“Politically, I’m more driven towards the European level. I mean, about 100
people in France know I exist, a few people in Scandinavia know I’m there.
Some people in Germany. It’s not like I’m really well known there, but
I keep intending to ramp that up. It’s not like everyone wants to jump into
the European political spectrum — the no arguments are so much easier than
the yes arguments — but if you take it from the world level, or really the
human level, then it all makes sense. We do want a world where
everyone has a fair go. If you want to do that, why not give it a go in
Europe? And Europe has to be a good thing, because otherwise why are we here
on earth? I don’t think we were given a reason, I think we have to find a
reason, and the reason should be to try to have a good life and make
something fulfilling out of this.”
Which brings us to his second big decision of the past 12 months — that, after
many years of doubt and questioning, he has announced he is an atheist. When
we spoke two years ago, he talked about his mother dying of cancer when she
was only 41, and how Hitler had lived into his fifties. “So if there is a
God, he’s a bastard,” he’d said. “You rack up all the deaths we’ve had —
stackloads. That’s one bastard of a God if he’s up there. And why doesn’t he
ever shave?”
His new stand-up show, Stripped, which starts a UK tour this autumn, began
life, as many of Izzard’s shows do, with heavenly characters: God, Jesus and
Noah often appear in his live performances, bumbling their way through
trying to convert dinosaurs and working out how to persuade ducks to enter
the Ark. He approached the show “hedging around an agnosticky kind of place.
A lot of people stick with agnosticism just in case He turns up and says, ‘I
was here the whole time.’ So you say, ‘Oops, and I said I didn’t believe in
You!’ And He says, ‘Yep, you’ve got to go to hell for ever.’ And you say,
‘Where is hell?’ And He says, ‘Well, it’s just south of Croydon.’
“I was warming the material up in New York, where one night, literally on
stage, I realised I didn’t believe in God at all,” he says, almost
conversationally. “I just didn’t think there was anyone upstairs. Which is
good, because you have to be with faith to get elected in America, but
without faith to get elected in Europe.”
Post-conversion, much of Stripped is an elegant argument for the nonexistence
of God. Izzard delves into history — via, he freely admits on stage, the
good offices of Wikipedia — and tries to tell the whole story of everything
without a God. “It’s not as bleak as that,” he counters. “I’m a spiritual
atheist. I’m saying, don’t believe in God, believe in humans — is there a
practical difference? I have faith and belief in people, and if there’s
anything spiritual above that, it’s goodwill. I’ve seen ill will in action,
and it leads to Hitler. He kidnapped a country, the leaders of its
government destroyed freedom of speech — well, you know. . . ”
Which brings him back to the idea of doing gigs in Germany and Russia. “I’ve
been talking about playing in Germany for so long that it feels like I’ve
done it, but this tour is definitely the one. I even have the club booked.
I know the dates, I know the place — it’s called the Quatsch club, in Berlin,
which translates as ‘nonsense’. There is a different sentence construction
in German that might screw me up — but I believe I can sort it. Anyway, it
must be possible, because the world record for live stand-up is a young
German comic called Mario Barth at the Olympic stadium — 70,000 people.
Pisses all over us.
“After that, I want to take Stripped to Russia — all they hear is threats from
us. And I think this is the right show to spread around the world. I’ve been
through the Bible Belt in America with it, doing these Q&As after each
show. The socially progressive people were saying they literally didn’t know
there were 2,000 other like-minded people living nearby. They’d expected
that if they brought up being an atheist in public, it would cause trouble.
Then to come back here for the London run and have the press say, ‘You can’t
talk about God like this’. . . I’m trying to get a world perspective on
this, really: a show you could play anywhere in the world, or anyone can log
in to.”
This, after all, is Izzard’s unspoken mission — or, as he describes it, his
job. “My job is to go around the world, talk and come up with ideas, put
them into an entertainment thing — that’s what I like, that’s just for me —
but also to tell people in Europe that the Americans, Asians, Africans,
they’re all the same as us. Their problems are the same problems. Love is
the same thing. You hear stories about people who have done things in the
name of love around the world, and they’re exactly the same.”
What about you and love, I ask him? He is notoriously reticent on the subject,
has no official and squirms when romance is raised. “Well — I mean. . . I’m
still in the Daniel Day-Lewis position of not talking about things. I’m sure
you’ll find out about things at a certain point. Daniel Day-Lewis got
married, you know, and nobody knew about it. And even when they did know
about it, he still didn’t talk about it. That’s the continuing situation in
my life, and no matter what happens, I’ll keep it relaxed. I always ask the
people in my life if they want me to talk about them in my show, and they
almost always say no, which is one of the reasons I don’t do much
relationship stuff.
But I do talk about the people in my family who are happy to be talked about,
like Dad — and Dad is the only one, actually.”
Izzard makes the same point at the Apple store. “There aren’t many girls who
want to be the girl \ in the show,” he says, although a quick glance at the
women in their twenties and thirties who make up a good 50% of the audience
proves that particular point is wide of the mark. “We love you, Eddie,” they
shout as he finishes up and leaves the stage. Now all he has to do is switch
that round a little and have them yell “Vote Eddie!” instead. Then we’ll
have something of a first for our battered continent: a charismatic populist
politician who can hold a rally or a room delivering a humanist message.
Just don’t tell him any jokes.
Eddie Izzard’s Stripped tour is now booking; for more details, visit eddieizzard.com
