, a diverse audience does not let out as much, even if people are amused. 4. The host has an inherent disadvantage. It turns out the same comic gets less laughter when he is the emcee. Dorsher blames it on the nature of the job. The host works as ”a comedy palette cleanser”, which requires him to warm up the stage, and pop up for two minutes between each slot. The two minutes become a minor break for the audience. 5. And things get funnier towards the end. Dorsher found out that follow-up jokes trigger more laughter than the first one, and this increase continues. 6. A lag effect is also statistically significant. Apparently, some 22% of the laughter from a joke carries over to the next one. 7. Finally, Dorsher examined eight categories of comedic topics. Among them, interactive jokes with the audience make up for 23%. Materials about Asia and current events are also representative. The final question is, did the findings make Dorsher funnier? You may like to see it for yourself on Dorsher’s next live, or perhaps run a quick search on Youtube for earlier videos.

Blog: http://www. dorsher.wordpress.com Humouromics on the Freakonomics Radio by the New York Times: http://freakonomics.blogs.nytimes.com/2010/04/08/freakonomics-radio-hong-kong-edition/

Culture

Xiangsheng in NewChina f there existed a global index of sense of humour, the Chinese would be somewhere around the bottom. And that would be quite unfair. Humour, in general, has never been the main story in the thick book of Chinese history, but it is surely an indispensible chapter in the art and culture section. And the most popular comedy form is Xiangsheng. Xiang and Sheng literally stand for “face and voice” respectively. A common mistranslation is “crosstalk”. The original translator supposedly assumed the character for “xiang” to mean “mutual” by mistake.

(Face)

(Voice)

The traditional comedy theatre is usually a collective effort. It commonly features a funny man and a straight man. Monologues and multiple-person performances also exist, but the double act is the most common form. Some historians believe Xiangsheng developed from early plays in Song dynasty. The empire, about 700 years ago, was culturally prosperous. A comedy form in dialogue structure was well-received among the elites. However, because Xiangsheng is essentially oral and informal, the art was passed down from the master to the disciple, leaving very few written records to fall back on. In the late 1800’s, China’s last dynasty frowned at the frivolous tradition. Official prohibitions drove the artists to the streets, Sinologist Perry Link wrote in an article. The entertainment gradually turned grass-root. By the 1940’s, Xiangsheng skits were a prominent sight in the open markets, public squares and teahouses in the north eastern regions of China. Up to this point in time, Xiangsheng had very little presence in South China, the Cantonese-speaking area. The audience and performers of Xiangsheng traditionally spoke Mandarin, or similar dialects. When the communists took over in 1949, however, they cleansed the home-grown form of Chinese humour thoroughly, and changed it into a propaganda tool. The traditional Xiangsheng was hardly politically correct. As an uncensored popular art, it entailed vulgar, unpatriotic, oftentimes pornographic contents. The revolutionary Ministry of Culture, in the 1950’s, issued guidelines to reform Xiangsheng into a “healthy” and “progressive” praise of the new society. In many parts of the country, Xiangsheng scripts were adapted into local dialects, but the soul of it was taken away. Worse yet, political movements in the decades to come effectively wiped out what was left of it.

Authentic Xiangsheng may be long lost, but the legacy remains. In the past decade, artists of strong regional features made a fortune in China’s highly commercialised entertainment industry. Zhao Benshan of Shenyang frequents the CCTV New Year Gala. Guo Degang is the pride of Tianjin. His competitor, Zhou Libo, hails from Shanghai. The good old mini clubs also made a come-back. The Hip-Hop Crosstalk Society has little to do with rapping, it specialises in newsy Xiangsheng sketches. Freshness is guaranteed- all performers were born after the 1980s. The group of over 100 members put on nightly sold-out shows in two venues in Beijing. Five more clubs will join them by July. The ticket price is eerily familiar at only 30 Yuan (HK$35)close to the five bucks for early comedy clubs in New York. In other northern cities, sizeable Xiangsheng houses operate in similar models, with the hope to hit it big on TV one day. The rise and fall of Xiangsheng mirrored critical moments in China’s social transformation. It blossomed in the heyday of folk culture, and withered under political scrutiny.

Certain theatrical traits of Xiangsheng, such as duality and satire, are fused with modern comedy forms.

Xiangsheng revived in the late 1970s, to an extent, after the Cultural Revolution. And it sprang back to life in the brief golden age of Chinese television in the late 1980s. While satirists dared not made fun of the communist government, it was safe to tell friendly jokes of society or laugh at America. Artists like Jiang Kun, Hou Baolin, and Canadian Da Shan, just to name a few, were household names thanks to advent of domestic radio and television. To media observer David Moser, however, the art has been in the slump since the 1950s. He noted that some of the best pieces were more than 50 years old. Xiangsheng “just isn’t funny any more”, he wrote in a paper for Danwei.org.

People

V for Victory. A funny guy and his three lives comedy music digital art

Mahbunani, Vivek, Vik, “Ah V”, “the Indian guy that speaks Cantonese”... People address Vivek Mahbubani depending on the occasion. The restless entertainer and designer finds himself most comfortable at the intersection of the arts. But his best known expertise is stand-up comedy. The certified funniest person in Hong Kong lives a triple life and makes the best of it.

Vivek

Mahbu

bani

His comedy career is also taking shape. The comic is a regular guest to local television, played a cameo role- with lines, in a mainstream movie, and sometimes finds himself covering several commercial events in one evening. As an ethic role model, Vivek is a mentor at the Hong Kong’s Equal Opportunity Commission, encouraging students of ethnicity to pursue a career without limits.

Mahbubani bumps into his neighbour and funny agent, Jami Gong.

ivek was awarded the Funniest Chinese Person of 2007 in Hong Kong’s first Comedy Festival, except he was obviously Indian. “He was born with it. I saw him at his first try, the guy was naturally funny.” Kenneth Kwan, his colleague at the comedy club, would recall three years after. He went on to win the next year in the English category, as if to complete his collection of achievements. The native Hong Konger, by that time, was doing well as a web developer and graphic designer. In a city drowned with soft Canto pop music, he was even fortunate enough to meet a rare species of heavy metal lovers. They formed a band, Eve of Sin, and set up a cosy studio in an industrial building in Kowloon. When he is not being funny, he goes hardcore with his pals. Now 27, Vivek’s life has changed a bit and a lot. What has not changed is his day job. Stand-up comedy as it is today does not pay enough. “I work professionally, but I get paid as an amateur.” Vivek remarked. He still works as a freelance web designer. And the band is alive and kicking. Both outlets keep his creativity flowing, he said. And he intends to preserve this “freedom of jumping around”.

But there are more important things in life for the celebrity in-the-making. “I never want to lose the ability to take the MTR,” he said of the prospect of becoming a public figure. And the concern was justified. On the second trip to Shenzhen for a friendly “comedy battle”, Vivek was an anticipated guest. The Q & A session directed most questions at him. One of them read, “Did you meet your current girlfriend on one of your gigs?” “Yes, she’s Chinese.” He gave an uneasy smile. Besides public exposure and a girlfriend, comedy brought him lots of other byproducts, including the haunting stage fright. “You’re never ready. But there’s a point of no return once you get on stage: just do it or die,” he said matter-of-factly.

The avid drummer is never too busy to jam with his heavy metal band.

People Perhaps it is because of the casual attitude, or of his busy life, Vivek’s philosophy of comedy is unproportionally simplistic for his scale of popularity. “I talk nonsense. My comedy conveys no messages. I don’t want people to learn anything from my routines. “I want to be like cocaine- people don’t understand why they’re listening to me, but they get addicted,” he declared. Daniel Chong sniffed Vivek’s talent for “nonsense” years ago. They were friends in City University of Hong Kong, studying creative media. “I really appreciate how humble he is. And his modesty seems to grow with his confidence and fame,” Chong said. Vivek was hosting the University’s web radio back then. And Chong remembered him to be a natural born jokester. “He is just an extremely funny person. I still remember the first joke he told when we first met. But the content is not fit for print...“ Chong said with a chuckle. Vivek, however, does not believe in giftedness. “There is only so much gift for you. Every skill in this world can be trained,“ he asserted. And the training never ends. He does it with a stubborn persistence- for three years, Vivek video recorded all his performances and replayed them to analyse the audience responses. In his pocket there is always a mini notebook. He never lets a day pass without spending some time refining his materials. Traditionally, the Chinese place great value on diligence. The young Indian seems to be wired the same way.

he plays pranks on his Chinese friends born overseas. On Youtube, an early clip of Vivek told the joke of how he tricked his American Chinese pals into saying things they shouldn’t be saying. “They had a Chinese face, so people don’t forgive them as easily!” Vivek grinned. Vivek’s multi-cultural upbringing left bread crumbs in his comedy. The comic sees merits in being “culturally misplaced”. “The best comedian is in the wrong culture,” he said. “It’s about finding your edge of culture.“ The dominant gene in his cultural identity, he confirmed, is the local one. “I was born and raised here, but I am also Indian. So I’m kind of like a Hong Kong person trapped in an Indian body.” Some comedy fans see another celebrated comic in Vivek. Russell Peters, an Indian Canadian, also excels in racial humour. Just like Vivek, he not only got away with it, but also became one of the hottest comedy figures across cultures. In very a similar fashion, Vivek jokes about the silly Hong Kong English names, about how locals freak out when he speaks Cantonese to them, and interracial dating. To the mixed audiences of Hong Kong, Vivek is not only a native, but also a delegate of the foreign population. The stage role for him resembles a cultural interpreter, and a rare one of precision.

“The best comedian is in the wrong culture.” It was just another Chinese night in the SoHo comedy club. Vivek stayed behind for the impressed audience after the show. “I live just up the hills, “ he answered one of those personal questions. “Wow, the mid-levels? You are rich!“ The inquirer sounded genuinely surprised. “It’s not me, it’s my parents, they made all the money. Blame them,“ Vivek clarified half seriously. He certainly did not blame his affluent parents. Instead, he was probably thankful for the good Karma. Had Vivek been born into the majority of poorer Indian families in Hong Kong, he would possibly fit in the stereotype of Indians in the Chinese city. “Hong Kong people look at Indians and think of security guards. Actually the Indian guards here are mainly from North India. My family came from another region where many people are in tradings, like my father,” Vivek patiently explained why his family was not in poverty.

Mahbubani’s bilingual skills make him a popular emcee when foreign comedians blow into town.

Vivek’s father, an open-minded Indian merchant, dealt with the cultural gap by raising his son the local way. In his late 20s, Vivek still has a secret attachment to the parks, partially due to the after school hours when he had to take Chinese lessons. All his cousins and friends attended international schools and only had English to fuss over. His parents put him in a government Chinese school instead. When he was little, Vivek felt alone. It took him six years of studying to pick up the language enough to communicate. Now that he speaks perfect Cantonese, he feels much more at home than his cousins in the same city. The linguistic “super power” gets all the more exciting when

Meet the comics

Hong Kong

vs.

Shenzhen

ince the 1997 hand-over, the bordering cities have come to terms with their inevitable partnership and competition. Today, while most businesses are still recovering from the financial blow, exchanges in the humour sector are going strong. In September 2009, the comedians from both sides decided to team up. There began a series of creative sparks and cultural fusions.

Unlikely twins

The Hong Kong comedians try out new lines on each other at a coffee shop every Thursday.

Daniel Chong reaches out to the Shenzhen audience.

Hong Kong and Shenzhen are separated by just a thin river. The neighbouring cities both bear experimental significance for China’s modernisation. Hong Kong is the first Special Administrative Region, and Shenzhen the first Special Economic Zone. But culturewise, they make an odd pair. After communist China’s economic reform in the late 70s, Shenzhen evolved from a fishing village into a manufacturing hub of the Pearl River Delta. It now boasts a population of over 10 million. And the constant influx of immigrants keeps the figure on the rise. Workers and graduates from inner parts of China make up the working force, while more and more aboriginals are retreating to the suburbs. The distinct demography of the migrant city cultivated a very different ambience from Hong Kong. Unlike Shenzhen, the former British colony holds on to its Cantonese roots while sustaining a multi-cultural community. In a little over two decades, Shenzhen’s original dialect has diminished into the second language. Only a quarter Shenzheners understand and speak Cantonese any more. The proportion poses a stark contrast to the one quarter Mandarin speakers in Guangzhou, a city just an hour drive away, not to mention Hong Kong. Thirteen years after the reunion, most Hong Kongers still find themselves suffering from the Mandarin phobia. The Cantonese-based popular culture of Hong Kong, without doubt, has a strong presence in Guangdong Province at large. Yet the jokes sometimes lose touch with reality once they cross the border, because the majority of Shenzhen residents were raised in the Mandarin culture. Politically, Hong Kong’s current system secures unmatched freedom of speech in China, which allows the arts more room for creativity.

Meet the comics

Building ties TakeOut Comedy in Hong Kong sent their first ambassadors to Shenzhen around Halloween in 2009. The cast aroused great interest even with minimun promotion. For people in Shenzhen, Vivek, the Chinese-speaking Indian entertainer was nothing short of exotic. Christopher M, the cheeky white guy, was also celebrated with wild roars of plastic clappers. Their Cantonese delivery was somehow forgiven. The success set the tone for future collaborations of two comedy groups. Before Halloween, the comedy team in Shenzhen operated under a multi-media group called Farsome. Having difficulty finding the exact Chinese phrase for “stand-up comedy”, they marketed their acts as “live talkshows”. At that time in Hong Kong, Jami Gong had been promoting exclusively American stand-up comedy for three years. His reserve of Cantonese talents grew from zero to close to a dozen. But the Mandarin market remained untapped. Sure enough, very few Hong Kongers rely on the language for their cultural intake. Then again, Jami’s Mandarin is pretty rough. So is the case with the majority of the Hong Kong team. When the Shenzhen team officially joined the TakeOut family by the end of 2009, the comedians became comrades of different tongues- the Chinese and the foreigners alike, have to resort to English for communication.

Birds of colourful feathers The comics’ paths crossed mostly on the stage. In reality, they come in a diverse package. As of mid 2010, the average Shenzhen comic and the Hong Kong one have little in common. TakeOut Shenzhen was founded by a group of public speakers. It has two full-time comedian and writer. A large percentage studied science or engineering, and work in related fields. Most of them are college educated. They are in their twenties and thirties and a little more than half are male. None of them was born and raised in Shenzhen. Their Mandarin, albeit fluent, tends to be accented like most Shenzheners. The Hong Kong comic is more difficult to profile. Some of them, mainly the expats, have comedy experiences before coming to Hong Kong. They come from all walks of life. Jami Gong is on the payroll for running the club, the rest of the comics count on other sources of income. The age range is much wider from 14 to over 40-years-old. There are considerably more men and woman in the Cantonese department. And the Cantonese performers are mostly locals, or have at least spent a considerable amount of time in Hong Kong. As artists, they hone the craft in separate styles. The Shenzhen team has a few writers at the desk, and shares the scripts among themselves. New routines replace old ones periodically. Each show or Open Mic has a designated theme. In a way, they work like a TV crew. Hong Kong comics, on the other hand, keep their materials personal. They typically refine a routine over and over again in the course of a few years. Individuality rides over collective themes. The team resembles the old-fashioned comedy club. In many aspects the teams are virtually independent. But there is one shared asset: their love for the art.

In Shenzhen, producers, scriptwriters and performers hold formal meetings to to plan the next big gig.

The Shenzhen team schedules seasonal mass performances.

Comedians catch a break after a show in Shenzhen’s Overseas Chinese Town.

It is certainly an edge, but it also creates a vacuum in crosscultural understanding. A harmless routine in Hong Kong may sound outrageous in Shenzhen. The straight-face authorities have every reason not be laugh at “sensitive” jokes, which can also upset an audience who are less exposed to explicit humour.

Meet the comics Daniel Chong (top left) is a family man. His skits on the mishaps of domestic life tend to resonate with the locals. Daniel talks of the over-sized TV set in the cramped Hong Kong living room, of buying embarrassing items for family members, and of shopping across the border in Shenzhen for counterfeit products. The anecdotic style captures the nuances and delight of the Hong Kong middle class. Daniel tests new jokes on his girlfriend before each show. The two were classmates back in City University of Hong Kong, where Daniel discovered his gift of the gab. Medium: Cantonese

“The satisfaction from doing stand-up comedy comes in an instant. And when you see the strangers roar with laughter, that moment is miraculous.”

Kingdom Kwok (bottom right) is a vocal hero for the struggling white collars in Shenzhen. The self-mocking stage character presents the bitter-sweet minutiae of daily life. His American-style delivery of crisp gags is permeated by a hint of Chinese moderation. Kingdom updates his routines monthly. The sketches centre on urban problems- the dense population, the fierce job market, and the expensive cost of living. Medium: Mandarin

“I squeezed myself onto a fullypacked bus. My feet grew sore from standing, so I lifted one foot to relaxand I regretted immediately.”

Meet the comics Matina Leung is her own material. On stage, the freelance designer establishes herself as the thirty something single with a weight complex. This persona is particularly popular among the Chinese audience. Her vivid mimicry of facial and verbal expressions carries a personal trademark. For the past one and a half years, Matina has been the only funny lady doing both English and Cantonese stand-ups in Hong Kong. The routines are tailor-made for audiences of different cultures. Medium: Cantonese & English

“My first act was a disaster. No one laughed, which is why I couldn’t just give up. Otherwise it’d be like someone trying bungee jumping for the first time, and dies.”

Christopher Mellen is bilingual. The locals adore the American’s grasp of the Cantonese language. His peg is “the egg”- white on the outside, yellow on the inside. When the family moved here in 1994, they resided in a Chinese industrial neighbourhood, Kwun Tong. The teenager quickly picked up the local dialect, for fear that they were the only white family in town. Growing up as a “third-culture kid”, Chris gives expressive performances about his cultural frustrations and awkward encounters. Medium: English & Cantonese

“Living in Hong Kong and being able to understand Cantonese is... tough. Primarily because I know what you are saying about me.”

Meet the comics

Jami Gong and friends organised their first comedy event for a noble cause: they wanted to revive New York City’s Chinatown. The community was in bad shape after the 9/11 attacks, sinking along with the City’s depression. Born and raised in the region, Jami decided to do what he was good at- cheering people up. The show, many years later, evolved into an underground comedy club in SoHo, Hong Kong. When he was a sophomore at Syracuse University, Jami attempted his first stand-up on a dare and found his passion. He would later become a featured tour guide, an Olympic torchbearer, a Knight of Malta and, like a real Asian, went into retail. Eventually, comedy turned out to be the true calling. His original project to bring entertainment back to Chinatown led to an international enterprise. Jami is now retailing laughter in Asia. Medium: English

“These guys are all getting better and better. They all started from scratch. Now I do less comedy because they are taking away MY stage time.”

Kevin Zou has a knack for public speaking. Like his counterparts at the Shenzhen Toastmasters Club, Kevin is a winner of several English speech contests. But stirring up laughter is harder than he expected. The comedic novice takes notes everywhere he goes, of every laughing matter, and seizes every opportunity to get on stage. His efforts, though, are maximised offstage. Kevin was one of the first to venture into Shenzhen’s stand-up comedy scene. Five years ago, comedian Jami Gong persuaded Kevin to take up “the best job in the world”. He finally followed Jami’s path last May. Today, Kevin still keeps his day job as an engineer, but the Shenzhen comedy club takes up all his off days. Medium: Mandain

Meet the comics

“Service hotlines are impossible. I wish I could lay out 100 phones and have the pianist Lang Lang dial for me- he has fast fingers!”

Medium: Mandarin

Medium: Cantonese & English

Du Teng’s (meaning the “vicious vine” in Chinese) story is typical of the Shenzhen amateurs. She discovered the clique online and braved a shot at an Mpen Mic event. Just like many others, her artistic name is also her Internet ID. The online group takes up different jobs. But after a long day in the office, they take off the masks and go through the rush-hour Shenzhen traffic, skip dinner, risk getting embarrassed on stage, just to amuse others. Du Teng frequents the Monday Open Mic as the emcee for training purposes. She owns her dramatic appeal to the socially demanding nature of her job at an English education centre.

FAB was the finniest Chinese guy of Hong Kong in 2008, and tells jokes of strong locality. His brand of grinning and delivery gives out a bouncy aura. The beginning of his career marked the birth of his baby daughter, who is now a major source of smiles on the comic’s face. When he is not serving the people on the hilly SoHo, he is out in the waters. The rapid-fire comedian is a member of the Hong Kong Marine Police, with a long list of hobbies. He plays music and works as a part-time photographer. The musician has just completed a new rap song, which will be featured in a governmental antidrug campaign. The creative output keeps him entertaining and confident on stage.

Meet the comics

Fuzi J is new to the game, and he loves it so much that he quit his former job. The full-time comedian is building a steady fan base in Shenzhen. His routines deal with personal failures with a rare professionalism. Under the spotlight, he throws frivolous jokes at the listeners as the out-of-luck nonentity. But many details suggest that he takes his career with all seriousness. His outfit is always clean and neat, and there is a fleeting look of determination right before he walks on stage. Once he steps down, the entertainer is back to his earnest, unhurried self. Medium: Mandarin

“Look into my eyes, I mean seriously, aren’t they sharp?”

Kenneth Kwan believes in magic. Since he experimented with a pair of “funny glasses” in spring, the crowd has been much easier to please. Aside from the prop, Kenneth impresses the audience with extracted materials from the latest news, his womaniser stage role, and sometimes a shining white suit. He likes to attempt offbeat contents that require a bit of pondering, but never shies away from explicit jokes either. Kenneth teaches music and considers himself “a comic’s comic’s comic” because “only comics understand his jokes”. Medium: Cantonese & English

“My comedy is fluid. I always write them on the go.”

Meet the comics