Marcus Brigstocke: It started to bother me that testosterone, a hormone in my body, has become shorthand for something bad

Marcus Brigstocke has been one of the most distinctive voices in British comedy for nearly thirty years. Known for combining sharp political commentary with personal storytelling, he’s tackled everything from climate change to addiction to religion. His latest show turns to masculinity and the question of what, if anything, modern men are supposed to be for.

In this conversation with The Skylark, Brigstocke reflects on fatherhood, mental health, male identity and the appeal of figures like Andrew Tate. He talks about the role of stand-up in making difficult ideas heard, and why, for him, comedy still begins and ends with whether or not people laugh.

Stand-up is still the best way I know to communicate a complicated idea. There’s a railway track you have to stay on: if they’re not laughing, you’re not doing your job. That constraint actually helps when you’re trying to explore something tricky. And if you do happen to stumble upon something true and make it funny, people remember it – because it was funny.

The subject of my current show is men and what we are for. There’s a list now, widely agreed upon among a lot of the progressive men I know, of things we’re no longer needed for. At one end of that is helping women who don’t want or need our help. At the other is lifting heavy things, which machines can now do. And between those poles are the deeper, more serious shifts – cultural, emotional, societal.

If we’re taking patriarchal thinking out of circulation – and rightly so – what remains? What does a non-toxic or positive masculinity look like? 

There wasn’t one single event that led me to this topic. But becoming a father again after a seventeen-year gap has something to do with it. I have a 22-year-old son, a 20-year-old daughter, and now a three-year-old son. My dad’s in his eighties. I’m in my fifties. So I’m surrounded by men at every stage of life. Even if that weren’t true, men matter. They’re important.

It started to bother me that testosterone, a hormone in my body right now, has become shorthand for something bad. A “testosterone-fuelled place” is always negative. But that’s one of the major chemicals inside me, doing what it’s supposed to. It’s not inherently awful.

The statistics are devastating. Suicide is the number one cause of death for men under 50 in the UK. Not top ten – number one. Ninety-six percent of the UK prison population is male. Men are more than twice as likely to be addicted to drugs or alcohol. And then there’s that glib but sadly accurate line that the most dangerous man a woman will encounter in her life is her male partner.

There’s this invitation – loud in politics and online – for men to return to some former version of themselves. JD Vance is a big proponent of that: the idea that men need to reclaim a role they once held. As if things used to be better. But they weren’t better. Certainly not for women. Or younger men. Or older men, for that matter. Anyone trying to take us back somewhere is missing the point.

Then you get someone like Andrew Tate. I hadn’t planned to talk about him in the show, but the research changed that. One poll found that 52% of UK boys aged 14 to 24 have a favourable opinion of him. That’s not niche. That’s more than half.

A kid came to my show in Devon – lovely, thoughtful kid. He said, “I’m not saying what you said about Tate isn’t true, but I haven’t seen that. The stuff I’ve seen is quite funny.” And that’s part of the appeal. Tate offers something very palatable to young men. Here’s how to lift more, be more flexible, improve your kickboxing, feel valued. I don’t share his definition of success, but you can see why it connects.

So many of these boys have never kissed anyone, let alone had sex, and they’ve already been told that the patriarchy isn’t just something they’re caught up in – it’s their fault. They didn’t choose it, but they’re held accountable for it. And if you add to that the removal of arts and sport from schools, then what’s left? If you’re not academic, there’s a good chance – especially if you’re male – you’ll leave school feeling like you’re not good at anything. That you don’t serve a purpose. And then someone like Tate comes along offering identity, purpose, direction.

I play with that in the show. I’m 52. They don’t want to hear from me. But I say it anyway. Maybe one of them hears it.

I’ve always believed stand-up is a brilliant way to tackle difficult subjects. I like that narrow path where a comedian finds their way through something serious. Stuart Lee does it well. Mark Steel continues to be extraordinary – often using silliness to make serious subjects laugh-out-loud funny. Jason Byrne too. And Jess Fostekew, who often tackles complex topics with real intelligence – she’s brilliant. But sometimes it’s easy to forget, as Tim Vine told me, that funny is, in itself, enough.

Sometimes I have an idea that feels vital to me, but I can’t find a way to make it funny. If that happens, it doesn’t make the edit. The audience can’t sit in silence while you lecture them. You either find a way to make it work within the artform, or you cut it.

I used to write jokes and impressions and bits of social observation. Then, eventually, I started writing about what I actually cared about. I made a rule – really more of a guideline – that I wouldn’t write about anything I wasn’t profoundly interested in. That shift made writing easier and better. I did a show digesting COVID and what it had done to us. It was cathartic, for me and the audience.

Before that, I did Devil May Care – I played Lucifer as a stand-up, fully red, horns and everything. It took an hour to get into costume and another to get out. Not ideal. But the show was about forgiveness. How important it is to forgive ourselves and each other – for the small things, and sometimes the big ones too. Hell, in the show, was overrun by people who couldn’t forgive themselves for forgetting a shopping bag. And yes, we don’t want plastic bags in the sea. But it’s not a reason to condemn yourself for eternity.

There is a valid concern that comedy could trivialise serious issues. But I’d say that if a comedy show doesn’t work – if it’s not funny, not coherent – then it fails. But sometimes raising a difficult issue in that setting works. Even if it only connects with one person in the room, that can matter. There are comics whose work I don’t enjoy. Ricky Gervais, for instance – I don’t connect with his stand-up. But I’m glad he’s doing it. It doesn’t need to be for me. I just don’t go. That’s the deal. 

Comedy doesn’t need to fit into a wider jigsaw of change. It can just be its own thing. But it can also be part of the picture. There are lots of ways to engage with big issues. Some people protest by blocking roads. Some go into boardrooms. Some make ads. Some write stand-up. Not everything needs to be for everyone.

There’s hope. Plenty of it. It might feel harder to locate, but that’s not because there’s less of it. We’re just overwhelmed. We’re surrounded by information we can’t process. Tim Minchin said something I agree with – that we don’t have a duty to stare at it all. Watching endless footage from Gaza or Ukraine doesn’t make you a better person. Taking action does. Listening does. Creating something does.

My adult kids probably handle this digital onslaught better than I do. But I still worry about them. And actually, I worry more about my generation. People my age and older aren’t digitally literate. We’re not equipped for this volume or complexity of information. And it’s dangerous. There’s a lot of focus on protecting young people from the internet – but honestly, we need to talk about how to protect our parents from it.

What gives me hope, more than anything, is art. People are still making incredible work. But it’s getting harder – especially for those without money or support. What Gove and Cummings did to arts and sport in schools is disgraceful. We’re feeling the consequences now.

I’ve been going to Edinburgh for thirty years. I can afford to lose money a few years in a row. But if you remove that platform from people who can’t? You ruin everything.

I love doing what I do. I don’t want to give up my space. But I don’t need to, for others to be heard. Let those other voices come through. Let them be better. Let them be louder.

Discover

What does it mean to be a man today?

Ideas about masculinity are changing fast. Who’s shaping that change and who’s resisting it?

Beyond Equality – Reimagining Masculinity

What happens when men can’t talk about how they feel?

Suicide is the biggest killer of men under 50 in the UK. Where can men go for help that makes sense?

CALM – Campaign Against Living Miserably

MenSpeak – Men’s Groups and Safe Spaces

Why does art still matter?

The arts can reach people in ways nothing else can. But access and support are disappearing.

Arts Emergency – Supporting Young Creatives

Autograph – Identity and Art