AI: You may take our lives, but you’ll never take our comedy

You have to admire people who don’t use social media. Unbound by the trappings of constant information streams, they’re free to explore fresh air and independent thought. Today, their focus has shifted – this time, to boycott AI – and I’m all in.

From managing workflows to ironing out wrinkles, the robots have penetrated every corner of society. So who is immune to the banal bullet points and the sycophantic emojis? Comedy, that’s who. While I’ve only performed comedy since 2024, I’ve consumed it since 1990. In that time, I’ve come to love the nuances that AI simply cannot replicate, no matter the prompt.

What AI cannot replicate in comedy

We’ll start with the small stuff: topicality. As if to prove my point, I’ve asked ChatGPT to give me some light-hearted opening lines for an award ceremony, based on today’s news. It’s got the Super Bowl date wrong. By contrast, human writers can take aim at current affairs in real time. Note Rebel Wilson’s self-own of the movie Cats at the 2020 BAFTAs.

Time

Up next: time. One of AI’s selling points is that it can do everything faster. But since when did a rush job equal quality? How many times do you think Vic and Bob had to sew their heads back up before they perfected the frying pan gag? The best comedy comes from years of practice, repeating, refining, killing your darlings and still hearing crickets.

Failure

Indeed, the best art comes from failure. Van Gogh’s Madame Roulin and Her Baby is dreadful, and I can scarcely paint by numbers. Great art also comes from a lot of shit. In her memoir, Helen Lederer talks about being grilled on how many comedians she’d “shagged”. Isy Suttie recalls how she was paid £20 to leave the stage at the Edinburgh Fringe. Comedy builds a thick skin while AI pats you on the back as you drink bleach.

Originality

Then of course, we have originality. In one discussion, I was told that AI was good for “generating ideas”. But they’re not new ideas. They’re literally based on material that already exists. Hence, the best comedy comes from truth – first-hand experiences that exist solely in our memories and cannot be crawled by LLMs. One of my strongest sets involves a bikini wax-related mishap. Truth is inimitable.

Lessons from comedy greats

It’s prudent to note here that imitation is not the same as inspiration. When discussing his beloved Bottom, comic demigod Adrian Edmondson often credits Samuel Beckett’s Waiting for Godot. Inspired by their West End run, he and the almighty Rik Mayall introduced the play’s “cruder cousin” to our screens in September 1991. Later, goddess of mirth Kathy Burke would reinvent this ‘odd couple’ format with Gimme Gimme Gimme, catapulting it into the new Millennium. Where AI regurgitates, true comedy pays tribute.

Fear

And finally, we have fear. Too many times have I seen ‘uncreative’ people turn to AI for fear their ideas will be rejected. But comedy, like all art, is about bravery. It takes a bold individual to pull a Julian Clary at the 1993 British Comedy Awards. (Look it up.) Even bolder to announce Everyone I Have Ever Slept With à la Tracy Emin, or subvert gender norms like the Rocky Horror Show. Meanwhile, I’ve just asked ChatGPT for a joke. It told me about a scarecrow outstanding in its field. Yawn.

You may think me naïve, nostalgic, a Luddite. But for every crap caricature or cringeworthy LinkedIn post, there’s a real human trying to bring a little light into the world. And if that involves talking about our pubic hair, well…we’re sorry.

This article originally appeared in print for City Folk magazine.