'Whatever Falls Out Of My Mouth, Falls Out Of My Mouth': Steph Tisdell Gets Real With 'Baby Beryl'

Steph Tisdell is challenging the conventions of comedy by realising her authentic self – and kicking off her shoes. Still, Tisdell describes her new interactive stand-up show, Baby Beryl, as "weird, surreal, wacky".

A proud Ydinji woman, Tisdell originally studied law and journalism to pursue a career in advocacy for First Nations communities and expand perceptions. "I was at uni – I wanted to change the world, you know?" she says. "I've always just been real passionate… I had all these ideas; all the things I wanted to do." But, halfway through the course, the Brisbane pupil fell into despondency. "Honestly, I actually just had a breakdown, because there's no justice in law. Law is about money and precedence and reading between the lines and paperwork – and that really threw me." 

Tisdell's pivot to comedy occurred "purely by accident". She backpacked around the UK and Ireland. "I was really anxious," Tisdell relates. "I was like, 'I need to remove the safety net.' That's what I need to do with my life to feel more confident – just get rid of this safety net and see what I'm actually capable of and see how I go meeting new people and doing all of the things that I was scared of." Tisdell encountered an experienced traveller at a hostel who gave her some life advice. "She said, 'Anytime that you get the opportunity, the only thing you should ever say is, 'Why not?'"

Tisdell then accepted a dare to perform a comic routine in a "random" Dublin bar. It was a success. Back in Brisbane, she entered the 2014 national Deadly Funny competition on a whim and won – the first of successive awards. Nevertheless, Tisdell wanted to test her skills somewhere unfamiliar, away from family and friends. She relocated to Scotland – Edinburgh famed as comedy central. "After I won Deadly, I had so much fear and guilt about how little I knew about my culture. I'd always had this real fear of talking about it on stage. I didn't want to be booked for any tokenistic gigs. So I'd never mentioned my heritage on stage, even though I really wanted to." A year on from her return, "everything just went absolutely apeshit".

In 2018 Tisdell premiered her inaugural show Identity Steft, exploring identity while disarmingly joking about white guilt, at the Adelaide Fringe. Last year she achieved virality with an appearance at the Melbourne International Comedy Festival Gala. In March, she'll be the first Indigenous comedian to host the prestigious event, broadcast on the ABC.

A gifted storyteller, Tisdell has developed her voice, and mode of observational comedy, by both studying the form and following her instincts – considering mental health, First Nations heritage and social justice. Even early, she recognised comedy's potential for truth-telling and empowerment – unlike law. Crucially, Tisdell has an ability to raise sensitive topics in the communal atmosphere of her shows. She often quotes the maxim "comedy is just tragedy plus time", variously attributed to Mark Twain and others. "It's so fucking true," Tisdell exclaims. "The whole thing about comedy is building tension and releasing tension." But the most fundamental aspect of her comedy is credibility, Tisdell not cultivating a persona. Indeed, she remembers having an epiphany when performing in a city mall. "This seems really silly, but this is such a huge part of who I am: I never wear shoes. I don't like wearing shoes – it's always been a thing. But I always used to wear shoes on stage and put make-up on and try and present myself, just 'cause I thought that's what I should do if I was on stage. I almost remember the exact moment that I went, 'Why am I doing this? That's not who I am.' The one thing that I would love to give the people in the audience is just total authenticity; just don't be polished anything, anywhere, anytime."

Tisdell also decided that it's ok to laugh herself. "I always cop shit online for laughing at my own jokes. I'm not laughing at my own jokes! I love laughing with an audience – it's my favourite. When I see them laugh, I'm like, 'Yes, fuck, yeah, I'm gonna laugh with them.' It makes me feel good." It has immediate benefits. "I feel like that, when you're laughing along, you always think of more stuff – like off the cuff. It makes you way more present. I think that's always been a struggle that I've had in my life – I find it so hard to be present. I don't have the best mental health. I struggle a lot with anxiety. I think one of the big things with anxiety is you're either stressing about the past or you're stressing about the future. And so being present is super important. I think, with comedy, it's all about being present. When you're laughing with the audience, you're totally there – it's about nothing else, but that room."

Tisdell's latest show, Baby Beryl, which launched at Perth's Fringe World in January, is the culmination of her growth – and curiosity. Initially, Tisdell, who revels in deep research, looked into baby names, trends and associations. But the comedian's approach to Baby Beryl then became something more spontaneous. It's "a non-show, on purpose": "The whole show's just gonna be me being a dick on stage – just whatever falls out of my mouth, falls out of my mouth. It's all about that authenticity thing; whatever happens in there, as long as we're all connecting with each other." Tisdell has introduced a chat show element, flipping celebrity culture. "I reckon everyone's got a story to tell and so I'm interviewing strangers from the audience." Tisdell acknowledges that Baby Beryl has its variables, including how "on" she is. Yet Tisdell values that unpredictability. She hopes punters come with open minds. "It's not a normal comedy show," Tisdell stresses. "It's stand-up, but it is really just about yarns that you'd laugh at with your mates out the back."

Like other Australian star comedians, Tisdell has a presence in radio and television – and she's easing into acting (she'll voice a part in Jake Duczynski's animated satire Cooked). However, Tisdell has one particular aspiration. "I would love to have my own chat show – that'd be my dream." A morning talk show perhaps? Tisdell laughs, "Kerri-Anne, I'm coming for you!"