Life in the Funny Business: Born Standing Up

By Bruce Collier January 24, 2008 Issue

I experienced Steve Martin’s Born Standing Up twice. The first time was on CD, read to me by the author. The second was the old-fashioned way, out of the book. I usually don’t like being read to, but hearing a person’s life story from his own lips adds something, particularly if the person is an entertainer of Martin’s caliber.

Comedian, magician, musician, actor and writer, \ Martin belongs to an era that is truly bygone. Martin was one a small, elite band of comics that included Richard Pryor and George Carlin in the ‘70s, with Eddie Murphy keeping the flame flickering into the ‘80s. But the day of the solo humorist who could command an audience of 40,000-plus by just standing there and being funny is gone. It was knocked down by the proliferation of cable channels, throttled by VCR/DVD technology, and finished off by the Internet. Small and splintered is now the rule, with sketch comedy, clubs, YouTube, and the occasional stage venue, on the road to Comedy Heaven — the feature film.

Born Standing Up covers a limited period. In the preface, Martin writes that his 18 years in stand-up consisted of 10 years learning, four years refining, and four years of “wild success.” The book tells how, and also why Martin chose to walk away. He hardly faded into oblivion. Martin has enjoyed even greater success acting in movies, and is a much-lauded novelist and playwright, not always of things funny. There are probably many people in their teens and 20s who have no idea that the gray-haired, reserved Oscar host was ever a “wild and crazy guy,” cavorting solo in a white suit and bunny ears, or trucking maniacally to “King Tut.” This book might be an eye-opener.

Born in Texas, Martin moved to California at an early age, where his father had aspirations of acting professionally. He details something of his childhood, with Mom, Dad, little Steve and his sister Melinda. It seems pretty normal, though Martin found his father distant and generally critical of him. Not surprisingly, Martin was a fan of such TV stars as Red Skelton and Jack Benny. He also enjoyed magic, entertaining his family and friends with tricks from kits or catalogs. Martin’s first entertainment epiphany came in 1955. At age 10, he went to work selling guidebooks for the newly opened Disneyland. In addition to making pocket money, Martin explored the park like a frontiersman, becoming an expert in its layout. “Disneyland was my Versailles,” he recalls fondly. Martin was soon a familiar figure at the park’s magic shop, and eventually became a stage performer at Disneyland’s “friendly, striving rival,” Knott’s Berry Farm.

Martin carefully recounts the influences inspiring, shaping, and molding his craft as an entertainer. He acknowledges the often-obscure performers who mentored him, as well as the books he read and journals he kept. All of his career, Martin made copious notes of ideas for routines, jokes, and illusions, along with candid self-criticism of their effect on audiences. His artistic approach was rigorous and questing, and, like his education, largely self-directed.

Martin gradually expanded his repertoire, honing his act at Knott’s, along with gigs at Kiwanis Club meetings, schools, and other local venues. He moved to San Francisco in time for the dawning of the Age of Aquarius. Martin’s memories of the time are a balance of fondness and wry amusement at the silliness of it. The book is full of photographs from Martin’s childhood and early years, along with some of him in full ‘60s flower power dandy-hood. One photo shows a scowling Martin, bearded, draped with western-style turquoise, a banjo slung like a rifle on one arm. “No comment” is the caption.

Martin is generally reserved about his love life, which was apparently busy, especially in his touring days. He admits to using marijuana, abandoning it following a series of anxiety attacks. Even as a writer of “subversive” comedy for the countercultural Smothers Brothers, Martin began to cultivate a button-down persona that is permanently identified with him, and no small part of his comic appeal. Martin understood early the comic value of the unexpected, knowing that absurd behavior is twice as funny coming from a guy who looks like an accountant.

Martin’s reasons for stepping away from the stand-up mike were simple. He had peaked. While audiences might still roar for routines like “Happy Feet” or “Let’s Get Small,” he began to notice unsold seats at his concerts and got the message.

Martin is a fascinating figure, an American original in the tradition of Mark Twain. His intelligence and continuing interest in a variety of subjects and art forms is sure to keep him worth watching — and reading, and listening to — for years to come.

Born Standing Up, 209 pages, Scribner. Available at bookstores and online booksellers.

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