Legendary Chicago comic and entertainer Emo Philips will be arriving in Ireland later this month to perform three stand-up dates, as part of the Bud Light Revue Comedy Carnival.

Philips is renowned as a master of the one-liner, and three of his quips were voted among the 75 greatest of all time, in a poll conducted by GQ Magazine.
A gifted writer, certainly, but much of Philips’s appeal lies in his peculiar speaking voice – a mousey, high-pitched squeak, which oozes quirkiness and charming simplicity. One suspects that he could read out a TV repair manual and still elicit a smile or two.
Philips is also renowned for making a virtue of economy: his quips are short, sharp and fat-free. He was in Ireland two years ago, but feels that his set will be even better this time, as any jokes he delivered on his last visit have, in the meantime, been pared-down to near-perfection.
“I’m always trying to perfect what I have,” Philips explains chirpily, in his trademark falsetto. “You try to shorten the jokes as much as you can, and get rid of unnecessary words. If something doesn’t get a laugh, you change it, or get rid of it.”
But it would be wrong to expect a show that will elicit belly laughs from start to finish. Interestingly, Philips feels that a good stand-up routine should provide a mixture of gold material and somewhat lighter mirth (or “baby jokes”, as he terms them). Otherwise, the audience will be worn out too early.
“The audience has to take a breather,” he explains. “Their jaws get tired. Laughing is a physical experience, so there have to be some baby jokes in every show.”
Philips uses a metaphor to expand on this theme.
“It’s like being in prison,” he explains. “You can be a tough guy on the outside, but if you’re locked up with an even tougher guy, suddenly you’ll assume the more feminine role. Some of my jokes have to be the bitches, but in almost anyone else’s act they’d be the tough guys!”
There is a hint of arrogance in Philips’s last statement, though he does not come across as conceited, in the main. On the contrary, there is a strong whiff of insecurity about him; one suspects that the pressure to be consistently funny remains when he is off-duty, to the point that it has become difficult for him to relax. Philips describes his occupation as being like “having to open a tiger cage for an hour.
“You have to get the tiger back in the cage, and afterwards, you celebrate the struggle,” he expands. “Then, you spend the next day worrying: ‘Oh no, I’ve got to open the tiger cage again tonight!’ When I’m performing, I’m heroic, but it’s hard to enjoy the rest of my life.”
He also makes the bittersweet observation that once he stops performing, he “will just be a regular person again, and get a whole different set of neuroses”.
Philips has a certain fondness for Ireland, though he is one of few Americans who will happily admit to having no ancestry round these parts whatsoever. He is a big fan of James Joyce’s Ulysses, and will be viewing some of its namechecked landmarks during his stay. He also describes our punters as being “quite astute and educated in terms of comedy,” though when I ask if there is a certain quality within his humour that resonates with the Irish, he is not convinced.
“I think I’d be scared if I met people who had the exact same sensibility that I do!” he laughs, before concluding: “When you start doing stand-up, you forget about what sensibilities are here or there, and just do the best you can. If I’m in Alabama, say, and I’m having a tough time, I say to myself: ‘I’m not above pandering to these people; I love to pander, but I just have no idea how!’”
Philips seems to like exercising a great degree of control over his words. His show contains a minimum of ad-libbing, although improvisation will not be completely absent. He explains: “If an elephant – or any animal over a certain size – came into the tent, I would have to call attention it. But at the same time, I try not to improvise too much – I just do my act.”
Tellingly, after our telephone interview (in which he has been perfectly articulate, humorous and forthcoming), Philips expresses concerns that he was not on his "best game doing this over the phone", and suggests I send him some more questions via e-mail. He even offers to proof-read the article before publication, an offer I decline to take him up on.
Philips’ e-mail responses are much less revealing than those delivered in conversation, which may be why he prefers the medium. His replies are short and a touch glib; though he appears more confident and, yes, funnier, when he has time to think up, and write down his thoughts. (When asked what his ideal alternative occupation would be, he responds: “I think I would have enjoyed being a priest. Not for the traditional reasons, but to serve God.”)
Better still is his answer when asked what his personal favourite Emo Philips joke is: “That’s like asking a mother which of her children she likes best. So the answer would be: the most attractive one.”
But best of all is his e-mail sign-off: “Since-Eire-ly, Emo Philips.”

Emo Phillips plays the Bud Light Revue in Dublin's Iveagh Gardens on July 27 @ 9pm, 28 @ 5pm and 29 @ 7pm.
www.budlightrevue.com