Book report: Born Standing Up: A Comic’s Life, by Steve Martin
Steve Martin is a performer whom people either love or can’t stand. I love watching and hearing Steve Martin, from his comedy albums to his appearances on SNL to his movie career. This book is a memoir about his professional life as a performer. It has lessons for performers of all kinds, but also for anyone who tries to be creative and original in their life.
This is not a biography or an autobiography. He leaves out important information about his life, because it doesn’t pertain to his life as a performer. But what he does include is fascinating, significant, and well presented. This is a guy who, by his own admission, couldn’t act, couldn’t sing, and couldn’t dance, but who yearned to be a performer, to stand up in front of an audience and entertain them. As he puts it, “obsession is a substitute for talent.”
He worked with what he had, which wasn’t much. He came from a financially and emotionally impoverished family. He admired comedians, and memorized their jokes and imitated their delivery. He was fascinated by magic tricks, and learned how illusions and patter worked. He persisted, searching for any opportunity to perform in front of anybody. This persistence was key to his success.
What also comes through is his intelligence. This is a guy who studied philosophy – including symbolic logic – not just to score with hippie chicks in the 60s, but because he enjoyed ideas, thought, and analysis. He turned this philosophy and analysis on performing itself. He determined to be original, which meant leaving all the easy jokes and topics behind – in a sense, leaving jokes entirely and topics entirely. He experimented endlessly, not just with what works and what doesn’t – every good comedian does that – but with what’s been done and what’s never been done. What if you have no jokes or topics? What if you never deliver a punch line? What if you, an intelligent adult, act abysmally stupid? What if you let the audience in on the joke that you’re in on the joke, too?
What Steve Martin did was to create a different kind of comedy, step by step. He spent thousands of hours on hundreds of stages, sometimes bombing, sometimes deliberately bombing, laying a foundation of experience, paying his dues, learning about comedy, learning about people, learning about life. His goal, he said, was not to be great, but to be good. Interesting distinction. Anyone can be great – occasionally. But it’s hard to be good – consistently.
Ultimately, Steve Martin succeeded. He set records for comedy album sales and for comedy audiences. Some of his lines are part of American culture now. He was as successful as a stage performer can be. And then he reinvented himself as a movie actor. At first, he played the on-screen version of his stage act in movies like The Jerk. But along the way he learned to act, as evidenced in movies like Planes, Trains, and Automobiles; The Spanish Prisoner; and, my favorite, My Blue Heaven.
I have to admit, I’ve been jealous of Steve Martin’s success as a writer. The New Yorker publishes his pieces, but not mine. Publishers bring out his books, but not mine. But reading this memoir has helped me see that he’s worked hard for his success, and earned the opportunities he gets. I’m grateful that he’s written this memoir that demonstrates that intelligence and persistence can pay off. Of course, it helps if you’re a wild and crazy guy.
Highly recommended
Steve Martin is a performer whom people either love or can’t stand. I love watching and hearing Steve Martin, from his comedy albums to his appearances on SNL to his movie career. This book is a memoir about his professional life as a performer. It has lessons for performers of all kinds, but also for anyone who tries to be creative and original in their life.
This is not a biography or an autobiography. He leaves out important information about his life, because it doesn’t pertain to his life as a performer. But what he does include is fascinating, significant, and well presented. This is a guy who, by his own admission, couldn’t act, couldn’t sing, and couldn’t dance, but who yearned to be a performer, to stand up in front of an audience and entertain them. As he puts it, “obsession is a substitute for talent.”
He worked with what he had, which wasn’t much. He came from a financially and emotionally impoverished family. He admired comedians, and memorized their jokes and imitated their delivery. He was fascinated by magic tricks, and learned how illusions and patter worked. He persisted, searching for any opportunity to perform in front of anybody. This persistence was key to his success.
What also comes through is his intelligence. This is a guy who studied philosophy – including symbolic logic – not just to score with hippie chicks in the 60s, but because he enjoyed ideas, thought, and analysis. He turned this philosophy and analysis on performing itself. He determined to be original, which meant leaving all the easy jokes and topics behind – in a sense, leaving jokes entirely and topics entirely. He experimented endlessly, not just with what works and what doesn’t – every good comedian does that – but with what’s been done and what’s never been done. What if you have no jokes or topics? What if you never deliver a punch line? What if you, an intelligent adult, act abysmally stupid? What if you let the audience in on the joke that you’re in on the joke, too?
What Steve Martin did was to create a different kind of comedy, step by step. He spent thousands of hours on hundreds of stages, sometimes bombing, sometimes deliberately bombing, laying a foundation of experience, paying his dues, learning about comedy, learning about people, learning about life. His goal, he said, was not to be great, but to be good. Interesting distinction. Anyone can be great – occasionally. But it’s hard to be good – consistently.
Ultimately, Steve Martin succeeded. He set records for comedy album sales and for comedy audiences. Some of his lines are part of American culture now. He was as successful as a stage performer can be. And then he reinvented himself as a movie actor. At first, he played the on-screen version of his stage act in movies like The Jerk. But along the way he learned to act, as evidenced in movies like Planes, Trains, and Automobiles; The Spanish Prisoner; and, my favorite, My Blue Heaven.
I have to admit, I’ve been jealous of Steve Martin’s success as a writer. The New Yorker publishes his pieces, but not mine. Publishers bring out his books, but not mine. But reading this memoir has helped me see that he’s worked hard for his success, and earned the opportunities he gets. I’m grateful that he’s written this memoir that demonstrates that intelligence and persistence can pay off. Of course, it helps if you’re a wild and crazy guy.
Highly recommended
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