Landing in Edinburgh from the other side of the planet, Dan Boerman is bringing NZ humour to the UK
Hello Dan, can you tell us where you’re from, & where you are living today?
I’m from a small town in New Zealand called Martinborough. It was originally a working class, ‘tumbleweed-silence’ town, but now it has microbreweries and hire-bicycles that 4 people can all ride to the vineyards at the same time. For the last decade, I’ve lived in our capital, Wellington, an hour West of my home town.
When did you first realise you were funny?
Probably around 6 or 7 years old. I discovered very young that if I beat the other kids to the punch, and made fun of myself before they got the chance to, they would see me as likeable. I would do routines on lunch breaks, standing on tables in the courtyard, rapping about our teachers. Whenever the teacher I was rapping about would walk past mid-rap, all of the kids would lose their minds, and I’d double down on my diss track. Looking back, it was not good comedy. But it did rhyme. I put my name down for an open-mic in February 2012. I was too nervous to do it. I didn’t show up for my first spot until nearly a decade later. There was almost 10 years between deciding to do it, and doing it.
You’ve got three famous comedians (dead or alive) coming round for dinner. Who would they be & what would you cook; starters, mains & dessert?
I’d want comics who would have an over-the-top response to whatever I make them. People like Bill Burr and Jimmy Carr. Imagine ruining a steak for those guys. You would never hear the end of it. I’d almost want to get it wrong for Bill Burr to put me on blast. I’d want Shane Gillis over, to hear him do the Aussie accent. I know I’m Kiwi, but nobody knows the fucking difference.
Starter: Soup, served far too hot. This would buy me time for conversation.
Main Course: This would have to be something that I couldn’t mess up. Maybe a dish based around rice cooker rice, or cous cous. You can’t get cous cous wrong. If you can’t get cous cous right, you can’t be trusted with hot water.
Dessert: Brandy snaps. Baby boomers ruined the housing market, but introduced us to some culinary delights. It’s a shame that I can’t make a lot of my nans old recipes accurately, because there’s nowhere that sells asbestos anymore.
What’s the scene like in Wellington?
We’ve got it good in Wellington. It’s a progressive and supportive scene. A lot of fantastic talent has come from Wellington. There aren’t any full-time comedy clubs, but plenty of fantastic venues. Cavern Club, Pow Wow Room, Fringe Bar are a few. If you want to run a show, the venues want you to do well, and will look after you.
You’re bringing a show to this year’s Edinburgh Fringe, what are you adding to the table?
A tickle under an hour of hilarious standup. Silly conversations with the crowd. Everyone feeling like they’re all pals by the end of the show. I’m essentially bringing a dish to a very, very big potluck. It isn’t the best dish at the table, but I’m proud of what’s gone into making it. And people assume that it’s vegan, because it looks a big strange.
How is it all going so far?
I did not anticipate how well it would go, and I’ve been very very lucky for a debut run. I haven’t had a night under 3/4 full. Every night has been packed out. On Saturdays I can’t move through the venue pre-show, and have had to hang out in the Men’s room. We’ve turned dozens of people away on the busy nights. Based on sales to date, we’ll have about a thousand punters through across the 21 nights, so I really want to make it a special evening!
How are you finding the venue?
It has sooo much character. I’m not a crystal girlie, but you can feel the vibes in the room man. It’s a cosy and conversational space, which is probably why some people want to chat during the fucking show. They’re not heckling, they’re just vibing. The staff friendly and hospitable. The only downside is that stage is far smaller than I’m used to. It’s about a square metre in size. I perform at my best when I’m on a large stage that I can run around. I’ve performed on stages wider than the venue before! I’m usually a free range comic. But I can’t fault the space. It’s raw, and dripping with history.
Have you met anyone interesting for you, so far?
I met Eddie Izzard briefly when I was running with a £5 tip up to Pret the other day. I shook her hand, said I was a huge fan, and kept running. I wanted to keep it brief, and cool. I was brief. I don’t know if I was cool though
What are the differences between a NZ audience & a Fringe one?
I didn’t anticipate that my audience would be such a mixed bag of everyone, from everywhere. It was sink or swim, from Day One. I needed to be appealing for everyone! I couldn’t just have a forgiving crowd of all-Kiwis, or even all-Scots, who seem to like us Kiwis! So I think it’s just a mix of everyone, which means if you do well a few nights in a row, you can be confident that your material isn’t colloquial. You don’t get the same opportunity in New Zealand to test if your gear has broad appeal.
How are you finding the city in Fringe time?
I love it. I love the stimulation. I like busy, I like chaos, I like people. I’m chatting to you on my Monday off of Fringe, but tonight, I’ll walk back into the city, just to soak up the vibes a little more. I’ve spent the day in Newcastle getting tattooed. I’m going to head into the city, and show my tattoos to a bartender who I met briefly last week. I don’t know if she will actually care, but I hope she thinks they’re cool! I got “DOG” tattooed on my forearm, because I lost my teddy bear in Brighton, and got him back via Royal Mail today. I’ve had him for 30 years. I also got ‘Make Em Laugh’ tattooed at the base of my hand today. It’s all I want to do.
So, what are the secrets to universal comedy, then?
It’s hard enough with a thick Kiwi accent for people to know what I’m even cracking on about. But observational comedy feels like a safe bet? So I guess riffing on experiences which are universal, and are likely to have broad appeal. Like – whether you are in New Zealand, or you are in Edinburgh, if you order a coffee, and your barista is a jerk, – you can guarantee that he will make a brilliant coffee. Every single time. That is a universal experience. The bigger the ass your barista is, the better your latte will be. Some things are worldwide. That isn’t an analogy, by the way. I’m a friendly guy. That’s why I make a shit coffee.
What is your last-minute routine before stepping out on stage?
This is a bit embarrassing, but when I came over here early 2023 for some spots, the pilot on my flight over from New Zealand said the coolest line. At the gate, a flight attendant walkie-talkie’d the pilot to confirm that we could begin boarding. The pilot radio’d back and said “[click] ….rock and roll. [click].” Nothing else. What a DUDE. So when I’m about to go on stage, I’m always super nervous. I’ll jumping up and down, I’ll clap my hands together, and now I’ll say ‘rock and roll’ It’s almost like a nervous tick at this point. Another nervous ritual is the pre-show hair-flick. I don’t even know I’m doing it. It’s like a Loreal commercial off of TEMU.
You bump into somebody in the streets of Edinburgh & have 20 seconds to sell your show – what do you say?
This is unhinged stand-up comedy from New Zealand. You will have a really good time. Have your other 9 seconds back, and I’ll see you there!
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