The Oscars of Comedy?

Five years ago, it needed no introduction. Internationally renowned as the "Oscars of Comedy", the Perrier Award was the most prestigious gong in the business. It helped launch the careers of Stephen Fry, Sean Hughes, Lee Evans, Steve Coogan and Frank Skinner to name but a few.

However, after three name changes in five years (the Perrier became the If.comedy Award in 2006, then the Edinburgh Comedy Award in 2009 and is now the Fosters Edinburgh Comedy Award for 2010) there is a risk that the once universally recognisable award has lost some of its mass public potency.

Furthermore, it has also come in for strong criticism from a number of big name comics, most notably Stewart Lee, who called for it to be “at least ignored or banned” after a series of changes to its eligibility rules knocked dozens of top comics out of contention for the prize. These days, any comic adjudged to have “star status” (i.e. the ability to regularly sell out a 500-seat venue or command a television audience) is ineligible. In July this year, Lee spearheaded an internet campaign to undermine Fosters' attempt to crown an "Edinburgh Comedy God" by encouraging fans to vote for the long-forgotten-about musical comedy group Frank Chickens ahead of big names such as Michael McIntyre or Peter Kay. So successful was Lee's call to arms that Frank Chickens are comfortably leading the Fosters' poll.

All of which begs the question: what does the Perrier/If.comedy/Fosters Award mean today? According to Brendon Burns—the 2007 winner—the award has its detractors, but it remains the biggest accolade in comedy. “I think it’s fifty/fifty,” he says, “I think it’s split down the line. There are those who say that it doesn’t mean what it used to, but do you know what? Until you’ve won it you can’t really say that. You’re not qualified.

“For me, I’ve always been enamoured with it. The first time I went to the Festival was when I was 16 years of age, and I always followed who won from that day onwards, promising myself that I was gonna win it.

"Of course, it’s your job as a comedian when [you’re asked about the award] to say ‘it’s not important, I don’t care about that, etc.’ but everyone would love to win it and they’re lying if they say otherwise.

"But at the same time, I don’t blame them," he continues. "You’re supposed to lie. And the fact of the matter is, I don’t say that with any sort of sneering. I say that from the point of view of someone that did it 12 times in a row! The idea that it doesn’t mean what it used to is tied to the fact that the sponsor [over the last few years] wasn’t that recognisable. Now that it's got a recognisable sponsor, I reckon its gonna catapult again.”

This is a sentiment echoed by Tim Key, last year’s winner: “I don’t know how significant it is in the general scheme of things. I think it’s pretty massive in the context of Edinburgh, though. I’ve been going up there for years and I’ve always been interested in who gets nominated and who wins. I think along with who’s got ripped apart in a review and who’s screwing who, the award’s one of the most gossiped about things up there. Outside of Edinburgh I don’t know how significant it is. Within comedy it is, certainly. And everyone I know understands its significance. I’ve made sure of that!”

If the award is of great emotional significance to the winners, the impact it has upon their careers is even more profound. David O’Doherty, the lo-fi 2008 winner, notes that among London-based television execs and agents there is an almost maniacal obsession with the Edinburgh Comedy Award. As a direct result of winning, he has been bombarded with all sorts of proposals: “I was offered a TV show and the pitch for it was ‘it’s like The Apprentice but with pets’. There were quite a few of those that came in, especially at the time of the commissioning round. It happened in Ireland too, you get funny emails. But I resisted the temptation to do Apprentice for Pets, and I’ve not yet regretted that decision!” 

“Do you know what?” asks Burns. “It was a deal sealer. The guy who wins, stuff was happening already because naturally the guy who wins has a very good show on their hands. And the things that I wanted to happen were happening in the first week of Edinburgh anyway. I was offered a TV series. I was offered Montreal, a solo series. All those things I was offered before I won. I got a book deal and my first book comes out in August during the book festival. What the award did was make me an easier sell for people.

“In terms of my career, it was very, very helpful to someone like me. After being an Edinburgh comic for so many years, to finally get recognised outside the Fringe festival, it was like a final stamp on 12 years' worth of work. There’s nothing that I could have done that could have done more for me.”

Winning the award is not without its downsides, though: following up such an acclaimed routine is a profoundly difficult thing to do. Since Phil Nichol took the award in 2006 and followed it up with a show that was panned by critics, both Burns and O’Doherty were only able to manage fairly workmanlike sequels. O’Doherty is quick to note that, despite the increased expectations surrounding the winner and the fact that the press are waiting in the wings to pounce on any slip-ups, pressure is not to blame, adding ”there’s pressure every time you go to write a new show.”

Brendon Burns gives a very pragmatic explanation for this phenomenon and, indeed, a warning to whoever takes this year's crown: “The fact of the matter is that the year you win is the busiest year of your career. Every other year you have six to eight months to prepare your Edinburgh show; that year you have two weeks to a month, maximum – because you’ve got Montreal and all sorts of meetings and so on. So with all that and then going up to Edinburgh with a rather rushed show, people are gunning for you because it’s the difficult second album. So it’s 50 per cent that and 50 per cent the press going: ‘let’s tear him a fucking new one!’”