If you had told me two years ago that I would one day be lucky enough to co-present a show on a national radio station that I genuinely love with one of my best friends and receive a wage in exchange for doing so, I would have scoffed and raspberried and told you to pull the other one and raised an eyebrow and got back to my drama homework.
Yet here we are.
For the next 12 months, Alex Dyson and I will be part-time employees of Triple J and will try to be funny on the radio.
That's. Krazy. Talk.
Our time at the youth radio department of the ABC has been, quite simply, ridiculous. We've been constantly waiting for our bosses to break into feverish giggles and announce, á la Ashton Kutcher, that Alex and I have been the victims of an elaborate hoax which has all been secretly recorded and which all air next year as part of Triple J's new radio serial, Check Out These Losers Who Thought They Actually Had A Shot!.
But they haven't done that. They just haven't. They've just given us very nice feedback and politely knocked back our stupider ideas and offered us better time slots and told us to stop putting ourselves down all the time. And - and here's the kicker - they've used taxpayer's money to fund the whole exercise.
I'm both extremely proud and Today Tonight-outraged at the same time.
I like to think that we have good reason for our incredulity. I mean, let's just take a quick look at my and Alex's extensive radio experience. Let's just critically examine our qualifications for this job. We hosted a one-hour program on community radio station 3WAY FM in Warrnambool, Victoria. On and off. For less than a year. And we paid to do that show.
It was called The Breakfast Show and it was on at 10pm. Get it?
Now, I can say with absolute confidence that our show was exclusively listened to by friends and family, largely by obligation. I mean, we had a segment entitled Cough Mute Silence Or Silence Silence?, in which listeners were required to listen to a period of silence and then guess whether that silence was generated by one of us pressing down the cough mute button in the studio or whether the two of us just weren't making any noise at all.
We were actively using dead air as part of our programming (!!!) and now we're on the national broadcaster. That's like someone applying to work as a doctor at a prestigious hospital and then including the time they stabbed themselves with a knife on their resumé. And then putting down the knife as a reference.
We once interviewed my friend Sal, who has limited nasal ability, and we asked her to smell three objects blindfolded. We then asked her to guess what the objects were. We also asked the listening audience - who were really doing us a favour, keep in mind - to guess what they thought the objects were because they had just as much chance of guessing correctly as Sal did.
And now we're on the same station that boasts the likes of Paul McDermott, Myf Warhurst, Roy and HG, Charlie Pickering, Wil Anderson, Tripod, Ross Noble and John Safran as alumni.
[INSERT SCOFF HERE].
But, scoff or no, we're now charged with the epic duty of being an original and likeable male comedy duo. This kind of thing's never been done before, right?
I genuinely like Hamish and Andy. I think they're great. Hamish is a treat on Spicks And Specks and Thank God You're Here, and when he teams up with his best friend for Rove stunts or their radio show, it's fun to be in their company and to watch their really pretty gutsy ideas play out. Blake and Lee can get along with pretty much anyone, they're never cynical or mean and they're extremely down to earth; they know they're lucky to have the success they have and they know that it isn't going to last forever and they're okay with that. They have talent and they have perspective. And they're very, very popular.
Thus, I hate Hamish and Andy. Alex and I are at risk of being viewed as Hamish and Andy try-hards; we're referred to as "Tom and Alex", we've had to can a fair proportion of our ideas for fear of being seen as ripping off the pair and, such is the profile of Hames and Ando, simply being two guys on the radio who are trying to be funny is enough for our listenership to draw comparisons.
There's such a rich history of funny male twosomes. A mere glance at any comedy hall of fame will throw up names such as Abbott and Costello, Laurel and Hardy, Fry and Laurie, Peter Cook and Dudley Moore, the Two Ronnies, Jerry Seinfeld and Larry David, Lano and Woodley, The Mighty Boosh, Mick Molloy and Tony Martin, the Scared Weird Little Guys, Ricky Gervais and Stephen Merchant; for some reason, the formula of two mates pissing about, doing silly things and making each other laugh really connects with people. We're keen to listen to/watch/hear about duos crapping on and having a good time and like to feel we're included in this very intimate friendship.
The trick, of course, is to make that which is quite difficult and which has been thoroughly thought about seem easy, spontaneous and relaxed when presented to the public. Hamish and Andy are very aware of what they're doing, they work at it, they throw away ideas and recognise the value of others, they plan mic breaks. Yes, they're naturally charming guys, but they're also radio-makers who actively work to provide entertainment. If they didn't, they could easily slip into mediocrity.
And here seems to be the rub of comedy in general. It's hard to be funny. But it's extremely hard to be funny and to be original. This is why people like Richard Pryor, Daniel Kitson, Shaun Micallef, Patton Oswalt, Sam Simmons, Maria Bamford, Billy Crystal and Robin Williams are so great; they are so undeniably them, they redefine ideas of comedy and they're goddamn funny. Just as the Beatles' genius lay in transforming all their influences into something new and wonderful and meaningful, these comedians take on the work of those who have gone before and reinvigorate the whole sha-bang, their own personal stamp clearly imprinted in the form of an impressive legacy.
That's what I really want to do. I really, really do. I don't want to take the easy path, I don't want to fade into the malaise of other people's voices on the dial. I love making people laugh, but that's not all I want to do. I want to make people laugh and think and have a good time and feel included in something big and cool and fun.
Something original.
I don't know if I can or if I will do that. I think, with little Alex Dyson by my side, we can have a decent crack, but I'm honestly not sure. We might just end up being remembered as the ABC's regrettable attempt to compete with the Hamish and Andy ratings juggernaut or we might just be deemed "not as good as Adam and Wil". But maybe, just maybe, we'll be able to successfully bring what I like to think of as the "charm" of Cough Mute Silence Or Silence Silence? to the nation and set ourselves apart.
George Bernard Shaw was wrong; dying and comedy are both very, very hard. And the thought of being truly original?
That scares the shit out of me.
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