A New Beginning

Five years ago Sarah Millican’s husband left her. Her floral print blouses spoke of her comfortable security: the rewarding work at a Newcastle Jobcentre, the man at home and the simple pleasures of everyday family life. Millican’s divorce—an unexpected catastrophe for the 29-year-old civil servant—was the incident that inspired her tentative first steps into stand-up and provided the material for her Fringe debut, Sarah Millican’s Not Nice, the well-received solo show for which she claimed last year’s If.comedy Best Newcomer Award.

But despite her late start in stand-up, Edinburgh success has rewarded her with some serious, high-profile exposure. "It was quite nerve-racking really," she says of her recent appearance on Michael McIntyre's Comedy Roadshow, "but it’s encouraging to know that people want to watch stand-up, whether at home or in a club." Television audiences are drawn to gag-heavy material, and Millican’s quaint but filthy set-pieces have an appeal which, in TV-land, is almost universal. That is not to say she hasn’t had her fair share of exponents on the comedy circuit: she has consistently been acclaimed as a comedian to watch, blessed with a shrewd comic mind.

Undoubtedly, Millican’s oft-quoted biography has a certain romance; a kitchen-sink realism which is tantalising to say the least. If she were a playwright, she might be lauded as the female voice of the North, or possibly likened to the playwright Caryl Churchill by the broadsheets. But her biography only goes so far – she is a comedian, and her work doesn’t involve itself, necessarily, with social commentary. Last year’s show concerned life after marriage: the issue of trust, nerves about dating again and the shortcomings of the man she had loved.

This year’s follow-up, Typical Woman is, she says, a definite change of direction. "It’s about men and women yet it won’t involve any of those ‘what’s the deal with male drivers’ observations – I certainly want to get beyond basic stereotypes."

Typical Woman promises to be a kind of statistical study into gender, a census of sorts, being based upon a survey carried out by Millican herself. Presumably the questionnaire would have enquired into the sexual and personal lives of her subjects; a theme which remains a firm favourite in her stand-up. It’s the affairs of the heart which seem to be of interest – the private turmoils and insecurities of others and herself. But, says the comedian, she has tried to make this year's offering less thematic.

"I’m trying to move away from talking about my ex-husband," she professes, a certain relief in her voice. The black cloud of her divorce has undoubtedly loomed large in her material to date. In an interview with Lauren Laverne last year, following her Best Newcomer win, Millican spoke almost exclusively about her failed marriage and the fallout from it: a retelling of the tragicomic biography and the inspiration suddenly found in single life.

Indeed, one can’t help but wonder what else there is to Millican when everything seen of her so far has been so rooted in the "meek but dirty divorcee" persona. She mentions feminism fleetingly in our conversation, but seems eager to move on from the term and its manifold—and possibly fascinating—implications. Puzzled, I ask what performing means to her: "There’s complete freedom on the stage; I can say anything. It’s an empowering experience, always."

Interestingly, though, there's a trade-off in this freedom which seems to bother her. Millican talks at length about the merits of her comedy in comparison with her past life in the Jobcentre. "I think about the people I’m not helping anymore," she admits, seemingly anxious about the lack of practical benefits her new career brings to Joe Public. "It is worthwhile though, making people laugh, helping them relax for an hour." There is a studied simplicity to Millican’s answers – her responses are persistently plain, straightforward and befitting of a woman whose cultivated stage manner is so uncomplicated.

Perhaps, then, Millican’s popularity stems from the forthright candour with which much of her material is delivered. When I enquire into the idea of gender in her work, she again shirks from prolonged dissection. Could it be that she wants to evade "themes" and preserve a certain honest naturalness in her comedy? One is reminded of the punch line to her "space cakes" monologue: "I might not know drugs, but I know cake." Savouries or separation: Millican, it seems, is a comic who speaks best about what she knows.

Sarah Millican - Typical Woman Pleasance Courtyard 5-30 Aug (not 12), 7.30pm, £10