We begin with received notions of class and nationality. “It’s funny,” Larry Dean suggests. “As soon as people hear my Scottish accent they just assume I’m working class.”
But actually this is not quite the case. “Nah, my dad was in finance and my mum was a maths teacher. It was a middle-class house.”
Looking down the lens of our Zoom link, his curly hair hidden by a cap, Dean adds a qualifier. “But my dad grew up in the East End, in Riddrie. And it was that weird thing of little habits he had as a working-class boy; they never leave. So, even if he had enough money we never had enough money. We’d have to save everything. No wasting anything or whatever.”
He adjusts his cap. “When people assume I’m working class, well, kind of. In a weird way. I’m half working class.”
There are a number of ways to define a person. We can talk about class, or sexuality, or career choice or football team. And so we can say that Dean, 34, is a “half working-class”, gay comedian who comes from a Celtic family. We can also point out that he is autistic, that he loves Elvis, that he lost his gran recently to dementia. A few of these things will form the basis of his new Fringe show Dodger in Edinburgh this August.
Or, of course, we could just say that Larry Dean is really funny. Because he is. Named Scottish Comedian of the Year in 2013 (although he says himself he didn’t really get good until around 2015,) he announced himself beyond the comedy circuit with his appearance on the BBC’s Live at the Apollo in 2017 by impersonating a velociraptor. (Once seen …) Physically he has all the comic malleability of a Rowan Atkinson, although in Dean’s case the whole body comes into play.
“When I first started I was not physical at all,” he points out. “That velociraptor was an accident I did on stage that got the biggest laugh in my set. Basically, I used to have a joke about how I wasn’t camp. ‘The wrist bone is connected to the arse bone …’ And then I put my hips out and then I was like, ‘I look like a velociraptor.’ “I always found physical comics really funny, but I’ll tell you what, man, it is terrifying trying something physical new.
“At the beginning I was way too scared to do new physical stuff, but now I love doing it. I think physical comedy is most people’s favourite comedy without realising it. Think of how funny you find it when your partner falls down.”
But there has always been more to Dean’s stand-up comedy than pratfalls. He offers form and content. And so in his new Edinburgh show Dodger he will be “talking about my granny, talking about my new partner, talking about mental health stuff, talking about autism.
“Sometimes audiences at the Fringe want something more than just comedy. They want a story,” he tells me.
And yes, he says, Elvis is in it as well. “When I was a kid I was obsessed with Elvis. I still love Elvis, but I tell you what, it’s very hard getting people my age interested in a show that’s going to talk about Elvis. Anybody under the age of 35 doesn't tend to like Elvis.”
Dementia is possibly not the most obvious subject for humour, especially when it is so close to home, I say.
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“I was terrified when nanny got dementia. ‘Oh no, her filter is leaving. And there were nurses who were not white and my boyfriend’s here. She’s going to pick up that he’s gay.’
“And funnily enough it just made her sweeter. The more her filter left the more lovely a person she was.”
That has allowed him to find humour in it. But then he can find humour in anything, even his own autism diagnosis.
“I do not care that I got diagnosed particularly because everybody around me makes a big deal of it. If anything, it validates other people more than it validates you.
“I only did it because my partner said that I should. And my ex said to me that I should. And my ex before that and my ex before that said I should … So, apparently quite autistic" Dean says, smiling.
“Funnily enough, the only reason I’m talking about it on stage is I’ve thought of some good jokes to do.”
Dean has always used his own story as source material. “I’ve found I’m funniest when I’m insecure about something,” he suggests. “I found when I’m chatting about really personal stuff the insecurity meant that I would think of a joke almost as a defence mechanism. And then anything like coming out or something close to me, like my gran or a break-up, would immediately mean I’d be able to think of something funny about it so I wouldn’t feel insecure about it. It’s hard to feel insecure when somebody else is laughing along.
“And I found when I went onstage I completely felt as if I was removed from it personally. It’s jokes. Laughter is the thing that makes you feel so much better about personal situations or hard things.”
We talk a bit about Glasgow. Dean still says in the city. He was brought up in Shawlands and spent his childhood sneaking past the Rangers pub on the corner.
“But now it’s so bougie and fancy in Shawlands, man. And you know what it is? The gays have moved into Shawlands and they’re decorating. So now it’s filled with brunch and vape shops.”
His own sexuality is rarely an issue on the comedy circuit, he says, certainly not compared to when he first started.
“There was all this scaremongering about gay marriage. The sky was going to fall in and we’re all going to be marrying dogs by the end of the year.
“But most people have gone, ‘Oh, actually nothing changed. Just more weddings.’ “I’ve never thought of myself as a gay comedian. I don’t really have a specific audience. I think I’m not gay enough to be a gay comic.
“I did say this to my pal. I’m in this weird situation. I’m not gay enough to be a gay comic, I’m not Scottish enough to be a Scottish comic. I’m not autistic enough to be an autistic comic. I’m in this annoying category where I have to just be funny.”
That’s as good a definition of Larry Dean as any.
Larry Dean: Dodger is on at Monkey Barrel Comedy (Monkey Barrel 3), August 1-25 (except August 13)
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