What a visit to a French clown school reveals about clowning : NPR

SCOTT SIMON, HOST:

At a famous clown school near Paris, students learn to fail. They pay for it. They are criticized and sometimes humiliated. Reporter Rebecca Rosman got a rare glimpse into the classroom where failure is mandatory and what matters is what students do next.

REBECCA ROSMAN, BYLINE: Few things are more terrifying than the idea of ​​standing on stage, looking at a room full of strangers and desperately hoping you can make them laugh.

UNIDENTIFIED PRESENTER: Six acts.

(APPLAUSE)

UNIDENTIFIED PRESENTER: Should we go first?

(SOUNDBITE OF MUSIC)

ROSMAN: This is the Philippe Gaulier School, where people have paid – yes, paid – to risk public embarrassment for more than 40 years. And tonight, I’m the one watching the students perform short numbers where the punchline is almost always a pie in the face.

UNIDENTIFIED STUDENT #1: And I do.

(LAUGH)

ROSMAN: Everyone is dressed up, red noses and everything – a giraffe, a mermaid, a man in a sombrero. Their mission? Be funny. This is generally not the case.

UNIDENTIFIED STUDENT #2: Don’t hurt me. I’m just a little boy.

UNIDENTIFIED STUDENT #3: Give me one of these pies.

ROSMAN: People come from all over the world to study here – doctors, priests, actors. They gather in the small town of Etampes, about an hour south of Paris, where they regularly experience such returns.

(SOUNDBITE OF ARCHIVED RECORDING)

PHILIPPE GAULIER: We weren’t laughing. We were embarrassed. We don’t know if you’re happy to see us.

ROSMAN: This is Philippe Gaulier, the founder of the school, who addresses students during a workshop recorded by the BBC in 2015. For Gaulier, clowning is not a question of technique. It’s about playing. But he says not everyone is cut out for the job.

(SOUNDBITE OF ARCHIVED RECORDING)

GAULIER: This pleasure of being ridiculous, this pleasure of having a particular sense of humor – no, no. It’s given to some people, but not to everyone.

ROSMAN: A stroke three years ago forced Gaulier to retire from full-time teaching. But his fingerprints are all over here, shaping every exercise, every critique, and every nervous student hoping for a laugh. Just like his predecessor, instructor Carlo Jacucci does not mince his words.

CARLO JACUCCI: I see two clowns looking aimlessly in this direction and wasting our time.

ROSMAN: Jacucci, a neutral French-Italian who has taught here for more than a decade, sits with a drum between his legs. And when it rings…

(SOUNDBITE OF DRUM)

JACUCCI: Thank you.

ROSMAN: …It’s time.

JACUCCI: Welcome everyone. The worst moment of the course – now we have reached it. It won’t be worse than that.

ROSMAN: Worst moment. We call it the flop, the part that everyone fears. But that’s actually where the real work begins. Student Gabriela Flarys is from Brazil.

GABRIELA FLARYS: Okay. Should I be angry? With whom ?

(LAUGH)

JACUCCI: With me.

ROSMAN: She’s standing on stage in an orange flamenco dress, looking confused. Something about his act just doesn’t reach and requires more emotion. Jacucci tells him to get angry.

FLARYS: Carlo.

JACUCCI: Yes.

FLARYS: I’m pissed.

JACUCCI: Oh, I’m so scared.

(LAUGH)

ROSMAN: It gets stronger and stronger until something breaks loose.

FLARYS: Carlo. Squidward. Aah.

ROSMAN: And then she throws a pie at her scene partner.

FLARYS: I’m tired of – oh, wait a second. One. Just…

(SOUNDBITE OF PIE HITTING FACE)

UNIDENTIFIED PERSON #1: Woah.

UNIDENTIFIED PERSON #2: Woah.

(APPLAUSE)

ROSMAN: The room laughed with her. Even Jacucci looks stunned.

JACUCCI: Me – I’m shocked. I didn’t know you could change.

ROSMAN: Cathartic moments like this have fueled a new generation of artists who are redefining what it means to clown.

(SOUNDBITE OF ARCHIVED RECORDING)

ZACH ZUCKER: I just want to know this audience. It’s truly one of the most beautiful crowds I’ve ever seen in my entire life.

ROSMAN: Among them? Zach Zucker.

(SOUNDBITE OF ARCHIVED RECORDING)

ZUCKER: If you allow me?

(LAUGH)

ZUCKER: Can I come closer?

ROSMAN: His alter ego, Jack Tucker, runs “Stamptown,” a raunchy and energetic vaudeville variety show with a worldwide audience. Ten years ago, Zucker was working for Sacha Baron Cohen, a former student of Gaulier, in Los Angeles when he learned that Philippe was in town to teach a workshop.

ZUCKER: And five minutes later, I saw Philippe work his magic, and I just couldn’t believe what I was watching.

ROSMAN: Zucker had trained in American improvisation schools, including Second City and Upright Citizens Brigade. But it was different. Other places teach you how to succeed. Gaulier teaches you to fail.

ZUCKER: Everyone has a talent for being good. And if you can be good at being bad, then nothing is bad and that’s nice. And it’s actually more humiliating.

ROSMAN: Zucker’s “Stamptown” builds on that.

(SOUNDBITE OF ARCHIVED RECORDING)

ZUCKER: Sorry. I didn’t realize that this crowd was intolerant of laughter.

ROSMAN: And now it’s getting noticed. The show will be the subject of a special on a major streaming platform this year.

(APPLAUSE)

ROSMAN: But in Etampes, success seems far away. The clown here is still raw, still painful. After class, I find student Frank Benson from Melbourne still catching his breath.

FRANK BENSON: Oh, it was tough today.

ROSMAN: Was it hard?

BENSON: It wasn’t a good day for me. Yeah. It was – I felt like – sometimes you go out and it flops really hard, and it’s not that fun.

ROSMAN: But he says he’s getting used to it. The disappointment passes more quickly now. And for some, it opens the door to something new. Here is Gabriela Flarys again.

FLARYS: Nothing is a mistake if you play with it, if you’re honest with the moment, I think. This is the poetry of this school. Everything is open, it’s poetry and possibilities. Nothing is defined.

ROSMAN: Nothing is a mistake if you play with it. Perhaps this is Philippe Gaulier’s legacy: learning to stand in front of a room, completely bomb and keep going, even if there is ultimately nothing to show but a pie in the face.

Rebecca Rosman, NPR News, Étampes, France.

SIMON: Phew. But no clowning.

BJ Leiderman does our theme music.

(SOUNDBITE OF DELICATE STEVE’S “ALMOST EVERYTHING”)

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