MARK NORMAND
Where: Royal Theatre, 805 Broughton St.
When: Friday, May 10, 7 p.m. and 9:30 p.m.
Tickets: $77.75-$99.25 from the Royal McPherson box office (250-386-6121) or rmts.bc.ca
Comedian Mark Normand calls himself an introvert, which is a strange designation when you consider the New Orleans native makes his living standing on stage, alone, entertaining thousands of people nightly.
The comic, 40, has been touring extensively for nearly 20 years, and has grown into his professional persona as an anxiety-ridden observationist with few filters. He jokes about race (“I had one of those White Lives Matter rallies go by my house the other day, and I freaked out. Then I realized it was just a half-marathon”) and the delicacy of being offensive in public (“In the ‘70s, it was all about actions. If you wanted to show you were brave, you had a to jump over 12 buses on a motorcycle. Now, I see a guy make an off-colour joke at the office and I’m like, ‘That guy is fearless.’ ”) with equal aplomb.
There is no middle ground with Normand. He’s an equal opportunity offender, as quick with his Seinfeldian delivery and sly smirk as he is with an F-bomb or non sequitur. He’s so normal looking, in fact, that his mix of raunch and intelligence often comes across as a bait-and-switch in concert. “If it’s funny, you can say anything,” Normand told the Times Colonist.
“I have no line, if it’s funny. And people will say, ‘But what about cancer?’ There’s plenty of funny cancer jokes.”
Fifteen years ago he moved to New York, where he lives today with his wife, writer and stand-up comedian Mae Planert. He relocated to the city’s West Village neighbourhood after finding life as a comic difficult in New Orleans.
“It’s a party town, it’s a music town. Comedy is 14th on the list. Music, architecture, painting — comedy is on the bottom rung. We don’t really cultivate it there. It’s not part of the culture, so I had to leave pretty early, if I wanted to become a professional stand-up.”
He was born as raised in the city’s infamous Tremé area, and was one of the few white kids in his racially-charged neighbourhood. That gave him a unique, slightly jaded worldview, which he infuses into his act. He doesn’t shy away from controversy, and feels if it is done well, any line-straddling joke — be it racial or sexual — can find an audience, pushback be damned.
“If I tell a joke about my gay roommate, people will think I’m homophobic. That’s just my roommate, but they hear the word gay and get offended. But that’s what stand-up is. You have to tap dance around those laserbeams and still make it work. You have to put things in an accessible way.”
Normand has recorded four specials during his career — Still Got It (2014), Don’t Be Yourself (2017), Out to Lunch (2020), and Soup to Nuts (2023) — which is a snail’s pace compared others in his field. He takes care building his sets, however, and can spend nine months perfecting 15 minutes of material. Careful consideration has earned him praise from Jerry Seinfeld, and a reputation for being a comic’s comic.
“I’m not a good performer, I don’t think. I don’t have a gimmick or a character. It takes so much more work to make sure every line is important. I don’t want any filler, I don’t want any fluff.”
Normand counts top comedians like Shane Gillis, Bert Kreischer, Joe Rogan, Tom Segura, and Sam Morrill as friends, and collaborates with them all on a regular basis. He has been swept up in the milieu, and has graduated to touring large theatres. He’s making his Victoria debut tonight with two shows at the Royal Theatre, both of which are selling well.
“Comedy is being really propped up these days. This is a new boom we’re in. But the problem is, with the boom comes a need for content. People are devouring content, so comics have to put out more to satiate the audience. Then the quality suffers. It should be worked and not out in the public eye until it’s ready. If you put out bad shit and it gets shared, then people kind of go, ‘This guy doesn’t have his fastball anymore.’ Three or four bad ones in a row and people go, ‘I’m kind of over this guy.”
Normand says he’s never happy, despite his acclaim.
“Sometimes I’ll come off stage after doing an hour, and I’ll think, ‘Alright, one new word worked.’ I’ll fly to a city, sell out a theatre, do an hour, but one new three-word line at the end is progress. It’s all about the details. [Comics] are like movie directors. You’re building something, putting something together, and it has to have a beginning, a middle, and an end. The best ones are the detailed ones — the Scorseses, the Michael Manns. They have these intricate plot twists and camera shots. That’s what I try and do.”
When he gets roasted for something deemed controversial, Normand takes umbrage. He takes his profession seriously, and the good ones make it look easy. But fans shouldn’t misconstrue easy for effortless.
“These jokes are all tested. And that’s the funny thing. People say ‘He was really walking the line,’ but I ran that joke 5,000 times and tweaked it until it worked, and then I put it on a special.”
