Sarah Millican is a very, very funny person. She's won prizes for it. She makes a living out of it. She makes enough money out of it to give to those in need. I never imagined a squeaky, Northern British (Geordie, if we're being specific) accent could be comforting, but hers is. Like hearing the voice of a much-beloved friend, I don't hear the weird, I hear the welcome in it.
Sarah came to professional standup via a newspaper ad for a comedy writing class at a time when she was willing to try just about anything. Now she's successful, middle-aged, a bit round, indifferent to fashion, and obsessed with how to keep her rather significant chest out of everyone's way.
She has achieved one of the most difficult things for an artist to do: she feels close, familiar. So, earlier, when I said her voice is like that of a friend, maybe it's because I, like countless others, have come to feel she is my friend.
I like Dave Chapelle a lot, but I don't ever get the feeling he'd want to grab a coffee with me. I worry he might have thoughts of throwing the coffee at me.
But back to Sarah's chest. She has sketches about the awkwardness of bra fittings; sketches about people underestimating the damage poorly restrained breasts can inflict. Her chest is extremely obedient to the laws of gravity. To hear her talk, you'd think gravity was invented specifically to make her body a thing of terror.
This is sort of what I mean when I say Sarah feels like a friend (no, all of my friends don't talk about their bodies going south). I mean her art of comedy is not merely engaging but also inclusive. I have admired comedians who talk about things that are as remote from my reality as ancient Greece. Or ones who talk about things I might know about, but in such an outlandish fashion they may as well be thinking of ancient Greece.
A great deal of what her shows put out there is, well, her. Her life, her embarrassments, her divorce, dates, terrible dates, body issues, aloneness, the surprise of not being alone - all of it. Not everyone can pull that off. Often, that schtick comes off as depressing at best, self-indulgent at worst. Watching a Sarah Millican show, you want to talk back to the telly (because she uses words like 'telly') and tell her your own stories.
In 2010 Sarah started #JoinIn, a Twitter hashtag intended to bring together any and all feeling alone at Christmas. That Christmas, Sarah decided too many people - possibly including herself - were spending the day alone (and not because that's what they wanted) or were having a hard time, or just not the time they wanted.
She said something to the effect that she was making tea and there would be biscuits somewhere and if you were feeling a bit low, join the chat and know you're not alone.
And people responded. They tweeted about having lost children that year. Or that it was their first Christmas without their partner. Or that they always feel isolated at family gatherings. And other people replied to those peop
