Learning To Clown At A French Clown School Was One Of The Hardest Things I’ve Ever Done

Clown. It’s a bit of a dirty word. It conjures images of nightmares, “just harmless fun“, and devilish children’s party entertainers. Or worse: actual memories of being accosted by sweaty street performers in wigs and grease paint, having clammy balloon poodles forced into your hands and hollow clown jokes shouted into your face — jokes that reek of sorrow and self-loathing.

Why, then, in the world we live in today, with all the job opportunities afforded us in EVERY other field, would anyone actually CHOOSE to be a clown?

Great question. It’s one I asked myself every day I spent working as a clown at Luna Park, years ago. That job was and remains the worst job I have ever had in my life. I lasted two weeks and made more children cry during that period than I care to remember. I was constantly bathed in sweat, grease paint poured off my face and down my neck, I had nothing intelligent to say to anyone and my whole clown-clothed person became so hit-able that people (not just children) would often just sneak up behind me and whack me.

I don’t know why people do that kind of clowning. I really have no idea.

What I do know is that about two years ago, with this traumatic experience still fresh in my hot little head, I did an unthinkable thing. I moved to France to study at a famous clown school in the suburbs of Paris. It was there that, under the expert tutelage of infamous clown wizard Philippe Gaulier, I fell in love with the art of being an idiot.

So, what’s it all about? I’m glad you asked.

–

#1: Clowning Is Really, Really Hard

It’s little wonder there are so many bad clowns about the place; being a good one requires a superhuman level of sensitivity, boldness and inventiveness that almost no person ever born could possibly have.

In class we were often instructed to get up and invent a scene from nothing. I’ve since met professionals who do this kind of thing regularly in front of paying audiences (a thing that still blows my mind), and often without the aid of words or props or anything else that might distract the audience from the fact that you’ve got nothing. Apparently it’s totally possible and just takes some practice.

No previous experience in my life prepared me for the panic that overcame me the first time I tried it. I was dressed up in my outfit, I had a fellow clown-pal with me; we tottered onto the stage with dangerously empty heads (as instructed), and then…  Nothing. The silence stretched to eternity. I said something in a silly voice. Nothing. My partner did a silly walk. Nothing.

After what felt like three decades of us bombing like it’s impossible to describe, Philippe banged his drum and told us we were boring. “Not boring normale, uh? Fucking boring. Boring like my sister Claudine, and I can say that my sister Claudine is FUCKING boring. Alors, Penny… Penny, she is horrible with a capital ‘HORRIBLE’? Or… I am drunk?”  Brutal.

I then proceeded, along with most of the people in my class, to spend the next ten weeks of the course battling the tide of epic silences that met my every attempt at being funny. A pattern emerged in the feedback I was getting: I doubted too much, I didn’t follow my impulses, my voice was too quiet. In short, I didn’t have the courage necessary to be a good clown.

It is notoriously difficult to be good at clowning. The pursuit of it can turn decent actors into depressive weirdos who have no business being onstage at all. Philippe used to encourage us by saying, “One clown is born every 50 years. For the rest – sorry about that – but it’s possible you try every day for ten years and never meet your clown.”

–

#2: “Meet Your Clown”…?

Most of us have learned through life experience to avoid uncomfortable situations. Our response when we feel challenged or vulnerable is either to get aggressive, or to make ourselves small and non-threatening; to be polite and inoffensive. “Meeting your clown” is the opposite of this. Instead of bailing out or getting defensive when a joke flops, you simply stay your awesome self and bounce back with the perfect bold/stupid response and the crowd goes wild. Simple.

I had a breakthrough towards the end of my time at the school, when I was trying to play a narcoleptic clown. In the middle of a deep flop, Philippe piped up with the suggestion that I sleep-walk. It worked. I started small, but soon I was thundering around the room in my heavy boots, roar-snoring and pretending to attack members of the audience in my sleep. For some reason it was hysterical. People cried laughing.  I’ve never been able to repeat that particular scene, although, happily, I have met my clown on other rare occasions.

–

#3: Good Clowns Are Funny The Way Cat Videos Are Funny

The audience expects very specific things of a clown. Philippe wasted no time in telling us that when we wore our red noses it was no longer possible to be sexy, crass, or knowledgeable about anything, or to have any sense of irony or sarcasm. We were essentially back to playing by the same rules as children and animals.

So what is left when you strip all that away? Pure, unselfconscious idiocy, really, and that’s about it. The problem is that most of us adults feel stupid acting stupid. To be good at it you have to do stupid in a big way, and show no fear. Like this:

–

#4: It Is Nothing Like Acting

Good clowns don’t hide behind a character to be funny; they just turn up with 15 kilograms of joy and make everyone laugh. It’s nothing like stand-up, either. Comedians do their best to avoid jokes that don’t land, whereas ‘The Flop’ is the clown’s currency.

One day in class a friend and I presented a number where I was going to jump from a ladder into a bucket of water. By this stage I was in the throes of a ‘clown crisis’, brought on by weeks of not being funny. I did something awful and no one laughed, and instead of trying something else, I just got embarrassed. Philippe stopped me immediately and dropped this absolute pearler: “Yes, it is hard to be proud of yourself after you do a big shit. But this is the world of clown! Make a big shit and show a great pleasure!”

Clowns also have nothing important to say, unlike actors and comedians. Philippe often says, “The clown’s job is to make us laughing. And after, he leave.” That’s all there is to it; and that is a lovely, wonderful, stupid thing.

–

#5: The Red Nose Means Nothing

Not all clowns use it. In fact, good clowns don’t need it. Charlie Chaplin, Mr Bean and Buster Keaton never wore anything like that and they’re recognised as some of the greatest clowns in living memory.

Instead, the red nose is a kind of short-cut. It instantly transforms your face and makes it possible for the audience to imagine you as a personage that’s larger than life. It gives you license to misbehave.

I guess people think that the clown face paint does the same thing but it really doesn’t, it’s just terrifying.

–

#6: Clowning Makes You Better At Life

Need proof? Check out these legendary Gaulier-trained idiots and tell me I’m wrong.

Dr Brown

–

Trygve Wakenshaw

–

Sacha Baron-Cohen

–

Emma Thompson

–

Penny Greenhalgh’s clown show, BAD, is on at the Old Fitz Theatre in Sydney until January 31.

–