You’ve got to be in it to win it. Or do you?

With the announcement of ITV1’s new X-Factor-style stand-up show, Show Me The Funny, I’ve been thinking about comedy competitions and their place in the industry. Having started stand-up in Australia’s Raw Comedy competition myself, I’m aware of how important they are in encouraging emerging talent. However, what happens when a contest, such as Show Me The Funny, pits established comedians against each other? How do you judge “funny” when opinions vary depending on the comedian and the audience?

When humour is subjective, what is the point of a comedy competition?

I resent the idea that whether I’m funny should be decided by either a judging panel, or audience applause. There are just too many variables. I don’t want to lose a competition because one person, who happens to be a judge, doesn’t share my sense of humour. And I don’t want to win a competition because I brought the most amount of friends along to clap.

Some people try to remove a few of the variables by entering competitions aimed at minorities. I’ve often felt tempted to enter female comedy competitions because I know that with there generally being less female comics, the level of quality is going to be a lot smaller than that found at a standard competition, thus boosting my prospects. But I just can’t bring myself to do it. I truly believe that women are just as funny as men - which is why I don’t think we need our own competitions. We’re not amputees in the 400m. We don’t need our own Olympics. Minority-aimed comedy competitions only further the belief that people in certain categories aren’t good enough to compete against the rest of us.

I understand that the main (and sadly true) reason people enter competitions is because, “They’re the best way to get noticed.” With so many people currently attempting stand-up careers, it’s much easier and less risky for promoters, agents and producers to book the latest winner of the Cackling Cow competition (or similarly titled event) than to take a punt on an unknown with no credentials.

It’s just a shame that this sometimes appears to be the only way to get a leg-up in this business. Competitions encourage comparison with our peers far too much, which - in an industry which relies so heavily on support and networking - is a dangerous habit to get into.

I don’t want to sit through gigs getting secretly excited every time someone dies because it gives me a bigger chance of getting through to the next round. (I’m not saying every contestant experiences schadenfreude, but it’s a safe bet to say most of them do.) And likewise, I don’t want to feel defeated whenever someone storms it. That’s not what comedy is about. But in the setting of a competition, it’s impossible not to feel competitive.

Perhaps I’m putting myself at a disadvantage by ruling out competitions. I may come away feeling morally superior, but will I be feeling just as smug 10 years down the track when I’m still desperately hoping an industry big-wig happens to come to one of my Edinburgh shows? And perhaps I’m just using my justifications as an excuse to not get hurt. I honestly don’t know how I would feel were I to put my heart, soul and sense of humour on the line and not have my love of it reciprocated by an official.

All I know is, if you start viewing comedy as a competition, then there are no winners. Unless you’re ITV1, who will probably make a killing.