Carol bombing with a fake smile (photo by Nicolas Melo)

“I bombed” — is something a comedian has to admit more often than we actually do. Bombing means your dumb face grabbed a microphone and talked to strangers as if you would make them laugh, but no one did. Because you have the mic, you’re the reason why this is awkward now. The audience will never blame themselves for not being in the mood for comedy, or for being too stupid for your jokes, or for having the attention spam of a fly on cocaine. No, no, no, it’s always on you: the loser who has the nerve to be unfunny into a microphone! And you’re there, like the loser they’re proving you to be, feeling like your dreams are running down with dry saliva through your throat and becoming nightmares in your stomach… Flashes of memory of every kid watching warm piss sliding down through your legs in your first slumber party… Flashes of memory of that slow, noisy, machine gun-like fart you made on that first date… You feel alive as never before, but just because you never wanted to be dead that bad.

I’ve done comedy for 6–7 years in Brazil before moving to Toronto, so I was used to bombing and was experienced enough to not care too much about it. Also, I couldn’t show weakness in a male dominated field inside a macho culture. Even if it hurt, I learned to suck it and bomb without stir a muscle. So I wasn’t particularly nervous about doing comedy in English, I believed I’d had enough.

I kinda memorized my material for my first performance in English — in Portuguese I never memorized entirely my bits, to leave room to bravery onstage (some call it “spontaneity”, I disagree: to look straight at the audience’s eyes with no idea where you’re taking them is not “spontaneity”, it’s more like “I have a past and nothing to lose”). But in English I didn’t have the flow I had in Portuguese to express what was on my mind. I mumbled a couple of words, was insecure about the pronunciation of other ones… and no one laughed. And no, we don’t speak Spanish in Brazil!

I got home and realized this would be harder than I thought. I felt shame for being so pretentious, thinking I could do comedy in a language I started speaking just a few months before. It felt wrong to be onstage with my shitty English. I wasn’t prepared. I didn’t want to go onstage again. It was not only the bombing, it was the bombing AND the pretension AND the shame of everyone in my country knowing that I was trying to do comedy in another language AND I’m a fucking experienced comedian who has done shows for 10.000 people (only twice, but hey!) and I let the situation take my confidence to the level of an open micer. I considered going back to Brazil. But going back would also make me feel shame.

I started taking improv classes, which helped me going through this phase. It helped me being spontaneous in English and it helped me find my timing in the language. Because doing comedy in a different language changes your timing completely — which makes it feels as if you’re starting again from zero (only without one little tool — language!!!). I stuck with improv for a while, but who can handle not having entire control of the bits? I had to gather up all my forces to go onstage and do stand-up again. I needed five times the confidence I already had conquered doing stand-up in my country. But I was the same person, with the same past, with the same body, with the same thought system. Where could I find more confidence?

I remembered a girl I fought in a capoeira circle once. She was fast and got me twice before I even think of kicking her. I breathed and let her beat me for a while, because I knew she would fault her technique and open her guard. I only needed one kick to knock her out, and I waited, being beaten, until I was finally able to give her the one blow. So I applied my capoeira philosophy to comedy: I kept going onstage, letting stand-up beat the shit out of me, waiting for an open guard. I started going out every night: doing shitty open mics (that means, rooms in smelly basements attended by 3 comics who wouldn’t laugh at anything because comics don’t), I was going every place I could go up onstage. Some nights kicked me so hard I could feel my ribs. The vulnerability of being in a small room where you can see every pair of eyes and you’re sucking at comedy in a language you barely speak! Oh Lord, it hurts! But I learned to breathe while being kicked, so I hanged in there, getting stronger show after show, slowly.

Finally, after some 2 years, I got to the level I needed for a decent performance, I was 5 times more confident than I was before. I got to the “decent performance” level, but still not at the point where I would laugh at my own bombs. I’d still go home defeated some nights, but it was comfortable enough.

Doing decent performances after decent performances, the showcases for festivals and jobs in the industry started to happen for me. And I bombed like a shitass in the first showcase for a comedy club. I got nervous performing for people who would be analyzing me like a piece of funny meat, and that hindered my rhythm making my English hard to understand. I felt shame for letting myself drop my confidence level because of other people’s opinions. I cared too much and that’s a sign of a weak character. And I blamed my past for that. Growing up poor in a third world country doesn’t exactly makes one believe in themselves. There’s no way, this is my experience, I can’t change that, I can’t have the self-confidence I need to “make it as a comedian in a different country, in a different language”.

I thought about going back to Brazil again.

I almost did it this time, even told my family I was going back. A week after my decision the President was impeached and a wave of corruption scandals popped up, devastating the country’s economy. It was a very unstable moment in there, and all of my friends and family told me not to go. I saw myself with no choice but stay and move forward. If I had any other skill I’d be using it to change career. I swear. But I got a degree in Philosophy, which only taught me how to pretend that I like French movies. I had to move on. And I had to learn how to take heavier punches. So I decided to put myself through the dumbest situation you can put yourself through as a comedian: I signed up for a bunch of stand-up competitions. Stand-up competitions are performances where someone will say after the show that another comic is better than you. They’ll do that in front of your peers, in front of the audience and your friends who came out to support you. I put my head into the lion’s mouth. And the truth is the motherfucker lion has a horrible breath, but he never bites. It didn’t kill me and I got tougher. As Nietzsche once said: “What doesn’t kill you, make you stronger” (at least my degree made me know those aren’t Kelly Clarkson’s words).

The last showcase I did went very well, meaning I delivered what I’m capable of doing. Apparently it’s possible to build up more confidence even when you think you gave it all. All you need to do is have nowhere to go and no skills to do anything else. No one is doing this for the “love of comedy”, don’t be a moron.