Reginald D. Hunter has been accused of many ‘isms’, but with increasing success and several awards to his (now household) name, he appears to be thriving off the attention. Indeed, his current tour, “In the Midst of Crackers”, kicks off with a few jokes about recent criticism, including allegations of anti-Semitism, and ubiquitous quibbles about use of the N-word. Halfway through his set at the Pleasance Grand Theatre, Edinburgh, I flattered myself in fearing that I may turn out to be the opening joke in his next show—the grumpy feminist who accused him of misogyny.
I somewhat missed the boat with Hunter’s rise to notoriety, catching only snippets of his shows on television, and hearing rave reviews from many sources—even my boyfriend’s grandmother is a fan. So, I went along to see him with an open mind, confident in the knowledge that he’d be a suitable inaugural Fringe experience—interesting, intelligent, and the only artist I’d spend more than a tenner on all week.
To be fair to Mr Hunter, he had the audience hanging on his every word, speaking interestingly on family life, honesty and male fantasies. Retrospectively however, the set was peppered with warning signs of the impending descent into what I felt was an incoherent and ignorant commentary on feminism, rape and sexualisation. Hunter spoke about his own infidelities and the needs of women with an amiable style that hid an inherent disrespect, telling us how he’d cheated in most relationships. After making a joke about Bernard Manning’s bigotry, he preceded to morph into a more articulate, more intelligent, and thus far more dangerous version of him.
Discussing rape jokes, a salient issue at the Fringe and in the media, Hunter said the following: “rape jokes [are] one of the few safe ways you can push back”. In Hunter’s opinion, it is important that comedians openly discuss issues such as sexism and racism, and I respect him for that. However, Hunter also riffed off the idea that an audience member hearing a rape joke will not immediately decide to go out and commit the offence. Sexism and misogyny aside, the comment was just ignorant. Of course that probably wouldn’t happen, but rape jokes are a huge part of the systematic trivialisation of rape—if we can joke about it, it can’t be that bad, right?
Unlike Frankie Boyle or Jimmy Carr, with their ironically predictable shock tactics , Hunter is praised for an provocative style that actually provokes something – discussion. On top of that, his style is ruminative and treacherously charming, and as he admits, his rich drawl has a “tonal quality” that “makes everything [he says] sound like it’s true.” Of course it often isn’t, and admirably he acknowledges that. However, during a Fringe festival which saw a feminist comic take the Foster’s prize, an incredibly harrowing play performed by Indian rape victims, and a whole string of women “shouting back”, Hunter’s musings were more than uncomfortable, they were outdated and uninformed.
More than that, his suggestion that “pseudo-feminists” were claiming rape as a wholly female issue (followed by a tasteless joke about male rape on navy boats) ignores the fact that modern feminism is about equality, and that rape is a human issue. For a man who warmly slips into philosophical musings on “oneness”, the last five minutes of his show were uncharacteristic, and delivered with a far darker tone than his material earlier in the set.
His final offence was perhaps his worst, and epitomises why he is so unsettling. In a joke about a friend’s “sexual desperation”, he alluded, albeit briefly, to the sexual appeal of scantily clad women and the way in which men react to them. The joke drew us in, encouraging us to laugh at the friend who felt compelled to shout “WOMEN!” whenever he saw them, but the implication that men need to control themselves around the opposite sex was uncomfortably close to the idea of female sexual responsibility. Leaving the theatre I was offended and angry, and found it frustratingly difficult to explain why.
Hunter’s greatest skill lies in his comedic ability to make you question your boundaries, your sensibilities and yourself. Opening the show with a response to critics forces you to question your own reactions, lest you too become one of the easily offended, politically correct types who don’t ‘get it.’ Before writing this I got in touch with Hunter, who was very lovely and happy to respond. He wrote:
‘I’m genuinely disappointed to know that my rant “seemed” misogynist to you. It wasn’t. Nor am I, ma’am.’
His surety made me question my own reaction even more, but I suppose that is the point of comedy such as this – to create questions. In truth, I am not sure I would label Hunter a misogynist, but in each brief allusion, joke or nugget he made a slight contribution to a culture of misogyny that I, among many others, no longer have time for. I’m disappointed too, Reginald.
Originally published by Bad Housekeeping.
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