Below is the full article I wrote for the Observer's New Review on Mackenzie Taylor, whom many comedians knew and loved. I'm proud that he was my friend too. He died on 18th November after taking an overdose.
I had no idea how to start writing this piece: this thing that I hope will be a proper tribute, a eulogy, something that gets at the true essence of what Mackenzie Taylor was and is. When I think of the cheerful and extraordinary person face he presented to the comedy world in spite of his illness, the incredible number of people that he helped, made laugh, and helped to understand their own human condition, I am horrified that he is no longer with us. But more than that, I want to talk about him, and the wonderful performer, friend, brother and son that he was. To know Mackenzie was to know that he was an empathiser; insightful; wise beyond his years and much loved by many, many people.
Mackenzie suffered from bipolar schizoaffective disorder, a condition which leads to periods of psychosis, depression, mania, paranoia and a whole host of symptoms which make doing comedy both almost impossible and practically essential. However I had no idea of this when I first met him, which was in 2005 at the Wayward Council comedy gig that he ran and hosted at the Redhill Theatre, Surrey. You don’t remember every gig that you do as a stand-up, but I remember this one because I was so intrigued by Mackenzie’s material. It was just simply really good: interesting, original, thoughtful and funny. I told him so afterwards, and we had an illuminating, lovely conversation. His enthusiasm and intelligence were so clear, and I remember thinking that I’d be seeing more of him on the comedy circuit.
That turned out to be the case when in 2007, at Mackenzie’s invitation, I performed an Edinburgh show with him and the brilliant actor Alex Dee. ‘Open Mic At The Globe’ was based on the idea of Shakespeare characters doing stand-up, and I have to thank Mackenzie for asking me to do it because that was my first foray into comic acting, something I hadn’t previously considered. Indeed I’m laughing as I write this, given Mackenzie’s comments about the brilliance of being in a manic phase, where you feel you can ‘do anything’ – I don’t know if he was then, but there was something so persuasive about him, and the idea was so intriguing, that I’d instantly wanted to meet up and get going.
Mackenzie hosted that show as a sternly entertaining, rollicking Bill Shakespeare, introducing his creations and letting us fly. For my part it was one of the most fun and liberating things I’ve done in comedy, but also watching him work and deal with the pressures of the Edinburgh festival, I learned a lot about him that summer. His creative instincts, his indomitable spirit of ‘no surrender’, his ability to analyse and lucidly explain himself and his condition so that others might not feel alienated, were astonishing.
Those qualities were never more in evidence than in his 2009 Edinburgh show, No Straitjacket Required, a show which dealt with his suicide attempt of the previous year. It was a brilliant hour: illuminating, funny, humane and wise: like the man himself, really. I remember the metaphors he used to convey what his illness felt like, especially the one about it being like having a terrible modern jazz band playing in your head all the time, which he would then play insistently and gleefully. I laughed at the show so much, as did everyone, especially if they related to the darkness behind the merriment. It struck me as an extreme version of something that all great comedians do: making sense and fun of your own problems, to entertain other people. And yourself, obviously (inflicting his ‘brain soundscape’ on the audience! He loved that).
Humour’s a tool to improve the world; Mackenzie knew this better than anyone. When I think of how funny that show was, I’m reminded of the quote that Mackenzie would use night after night in Edinburgh during the Shakespeare show, about tragedy plus time equals comedy “so 400 years ought to make this hilarious”. Well, No Straitjacket Required was only a year afterwards, and he’d already transformed the bleakness of the previous year, where he’d told me that his brain felt like a computer that needed to be shut down. It didn’t matter whether you remained alive afterwards; the main point was, you couldn’t carry on with your brain continuing to, for want of a better description, betray you.
The last gig I did with Mackenzie was less than a year ago, and he was rocking the joint – MCing an unruly and slightly difficult crowd, and coming up with a beautiful, thoughtful and courageous rebuttal of a racist comment from an audience member. His philosophising on the ‘point’ they had made stopped the show for a while, but he brought it back with aplomb and a great joke. Both sides of his response were necessary and superbly done.
I cannot begin to express how much there is a void left in comedy at his passing, and how much his friends will miss him. Mackenzie is someone who, in spite or perhaps because of the problems he went through, was ever sensitive to the needs of others, and able to reach out and help so many people, including me. That he is not here is one of the saddest things imaginable. But he brought a lot of light into our lives, and in a way I know that he, too, has gone into the light.
