Punching the clown

A rash of comedians have made semi-autobiographical forays into film, allowing intimacy to color their individual experiences of tour life and struggle for stardom. In a field that’s rife with shoddy gigs and failed relationships, there are echoed themes of self-deprecation and misunderstanding.

However, rather than classify these hilariously woeful tales within one demimonde, the films demonstrate the versatility of comedic voice and give the storytellers’ characters more definite expression. It’s a huge opportunity for comedians to show what’s unique about them and their ability to make an audience feel something.

Henry Phillips’ 2009 movie “Punching the Clown,” for example, largely focuses on the universal hounding of comedians for cash. Most screen-time is devoted to small-time gigs like “Miniature Golf for God” fundraisers where his profanity-laced songs about snorting coke off of tranny hookers don’t quite connect with the audience.

The crowds are immune to the charms of his gravelly voice and coin-worthy face, but that hints at Phillips’ self-awareness. His material isn’t meant for everyone.

A running gag is the difficulty in explaining his craft of “satirical folk.” His agent labels his style “James Taylor on Smack,” but Phillips protests that James Taylor is already on smack and the comparison would be redundant.

The heart of the story comes from personal experiences. Phillips’ attempts to position himself among the social climbers of L.A. don’t make for a unique story, but relating them through stand-up does.

Crapshoot business deals stress the message that many people are hungry for stage time and willing to work for free. The real pay-off from this career should come from the laughter.

The realism of his movie is emboldened by the use of handheld cameras for performances. It’s implied that this stage self is his authentic self, maybe even more so than the one providing the film’s narration in an intermittent radio interview.

In last year’s Sleepwalk With Me, Mike Birbiglia used a more documentarian approach — narration provided directly to the camera in car rides — but under the guise of “Matt Pandamiglio.” The comedian presents his real life story through this fictionalized version of himself.

Birbiglia’s film also sheds a spotlight on the initial failure of being a comedian. The dream goes from “getting famous doing comedy to making a living doing comedy to finding twenty dollars in the street.” But the particularities of Birbiglia’s persona — chiefly a naïve lack of social graces and overall stage presence — are what champion the film and make it funny.

His goofy nature curates his white boy problems, which include the degrading familial perceptions of his career; his father laughing at his “job” while handing him a hundred dollar bill; people insisting that the best thing about his life is his girlfriend.

His material is informed by his commitments and efforts to balance them with travel, as opposed to the typical comedian’s nomadic single life. His social conundrums are comingled with Pandamiglio increasingly dangerous sleepwalking escapades.

And all of these personal failings and misfortunes factor into his larger pursuit of a stand-up career.

Both Punching the Clown and Sleepwalk With Me lay bare what being a comedian today is: self-deprecation. They capitalize on struggle, which both films highlight as necessary in shaping voice and content and giving comedians something to talk about.

Despite the opportunities for glorification that script-writing presents, both opted in favor of frumpy, relatable personas, though told through their specific tonality. The varying idiolects between Birbiglia’s doughy, clueless mumbles and the stoic musical rasps of Henry Phillips have significant impact on each composition.

However, both serve to illustrate that comedy isn’t pathetic or petty if it doesn’t affect millions of people. Ultimately, it’s the distinction of artistry that matters.