We sat down for an exclusive interview with Australian comedian Sammy J to discuss their nostalgic adventure story ‘Hero Complex’.
This show runs from 5th-16th August at Underbelly, the Edinburgh Fringe – Tickets here
1. Hero Complex begins with a seemingly ordinary comic-book swap that spirals into an extraordinary real-life adventure — what was it about this story that convinced you it needed to become a Fringe show?
I’ve been telling versions of this story ever since 1996; because it’s all true, it’s just been a part of my life that kept growing and growing. After a while, my mates started saying “dude this is funnier than all your other stuff.” Which was both mildly offensive and quite thrilling, because I realised I could put it on stage.
2. You’ve spent much of your career creating fictional worlds and characters; what was different about turning your own life into a narrative that feels every bit as unbelievable as one of your comedy creations?
I joke about this in the show, but over my life the name “Sammy J” has been a nickname, a stage name, a character name, an object of ridicule, and a convenient hiding place for me at different points. This is the first show where I basically drop that facade and talk about my actual life – not that my actual life is of interest to anybody, I hasten to add – but the specific moments I’ve chosen to highlight in this show are definitely worth the price of the ticket plus booking fee, I swear to God. There was a level of vulnerability involved in just trying to be myself on stage, but also, I’m in my 40s now and I’ll be dead in a few decades so I’m far less bothered by the whole distinction.
3. The show explores how a single moment can shape decades of a person’s life — did revisiting that chain of events change the way you think about chance, fate and coincidence?
It’s funny, I don’t believe in fate or destiny in the traditional sense, but I do believe we all make our own meaning retrospectively, and this show is probably the most pure expression of that. It’s got several “sliding doors” moments and I make the case that if I hadn’t seen my school gardener wearing a particular t-shirt one day in 1996, I wouldn’t have met my wife, we wouldn’t have our children, and I wouldn’t be telling the story on stage in Edinburgh. Now, of course, chances are I might still have met somebody, and I might still be a dad to different children, but working backwards I’m very happy with how the chain of events unfolded. We all have thousands of tiny moments that could have changed our direction and I think it depends on your world view if you want to call it chance, fate, or coincidence. I’m just lucky that a lot of the coincidences in this show happened to be absurd enough that they belong in a comedy show.
4. From political satire and radio hosting to puppets, musicals and stand-up, you’ve had a remarkably varied career; what have those different creative chapters taught you about storytelling?
I think it all comes down to Noel Coward’s advice – “don’t bore your audience”. I’ve done lots of good things and lots of poor things in my potted little career but the older I get, the more I appreciate that my job is just to entertain the crowd – whether that crowd is in person, online, or listening through a radio. And by that I mean, nobody in the audience cares about your shitty little career trajectory or how much effort you put in or where things fit into your bigger picture. They’d just like to enjoy your company for the amount of time they’ve been kind enough to give you, so I try hard to keep up my end of the bargain.
5. After twelve years away from Edinburgh, what excites you most about bringing a brand-new show back to a city and festival that played such a significant role in your career?
To be sincere, quite frankly I wasn’t sure if, or when, I’d have the chance to return to Edinburgh, so bringing this particular show – which is, I think, my best work – back to the city that shaped me personally and creatively is so bloody exciting. For context, when I first performed there, Youtube was only one year old … so I’m keen to know what’s changed, keen to see what the audiences are like, and keen to soak up the atmosphere of the best arts festival on the planet.
6. The title Hero Complex suggests both comic-book mythology and human fallibility — what does being a “hero” mean to you now compared with when you first started performing comedy?
What a delicious question. When I started performing, in Australia and in Edinburgh, being a hero meant slaying the crowds, getting excellent reviews, making your comedy colleagues laugh and commanding deep respect and awe from the industry at large. Now, 43 years old and with a sustainable career that I’m grateful for, I would define “hero” as … working hard and not being a dick. Much simpler, and much easier to achieve.