The Cambridge Comedy Factory: How Footlights Built British Humour
When comedian Robert Webb was asked what advice he would give to a young person aspiring to enter comedy, his answer was immediate and unequivocal: "Go to Cambridge!" This was not a flippant remark but a statement of historical fact. If a bomb had periodically detonated at Cambridge University over the decades, British comedy would have been decimated. There would have been no Monty Python, no Goodies, and the absence of Peter Cook or Jonathan Miller would have left a gaping void. Stephen Fry would never have met Hugh Laurie, and David Mitchell would not have found his Peep Show partner Robert Webb.
A Legacy of Luminaries
The roster of talent nurtured by the Cambridge Footlights reads like a who's who of British entertainment. Douglas Adams, David Baddiel, and Emma Thompson all honed their craft within its walls. Thompson, in a characteristic gesture of generosity, was known to leave notes backstage during return visits, promising "two crates of beer for you in Oddbins!" for the current crop of performers.
The society, formally known as the Cambridge University Footlights Dramatic Club, operates as a self-electing entity. It stages "smokers"—intimate concerts—twice per term, an annual revue that typically progresses to the Edinburgh Festival Fringe, and a pantomime. Productions often embraced absurdity; in a staging of Snow White, the 6ft 2in Robert Bathurst played a dwarf named Shorty. Years later, David Mitchell would reinterpret a dwarf character as "Pervy."
From Victorian Drag to Mainstream Launchpad
Originating in the Victorian era as a counterpoint to more serious dramatic societies devoted to Shakespeare, the Footlights quickly gained notoriety. Early audiences particularly enjoyed "seeing undergraduates dressed up as girls," establishing a tradition of transvestism that became a hallmark. Cecil Beaton, who would later achieve fame as a society photographer, was celebrated as "one of the best leading ladies the Footlights ever had."
It was the arrival of Peter Cook in 1957 that catalysed the group's transformation from a collection of drag acts into a genuine training ground for mainstream light entertainment. Cook, with seemingly effortless genius, improvised classic sketches such as the one-legged Tarzan. He also developed the archetype of the tedious park bench bore, monotonously reciting "interesting facts" about tadpoles, newts, and the virtues of "peace through nudism."
Cook performed this material for the rest of his life and, even as an undergraduate, was selling jokes to professional London shows. His collaboration with Jonathan Miller, alongside Oxford graduates Dudley Moore and Alan Bennett, resulted in the groundbreaking satirical revue Beyond The Fringe. The financial rewards were immense; Miller earned ten times his junior doctor's salary on stage, while Bennett made fifteen times what a medieval historian could expect.
The Sixties and the Python Precursor
The atmosphere at Footlights performances was often gently "disrespectful," mocking the stiff-upper-lip heroics still fresh from the Second World War. By the 1960s, revues embodied "a strange mixture of sophistication and childishness." Performers like John Cleese, Eric Idle, and Graham Chapman were already foreshadowing the anarchic, intellectual absurdity that would define Monty Python. As one observer noted, "They took a kind of Goons absurdity and placed it within a mad intellectual framework," lacing sketches with clever references to authors like Proust.
The material could be daringly controversial. One sketch featured Eva Braun singing As Long As He Needs Me from Oliver! to a besotted Hitler. Yet, the society also had its limits. An old music hall joke—"What's the difference between an egg, a carpet and a piece of crumpet? You can beat an egg, you can beat a carpet, but you can't beat a nice piece of crumpet"—was banned for being too risqué. The forced substitution of "crackling" was, by all accounts, "hopeless."
A Portal to Fame—For Some
Bill Oddie accurately described the Footlights as "a portal to fame," but this portal was largely reserved for men. Miriam Margolyes, who along with Eleanor Bron was among the first women elected to membership, endured a "wretched time." She was systematically excluded, ignored, and not invited to cast parties. "They treated me as if I were invisible and did not speak to me at all," she recalled. In stark contrast, few dared mistreat Germaine Greer, who was frequently asked to perform her popular stripping nun routine.
The club's environment, with its broken sofas, bar, and cheap meals, functioned as a lads' hang-out. It was the antithesis of inclusive and diverse, operating as "a fairly exclusive, privileged group" where dinner jackets were worn on special occasions. This exclusivity extended to its professional connections. Footlights revues and smokers were routinely attended by agents, talent scouts, Radio 4 administrators, and BBC directors, who would discreetly offer coveted trainee producer schemes to promising members.
Inevitable Stardom and Tragic Downfalls
Talent was often immediately recognisable. "Everyone expected that Griff Rhys Jones would become famous," which he did. Many believed he was destined to run the National Theatre, though that role eventually went to another Footlights alumnus, Nicholas Hytner. Another standout was Tony Slattery, "a live wire on stage" famous for his one-man Star Trek performance. However, Slattery arguably never matched his early acclaim; he died last year at 65, his life and career ravaged by alcoholism and a £4,000-a-week drug habit.
The society also attracted royal attention, though not always successfully. As David Baddiel noted, "I think probably Prince Edward would have liked to have been in the Footlights, but like many members of the Royal Family he had no actual talent." A visit from Princess Margaret provided a memorable, if undignified, moment when "we all listened to the Princess's tinkle" from the toilet—a sad highlight for some members' university careers.
The Mavericks and the Critics
Perhaps the most telling endorsement of independent talent comes from those the Footlights rejected. Sacha Baron Cohen was deemed "too much of a maverick" for membership. His subsequent career suggests that bypassing this exclusive club did no harm; he is now widely considered one of the best comedians of his generation.
There is, as noted in Robert Sellers' book on the subject, "an air of smugness" surrounding the Footlights legacy. It served as a confidence builder for young men who were already confident. This engrained privilege prompts reflection on the opportunities denied to others. One professor famously chastised a Footlights-obsessed student, urging them to "spare a thought for the 'extraordinary number' of hard-working people who never get the chance of a Cambridge place."
Why, critics ask, did show-offs like Clive James, John Fortune, and John Bird not simply attend drama school, freeing their Cambridge places for students genuinely passionate about law, languages, literature, history, or philosophy? This sense of entitled tradition helps explain why northern, working-class comics such as Victoria Wood, Caroline Aherne, Peter Kay, Les Dawson, and the team behind The League of Gentlemen often felt they had "chips on their shoulder." Their achievements, forged outside the hallowed Cambridge gates, seem all the more remarkable when contrasted with the privileged launchpad the Footlights provided for generations of comedy elites.
