The outsider

Whilst a sabbatical from the Irish comedy scene throughout the latter half of the nineties has left Ian MacPherson largely unknown to domestic comedy audiences, the Clontarf native remains one of the nation’s most critically acclaimed comedic exports, with a fanbase that numbers among its ranks such heavy-hitters as Frank Skinner, Bill Bailey, Harry Hill, Patrick Marber and Simon Munnery.

After penning a couple of well-received novels during his abstention from live performance, MacPherson has now returned to the stage with MacPherson’s Lament, a daring, bold and wickedly funny tour de force that has already earned rave notices from British reviewers.
“It’s been very pleasing to see how well the show has been received, alright,” says MacPherson, a wryly humourous and hugely engaging conversationalist. “After being away for a while, it’s great that people have been so receptive. The play concerns an older writer who arrives back in Dublin after a few years away, confident that his latest book will earn him the critical acclaim that’s been denied to him throughout his career. But he is soon usurped by a younger, more populist author, whose book is entitled Does My Dick Look Big In This?
“And the actual conflict in the play arises from the clash between these two opposing cultural positions. The younger writer’s book is more commercial but also more frivolous, whilst the older author feels he has created a more artistic work. I suppose in its broadest form, the play is actually about capitalism, but I certainly didn’t set out to write a critique of globalisation or anything like that. I just wanted to write something funny that perhaps offered some insights, and that just happens to be the theme running underneath the piece throughout.”
One demographic likely to be delighted with MacPherson’s return to live performance is his aforementioned coterie of celebrity fans. How did he meet Skinner in the first instance?
“Frank originally became enthusiastic about my stuff in the late eighties,” explains Ian. “He used to book me to play clubs in Birmingham, when he was still Chris Collins. There would have been a circle of comics who moved in and out of each other’s orbit at the time, and Frank was in the vanguard. It’s not surprising to me that he went on to enjoy such huge success, he was always a very accomplished performer, very comfortable with an audience and with an amazing facility for these biting one-liners. Perhaps people underestimate his cleverness also - he may have left school at sixteen, but he does have a degree in English literature!”
One particularly gratifying tribute to MacPherson arrived at the Edinburgh Fringe last year, when the League Against Tedium’s Simon Munnery, dissatisfied at the lack of official recognition for the Irishman from the Festival judging panels, chose to present him with his own version of the Perrier Award.
“I was doing some shows with Simon at The Stand club last year,” recalls McPherson. “The Stand is actually a blessing in disguise for comedians with a more experimental approach. Anyway, Simon said he loved my show, and declared himself somewhat outraged at my failure to come into contention for the Perrier. So he decided he was going to create his own prize, which he dubbed “The Simon Munnery Comedy Award 2003”. One night I was doing my thing onstage, and there’s this kerfuffle at the back of the hall.
“Simon and about half a dozen of his mates marched down the aisle and up on stage, and presented me with the award, which was an upturned bucket on a piece of wood. Now, obviously he was taking the piss out of the whole process of awards-giving to a certain extent, but there was also a great deal of affection in his decision to give me the prize. I was very humbled that he took the time and effort to do it, I must say.”
Does MacPherson feel he’s lost out on a higher public profile down through the years due to his obstinate refusal to compromise his material?
“I suppose that’s been a factor in my relative obscurity,” he muses. “I remember a few years back reading a book review in the Irish Times, and the journalist made a reference to what he described as a great modern witticism about Irish people’s increasing stature in British society throughout the 1990s. The line concerned Irish people’s growing involvement in medicine, journalism, the professions generally, and away from that “stupid Paddy” stereotype. It went, ‘These days, people don’t know you’re black ’til you open your mouth’.
“And I actually wrote that line! So, you know, it has its drawbacks, but I really don’t think I’d be comfortable with myself if I’d gone against my instincts and sold myself out at any point.”
A doggedly individual maverick he may be, but the fact remains that anyone with even a passing interest in comedy is obliged to familiarise themselves with Ian MacPherson’s work – and MacPherson’s Lament is the perfect opportunity.

Ian MacPherson’s Lament runs at the Project Arts Centre from June 7-12