With homophobic hostility on the rise, queer comedy is building resilience by turning things up

"That's my set for you tonight, I'm Robert Watson, thank you very much!"

As I walk offstage the applause from the crowd follows me into the greenroom. I've just opened for famed queer comedian and personal hero DeAnne Smith at Toronto's iconic Comedy Bar. Although I know the audience isn't there to see me, I still feel the love and appreciation they have for my super gay brand of stand-up.

Nothing feels better to a comedian than performing in front of a hot audience — I'm not talking about how they look, of course. A "hot audience" is there for the laughs, so much so it feels like a joyful desperation in search of release. A queer audience at a queer comedy show almost always feels like this. We are desperate to feel good about ourselves, so when we find an outlet we really let loose.

Walking to the subway with my husband after DeAnne's show I noticed a young man clock the rainbow bracelet my guy was wearing. Then, far enough away but within earshot we hear that familiar F-word. The one with six letters. We sighed and kept walking, our resilience and better judgement kicking in like a knee jerk reaction. 

The word "f—-t" has been hurled at me more times in these past two pandemic years than in the preceding twenty that I've lived in Toronto — never have I felt like such an uninvited guest in my own city. Resilience and better judgement are the things that are keeping me safe these days.

From the simple act of wearing a multicoloured bracelet to appearing onstage or on television as an openly gay human, queer visibility takes on so many forms they can't be numbered. The form I choose most is comedy, producing stand-up shows under the banner Gay AF Comedy, connecting queer comedians with queer audiences who are eager to feel represented. As a gay man who grew up in the very conservative Mormon church, humour has been an essential part of my healing and growth as a queer individual. (People ask me if a person can possibly be both gay and Mormon, and my answer is yes — just not at the same time).

The only reason I even knew the word "gay" as a kid was from watching reruns of the sitcom Three's Company — in retrospect this wasn't the best introduction. I thought John Ritter was hilarious as the affable Jack Tripper, who's claim to gayness was merely a ruse to fool his landlord. I'm sure if we took a psychiatric deep dive this would be where I first connected being gay with being funny. That's maybe a bit problematic, but then again the eighties were a problematic time in general.

When the realization hit me in my teens that this same-sex attraction I had wasn't going away, I did what a lot of kids do when living in a hostile environment — I went into survival mode, using whatever tools I had to keep myself safe and hide my truth from being exposed. My comedic abilities worked well to distract people from all the things I could possibly be judged for. If ever I had to give a talk in Sunday School it inevitably became a comedy routine (I always killed by the way — my Holy Ghost jokes were legendary).

Eventually the dominoes all fell over and I made the jump into embracing my authentic self, a process that I've come to understand works best when it is ongoing. But growing up having to deny myself my authenticity does mean that I always feel like I'm playing catch up. So many gay folks feel an urgency to recapture those years lost to deception, it becomes a motivating factor in making sure the world knows who we are: that we're here, we're queer, and we are never hiding our light again.

So here I am in my early forties acting like I'm in my early thirties being the gayest I've ever been and sharing it with complete strangers anywhere there's a stage and a microphone. I'm married to a wonderful man who invites out my better angels and has made me feel secure in my existence as a visible queer comedian these past six years. I finally feel like I'm catching up to where I'm supposed to be.

A lot of people think that same-sex marriage was the triumphant end to the fight for queer equality. In reality, that achieved freedom has had the result of galvanizing our opponents, who have doubled their efforts to limit the freedom of queer people in other ways. 

Florida's "Don't Say Gay" law already exists in its own way in Ontario, from when Doug Ford reversed the progressive Sex-Ed school curriculum in 2018. Last year, when a law was passed in the House of Commons to ban conversion therapy a majority of Conservative Party MPs voted against it. You know, it's never really been a secret who our opponents are, has it?

Pride Month is upon us. I'm producing five queer comedy shows in June with an amazing array of 2SLGBTQ+ performers from the many intersections that exist within our community. If that seems a bit "extra" it's because it probably is. Extra is what's on the menu after two years of pandemic isolation, it's time to take our space and let our lights shine for everyone to see. 

Whether you're gay, straight or anywhere in between, laughter is a medicine that works best when it is shared among many. Queer comedy gives us the opportunity to celebrate both what makes us different and what inherently makes us all the same. So if you're a person with an open heart and a desire to laugh, guess what? You're all invited.

Robert Watson is producing LGBTQ-focused comedy shows in Toronto throughout June, beginning with two shows on June 1st. You can find more information here.