Pedro Leandro: Comedy Spotlight
As Master of Ceremonies at Grassroots Comedy, Pedro Leandro oversees the latest Edinburgh comedians coming through the ranks. Naturally, we spoke about drunk calling, bank heists and the comedian he fears the most.
At the Christmas Grassroots comedy night you made the unusual move of giving everyone in the audience your phone number. Did this blossom into a string of risqué new friendships or did the ringing silence gift you a festive season playing triage to loneliness, introspection and desolation? Discuss.
“Ringing silence, nice one. I don’t need anyone to fail to text me to descend into an abyss of loneliness, introspection and desolation. However, the transparent ploy of giving everyone my phone number was indeed unsuccessful. I even drunk called a few of the numbers that had texted me on the night on New Year’s Eve, but that just turned into a five-minute-long loop of 'Who is this?' being batted back and forth until I dropped my phone in a puddle.”
If you could be butt-dialled by any comedian in the world who would it be, and what is that comedian doing in the 20 minutes of recorded activity now in your voicemail?
“My first answer was going to be Doug Stanhope but I reckon the sweat would soon disarm the phone so he’d never actually make it to 20 minutes. Other than him, I think Jerry Seinfeld during his daily motivational speech in the mirror – 'You’re still funny, you’re still relevant' – would be a great one to start every day myself."
You've just been hired to oversee an inexplicable remake of the 2012 film Grassroots, where the protagonist must unseat City Hall's crusty incumbent in order to build a monorail. For the film to have any chance of success, please write a paragraph synopsis based on this premise.
"Inexplicable?? I think that 2012 film won a Palme d’Or at Cannes! Which is probably why no one saw it, come to think of it… Right. Here’s the synopsis:
The year is 2030. The place, Edinburgh. Frankie Boyle has been elected Emperor of Midlothian. His evil plan to make Edinburgh completely car-free is underway. There is only one who can stand in his way. Olga McTrashcan, host of Grassroots, has 10 minutes in the Pleasance Cabaret Bar (every Tuesday at 8pm, bring your friends) to convince the students attending to revolt. One woman. One microphone. 20 audience members. And a chance to change the face of middle-class student politics until next week. By the team that brought you 'No more tea, thank you' and 'Excuse me, can’t you see that there’s a queue, sir?' this film will challenge everything you think you know about monorails, political comedy and the word ‘invagination’.”
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Tayo Cousins on warming up a crowd before dropping some swears
Steak pudding, chips and gravy on death row with Sophie Willan
The Arts Council claim comedy is a self-sufficient sector. Explain why this is hogwash and set out a crisp and concise grassroots political action plan that ends in a moderately frisky heist.
“The reason that comedy is not a self-sufficient sector is because laughing is stressful. Am I laughing at the right time, loud enough, long enough? There’s a psychological study which found that when you laugh you look at the person that you like the most in the group. Since then, I have been very anxious that someone will notice me trying to find a mirror every time a joke is told.
As for the political action plan: everybody come to Grassroots on Tuesdays. I’ll teach you how to rob a bank and have sex simultaneously (frisky: tick. Heist: tick).”
In both Grassroots and The Improverts you follow in the footsteps of many lauded comedians whom now prevent you furthering your comedy career for reasons of pure greed. Which former member do you fear the most and what specific threats have you failed to report to the authorities?
“Miles Jupp did both of those and, well, it wasn’t really a threat... but he confided in me that even if I ever become as wildly successful as he is (he was, after all, on Celebrity Mastermind), I will never feel as relatively famous as I do now, the pond that I’m paddling in being so minuscule. And he might not be wrong: a random guy came up to me outside a bar about a month ago to tell me that I was almost as good a Grassroots host as last year’s one.”
In the corridor between the Cabaret Bar and the rather open-plan toilets, there are many dog-eared Fringe posters of yesteryear. Describe the faded Pedro Leandro poster of your future Fringe show and what happened to you in the years that followed, including that sorry business where you banished the Grassroots comedians you once swore you'd protect.
“I’d like to have one of those Bill Hicks-like black and white posters that make me look influential with a name like 'Pedro Leandro – Telling it how it is' or 'Pedro Leandro – What the government won’t tell you' and then just have the show be about aeroplane food. I reckon the best case scenario is I’ll get fatter and balder as the years go on until no one remembers me and I’m found shouting, 'I WAS AT THE FRINGE YOU KNOW' late at night in a diner in 2070. As for the banished comedians, I’d rather not talk about it, it’s a sensitive issue for future me.”