To see is to laugh

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By Joseph L. Garcia, Senior Reporter

THERE’S a problem with GB Labrador’s jokes: for you to really get them, you just have to be there. One can get a chance to “be there” when Mr. Labrador goes live on March 14 for Beta Days, his hour-long comedy special at the Arete Hyundai Hall in the Ateneo de Manila University campus. Beta Days will be recorded for future streaming purposes.

When you try to tell Mr. Labrador’s jokes yourself to your friends, they fall flat. You don’t have his voice, which can go several pitches higher or lower, contrasting with his tall frame. You won’t have his tone; the slight flickers that change his expression rapidly between sentences — or maybe, you’re just not funny enough. But he is.

As an example: we went to one of his shows on Feb. 20, with some members of the comedy production house he founded in 2013, Comedy Manila. A fundraiser at Mow’s in Quezon City, he roasted the very cause for which the show was raising funds, did a skit about a possession care of Santa Claus himself, joked about growing up in a private school with delinquents, talked about missing his hair (and the strands going to heaven before he does), then he picked up his guitar.

With his guitar, he sang songs about blowjobs and anal sex (and modified the song for a couple of male friends in the audience). Right on theme, surprisingly (he has a talent for winding long yarns then surprising the audience with a joke dropped several spiels before), he found a couple in the audience who worked for the government. After singing about the incompetence of their bosses, he asked one of them (in song) about the rumored sexuality of a certain political figure, careful not to mention the name. He asked the couple three times, the man only answering in the affirmative at the last. To screams from the audience, Mr. Labrador took his hands off his guitar and said, “Aaand that’s my set.”

See how he can do it and I can’t?

ORIGINS
Mr. Labrador, the founder of Comedy Manila and a co-host of the country’s top comedy podcast The Kool Pals (he shares the platform with four other comedians, namely James Caraan, Nonong Ballinan, Ryan Rems Sarita, and Muman Reyes), began his funny career working in one of the funniest places on earth: the human resources (HR) departments of telecommunications companies.

“Most of my jokes are based on experiences from work,” he told BusinessWorld backstage.

Seriously though, after his time in HR, he pivoted to comedy by writing for television, in comedies directed to adults and children (in his set, he recalled a story about being reprimanded by the Movie and Television Review and Classification Board for an inappropriate joke for children — about male pattern baldness — and seeing the whole writing team trying not to laugh as their jokes were read back to them in a deadpan voice).

“In stand-up, there are no restrictions,” he said in a mix of English and Filipino, describing the differences of writing jokes for TV and the stage. “With TV, there are restrictions. It’s a test of creativity and a challenge as a writer.

“May jokes na for TV lang rin talaga (there are jokes that are just for TV), not for the stage. It’s a nice workout sa utak (for the mind).”

He wrote for TV for more than seven years, before quitting his day job and focusing on comedy. “I wore the same shirt all the time,” he said about living frugally after making the decision, saying that his sisters used to send him clothes after seeing him onstage wearing the same shirt over and over (to be fair, it sported a print saying “Comedy Manila,” so it was promotional material). “Big support from the family is what you need if you’re going to quit your day job and follow your dreams,” he said.

“When I say you have to do comedy full-time, you’re not really doing stand-up full-time. You’re doing comedy full-time. Anything related to comedy, you do, to get to those gigs,” he said.

He spoke about the difference in the scene now, compared to when he founded Comedy Manila in 2013. “I noticed that everyone was doing very well, and already had longer sets, and deserved a bigger stage,” he said about his initial roster, which included Red Ollero and Victor Anastacio, among others, themselves already big names in comedy (some have pivoted to hosting).

He emphasized that Comedy Manila is not a comedy group (which implies exclusivity) but a comedy production house (which would promote and produce shows for the comedians, should they be deemed fit). “The goal (then) was to build the scene, wherein every comedian will have a following, and then the audiences will grow,” he explained.

“We have so many comedians now. As you noticed when we did our show, people now from different demographics watched: young, old,” he said. “Now, no one’s afraid to watch in front,” he notes, citing the old Filipino predilection for insult — instead of observational — comedy (they focus on the latter).

Speaking about how going digital has changed their scene (especially since the pandemic), he said, “Being 46 years old, online is quite a challenge for me to utilize. It takes a lot of time and effort. Unlike the younger comedians, they’re used to it.

“Comedy Manila has been doing well because of word-of-mouth. With online content, it will help bring in more people to the shows, which I like. But putting content online, I always warn and tell comedians not to put jokes that might get them in trouble or be misinterpreted. No censorship on the stage, but online, be careful,” he said.

“The virality, you’ll get a lot of likes, but it doesn’t automatically translate to ticket sales,” he observed. “It’s something that we should study more.”

WHAT’S SO FUNNY?
When we say Comedy Manila, one begins to think about the things that should be funny about this city, and this country. “It’s very colorful. Everything is colorful,” Mr. Labrador said about what makes Manila so comedic. “How we react is sometimes overboard. We focus on the wrong things, frequently, as a society.”

We told him about how his jokes don’t always land right when they’re told secondhand, or seen through a screen (except on his podcasts, where he shines unscripted). “It’s a good thing. That’s what I believe every comedian is working on. That they’re unique enough, and their material is so personal that no one can do their jokes except themselves. The emotions involved are only theirs — or mine — that when I tell the joke, no one can actually do it the same way I do. I am in that state that I’ve experienced: that I am now telling the audience.”

While he may have started writing jokes in his head when he was in HR, he doesn’t recall always being that funny. “To my friends only. I was more of an audience to the kind of classmates I had. Sila ’yung maloko (now they were funny),” he said. “Good boy ako noon eh (I was a good boy back then).”

We have an idea about what it takes to make it in stand-up: you write your jokes, you go on open mics, wait to get noticed by audiences, then maybe get your own show. That’s work. What nobody talks about is: can you work hard to be funny?

“You can. But I believe to be able to go beyond the level of what you can study, there has to be a natural funny bone in you,” said Mr. Labrador.

“I believe it’s innate. It is natural in you to share something that will make someone laugh. Even if it’s not in front of a big audience,” he said. “I long for those fun times with my friends, when I’d get to make them laugh,” he said, saying that he took his guitar-playing sketch from just roasting his own friends through song. “It is in you, that you really love to make people laugh.”

Catch GB Labrador live in Beta Days on March 14, at Ateneo’s Arete Hyundai Hall. Tickets are on sale at P1,500 each at www.comedymanila.ph.