Comedy might be good for the soul, but it's no substitute for real medicine

Telegraph

23-02-2025

A plan to put stand-up comedy shows on the NHS has been welcomed by Stroud MP and GP, Dr Simon Opher, who recently warned in Parliament about the 'pandemic of over-prescription' and outlined how 'making people laugh can avoid the need for medication'.
The company that pitched this flamboyant foray into complementary medicine is Craic Comedy, headed up by Louisa Jackson, who has the facts and data at her elegantly manicured finger tips. Comedy-on-prescription, she says, is not just a bit of harmless fun – it could help reduce the costs linked to mental health issues in the country.
'Comedy is a cortisol decreaser, dopamine producer, and a potent releaser of serotonin, endorphins and good neuropeptides.' And no addiction, no adaptation, no shame. Sounds great. I should charge more.
My first thought flew to the joke familiar to all stand-ups, and which I first heard, or read, in The Watchmen. 'Man goes to doctor. Says he's depressed. Says life seems harsh and cruel. Says he feels all alone… Doctor says, 'Treatment is simple. Great clown Pagliacci is in town tonight. Go and see him. That should pick you up.' Man bursts into tears. Says, 'But doctor...I am Pagliacci.'
But even putting that opportunity for dramatic irony aside, I suspect I am not the only stand-up to be feeling somewhat ambivalent about being recruited into a wellness drive. Of course, one likes to think one's rants and musings cheer everyone up on the night, which can even have a knock-on effect on their mood the following day and ripple out to those they live and work with. We have long been proud to be reminded that laughter is the best medicine, which is why it was so jarring to discover during the Covid lockdowns that it was also quite a significant disease vector.
But still, stand-up comedy is entertainment, not therapy, and one that is licensed to go dark, if not actually kill. There is nothing that smothers a really good, wicked belly laugh faster than the earnest smile of the comedy facilitator, beaming with the saintly intent of a Thought for the Day.
'Life is mostly froth and bubble,
Two things stand like stone.
Kindness in another's trouble,
Courage in your own.'
A short verse by Adam Lindsay Gordon, with a glycaemic index that could fell an ox, and was apparently Princess Diana's favourite. But I always preferred Kingsley Amis's parody:
'Life is mainly grief and labour,
Two things see you through:
Chortling when it hits your neighbour
Whingeing when it's you.'
And that version, frankly, is much more in tune with the very best, the soul of stand-up comedy. At the moment of conception, Schopenhauer lamented, the Devil's laughter is heard. But if you can't be around for that, the conception of a really vicious punchline is a good second.
Of course, I do believe that a really hearty cackle is chicken soup for the soul. It's just that it ideally has to have a little mischief in it really. And that comedy evenings planned as mental health treatment might lack a certain bite, might be a bit too much like getting your haircut by the council, or your lunch delivered by a charity.
But who knows? I might be wrong. And after all, a gig's a gig. You know where to find me…