Back in the day, if there was more than one woman in a comedy line-up, people would curiously question: Is it a fundraiser? Is it a special night for breast cancer awareness?
The issue never was that women weren’t funny. It’s that for generations, stand-up comedy had only been an almost exclusively male art.
For the original queens of Kiwi comedy, Michèle A’Court and Justine Smith, they’ve also had to endure a lot of derogatory comments during their 30 years in the limelight.
Now, as they come together for a Weekly photoshoot at Auckland’s Q Theatre, they’re speaking out about their own experiences to make sure the next generation of female comics can work in a safe environment.
Along with Courtney Dawson – who stumbled into her first comedy gig in 2018 – the trio shares how their upbringing shaped their humour – and who paved the way for them.
Michèle A’Court, 63

When you began doing stand-up in 1993, were you regularly the only woman in the room?
Yes! There were just a handful of people doing gigs, so it wasn’t an industry or a profession. Comedians like Jeremy Corbett, Kevin Smith and Dean Butler were fantastic because all of us were new and weird. When I’d been around for a few years, some of the younger men in the line-up would say to me, “Why are you here?” Or I’d get introduced as the “Grandmother of NZ comedy” when I wasn’t even old.
Share something that people would be surprised to know about you:
I’ve been deaf in one ear since childhood. So I’m a very adept lip reader, which means I know what you’re saying across the other side of the room! I wear a hearing aid, but it’s not very good. I have a terrible time with hecklers because I don’t know what they’re actually saying in the dark!
Who paved the way for you?
Ginette McDonald, aka Lynn of Tawa. I love her. I got to do comedy debates with her and she felt like a safe space and someone who would protect you if you needed it. And her career was something to aim for! She’s just an amazing woman who took no prisoners.
Who was the funniest person when you were a child?
Carol Burnett was my hero on TV. I’d watch her do the sketch comedy, then she’d do that bit where she comes out as herself and answers questions from the audience. I was 11 and said, “I don’t know what that is, but I want to do that and make people laugh.” I then started doing some terrible impressions of Pam Ayres, reading poetry in a Scouse accent.

Favourite book?
At home, we had a big, red hardbound book called A Century of Punch – a 100 years of cartoons from the Punch magazine. I pored over it like it was an encyclopaedia and learned, “Oh, this is what people find funny.” There was a whole chapter on jokes about women’s lib. I remember thinking, “Oh, women are mostly the butt of the joke in these cartoons.”
Do your grandchildren – Ariana, 10, and Nukutawhiti, six – tell you you’re funny?
They think Nana Michy is hilarious! Ari was very excited when she went for her first school visit and they had my book Stuff I Forgot to Tell My Daughter in the school library. She went, “My nana wrote that!” Fairly sure they went, “Did she?”
Share your top three proudest career moments:
Gigging in East Timor, meeting Robin Williams and producing a yearly comedy show to fundraise for the Auckland Women’s Centre. It’s called Feminists Are Funny and it’s been the antidote to those hard, early years for me. There’s no competing – we all want the best for each other.
Justine Smith, 56

When did you and Michèle become friends?
It took us a long time to be mates because we were never on line-ups together. There was always only one token woman. We didn’t get to hang out in the green room or tour together until we created work that involved both of us. So our friendship was gradual, but we keep getting closer and closer. She’s a taonga [treasure] in our industry, man.
How has the comedy industry changed?
It was a boys’ club. But it couldn’t be more different now. For years when people said, “Why don’t more women do comedy?” I would answer, “Because of extreme bullying.” That’s why women fall away because they just can’t take it. It’s not necessarily about women having babies or about pay.
What’s a quote you live by?
My late grandad Bill Ramsey had a favourite quote – “Love many, trust few. Always paddle your own canoe.”
Was he a big influence?
Absolutely, he was a stand-up too! He used to play a banjo in a duo with a guy called Cliff. I grew up in a strict, conservative Christchurch family and he was the fun, naughty one.
How has your best friend Dai Henwood’s cancer journey impacted you?
It’s been a tough few years for Dai, and also our mate Cal Wilson dying last year was horrendous. I’ve only just got the courage to watch Dai’s documentary. It was tough. Even if he is taken from us, he can’t be in some ways because he’s given so much to us. He’s the most giving, sweetest darling. He always wanted a sister and I always wanted a little brother, so we almost immediately fulfilled those roles for each other when we started out at the same time. We’d get changed together in some accessible toilets. He’d be putting on a leotard!

Best compliment you’ve ever received?
Someone said I reminded them of Lucille Ball.
Who do you look to as your trailblazer?
Bette Midler for her gritty and filthy stand-up. I’m adopted, so I did a whole show about how there had been a mix-up in the delivery room and she was actually my birth mother.
Advice for newbies?
Don’t stop believing!
Will you ever retire from doing stand-up?
I’ve already got one foot out the door! When I turn 60, I’ll stop because I love it so much, I don’t want to start feeling as if I’ve had a gutsful. I want to leave while I feel I’m still bloody good! Sometimes I think my job is really unimportant, probably because my husband Dan works in mental health. Then I remember that comedy is one of the few things where people aren’t on a device and when they laugh at the same joke, it’s real unity.
Courtney Dawson, 35
(Ngāti Kurī, Ngāti Amaru)

Tell us how you got into comedy at age 30?
My dad Heta is a comedian and he was trying to make me do a gig with him for ages. I kept saying, “No way!” Until one night I just got up with him onstage at the Manurewa football club. I thought, “I forgot how much this rules.” Our whole family are show-offs. I’m the oldest of five kids and humour is our way of communicating.
How have you found getting into the industry?
I’ve been very fortunate that I started at the most ideal time. It was post the MeToo movement, so there’d been lots of those conversations and actions taken. People were more aware of not being freaks in the green room. If anything, I’ve found being a woman an advantage.
What would you go back and tell your teenage self?
Do what you want, girl! I wish I’d done the thing which I had actually wanted to do, which was drama school. I was a prefect at [Auckland’s] St Mary’s College in Ponsonby and thought that studying law was what I needed to do to be valuable. But I was horribly depressed. And then I got pregnant at 20, so I was like, “I have to be a corporate lady and provide for my son Arie” [now 15]. I used to work as a bank teller. That was not a crack-up.

Tell us something people might not know about you…
I was home-schooled until I was 12 and then straight into the fiery depths of Catholic girls’ school. It was a cool, crazy way to grow up – creatively valuable, but socially crippling.
Who’s given you the best advice?
It was from Michèle – she mentored me – who said I should have a ritual before going on and coming off stage. I was getting so anxious before each gig and then my adrenaline would be pumping after a show, and I would be overthinking every punchline that I got wrong or who didn’t laugh. Then I couldn’t sleep with such bad thoughts in my brain. But now, having a ritual of looking in the mirror and saying, “You’re not defined by this job, you’re fantastic, have a cup of tea, go to sleep!” really helps me a lot.
My secret ability is…
Being able to read people or what a particular crowd of people might find funny. Although, Justine and I did a gig on Auckland’s viaduct that was very fancy and there were a lot of middle-aged, wealthy-looking women at the front. We thought the audience might hate us. I went on first and they were wetting themselves. After the show, they came up to me and said, “We were young, single mothers as well and related to so much of your comedy!” You never know who will connect with your material.
What’s your nightmare?
My son doing stand-up comedy! That would be karma from me mocking my dad on stage. I doubt it’ll happen, though. He doesn’t come to any of my shows and says he’s not into comedy. However, he’ll send me stand-up clips on TikTok of people, which is cute.