Esteemed funny man reveals his comedy roots

BORN STANDING UP: A COMIC’S LIFE

By Steve Martin

Scribner, $225, 224 pages

REVIEWED BY CHRISTIAN TOTO

Every few years Steve Martin reminds us via a well-received play or essay just how sharp and sophisticated his comic mind still is. Good thing, too, given his day job lately is cranking out pedestrian comedies like “Cheaper By the Dozen” and “The Pink Panther.”

It’s a big reason to savor “Born Standing Up,” Mr. Martin’s new memoir in which he recalls his comedy roots. The newly minted Kennedy Center honoree details the birth of his stand-up act with such precision it seems, on paper, anyone could mimic his success. Every wave of his hand was given exquisite thought, to the point where relishing the joy he was giving others became an afterthought.

But it’s what Mr. Martin did with his peculiar education that made him the premiere stand-up comedian of his era. Mr. Martin’s stand-up life, by his count, featured 10 years of learning, four years of refining and four of “wild success.”

“Born” begins with a thumbnail sketch of Mr. Martin’s childhood. As a teen, he dreamed of pursuing magic, not comedy. The smoke and mirrors provided an escape from his family, a distant bunch featuring a father who showed his son very little affection. When his dad attempted a bonding moment — a simple game of catch — the results were anything but warm.

“We tossed the ball back and forth with cheerless formality,” he writes, one of many evocative anecdotes peppered throughout the book.

Family dysfunction and random panic attacks are running themes here, but Mr. Martin prefers the nuts and bolts of his comedy education to wallowing in self pity.

That’s where Disney comes in. He worked at Disneyland’s magic shop as a teen, greedily soaking in both the tricks on display and the tricksters he met while on duty.

He also came to study which bits worked best with audiences.

His formative years coincided with the hippie-laden 1960s, and while he casually embraced the politics and free love of the era he kept most substances at arm’s length. Drugs got in the way of his aggressive quest for knowledge, whether it was learning a fellow performer’s gesticulations or enrolling in local courses in philosophy or English literature.

His comedy act evolved in painfully slow steps. At first, he cribbed lines from other comics, but he soon felt guilty for his thefts. However, writing original jokes didn’t come easily at first.

He drew inspiration from sources both unlikely (E.E. Cummings, Lewis Carroll) and obvious (Laurel and Hardy) in shaping his comedy voice.

A lucky break (a gig writing for “The Smothers Brothers”) would be followed by a crushing blow (Johnny Carson soured on Mr. Martin’s skills).

Telling joke upon joke never appealed to Mr. Martin. His act could be hopelessly juvenile — witness his iconic arrow-through-the-head prop. But more often than not he sought to deconstruct comedy, teasing audiences by leaving out the punch line.

He approached his act like a mechanic trying to figure out a faulty engine. What worked? What didn’t? He bore down on his material, excising gags that didn’t kill and reconsidering how his gestures could amplify a bit better.

The grueling self-examination paid off, ultimately, but he can’t enjoy the fame that followed. Crowds shouldn’t laugh until they hear the joke, he thought as audiences roared as soon as he stepped on stage. That uneasiness, combined with the fear he had done everything he wanted to accomplish as a stand-up, led him to abandon his craft.

“Born Standing Up” is far from a tell-all. Mr. Martin’s public persona has never been an open book, though his novella “Shopgirl” appeared to cut closer to his true self.

He doesn’t let loose with any information beyond what’s needed to describe his career trajectory and add the occasional splash of color. When he reveals his romantic past, the tidbits are tasteful, not titillating.

“Born” offers enough dropped names to satiate gossip hounds. He runs briefly into Elvis Presley, revels in his professional ties to Dan Aykroyd and lets loose with a humorous look at dating Linda Ronstadt.

Mr. Martin’s prose is both rigorous and succinct. Some turns of phrase are simply beautiful, but he rarely sounds as if he’s showing off his intellect. The text isn’t a series of self-deprecating sequences, either. He’s forthcoming about his bombs and quietly proud when his material reaches new levels.

“Born” doesn’t teem with his classic gags. Some jokes sneak their way into the narrative, but they exist solely to make a point or add a comedic exclamation mark. Readers looking to laugh had better pick another book.

The sins in “Born Standing Up” are chiefly of omission. Readers may mourn the lack of details accumulated during the height of his stand-up fame. The family portrait offered up here is a tease, at best.

And what did others think of his work? Did his fellow comics chastise him for his methods? Was there jealousy?

His decision to abandon stand-up comedy while still near the peak of his fame may be the most the most intriguing segment of the book, but Mr. Martin appears far more nostalgic for his curious learning curve. We’ll have to wait for another memoir expounding on his subsequent film career.

It’s doubtful such a work would be as illuminating a read as “Born Standing Up.”

Christian Toto, who writes frequently on popular culture for The Washington Times, lives in Denver, Colo.