Deniz Göktaş: I'm trying to find my initial excitement

Omur Sahin KEYIF - Edinburgh

Turkish Comedy Week, organized by TuzBiber Stand-Up , is in Edinburgh, the capital of Scotland , as part of the Fringe Festival.

Deniz Göktaş , one of the most successful comedians of recent times, was on stage earlier this week. We met with Göktaş in Edinburgh, his third time, to discuss his seven-year stand-up journey.

How's Fringe going?

This was my second time. There was a theater festival at METU where all the amateur groups came. Four or five plays a day… I loved it; I saw most of the scripts there for the first time. Fringe is like the world's version of that. This is a dream destination for many comedians. Since we perform in Turkish, we're not fully part of that ecosystem, but it's nice to come here, perform in the same theaters, and have the chance to meet local comedians.

Would you ever consider doing English?

No, my English isn't that good. When I first came to Edinburgh, they asked if we could do a cover letter. It's not possible for us. Names are mentioned every minute, like Mehmet Ağar. There are plenty of local references. But maybe I'll try a 10-minute one in the future.

“AUDIENCES ARE DIFFERENT”

What are the differences between your audience in Türkiye and your audience abroad?

Even the audiences here, compared to Berlin, London, and here, are different. For example, the audience in the Netherlands is more politically correct. The audience in Berlin is very political; in Türkiye, they're as knowledgeable as I am about events that happened the day before; they love political jokes. I don't know much about Scotland because I haven't performed as much in other countries, but when I first performed at a comedy club, political things felt a bit distant. A few people commented on the way out, saying, "It felt too political." But in Berlin, for example, it's not enough; it's more political, more political...

Is there a difference between the texts of the shows you performed in Türkiye and abroad?

I try not to make a distinction that might feel risky in Türkiye, but I might sing it here. The core essence remains the same. But at the first shows I attended, so many of my close friends had moved abroad, I was filled with such anger. Every time the audience laughed, I felt demoralized. It felt like we were people who would get along, so why did you come here? I had five or 10 minutes to think about that; about being an immigrant, about that resentment.

Don't you have any friends left?

Most of them have left. This is their fifth year here. They have their own worries now, the worry of being an immigrant. Some are considering returning, others aren't. Now, there's no choice but to support them. The country has also deteriorated further than I anticipated, so my arguments have weakened.

“I SOCIALIZE BY MAKING JOKS”

You say you are against living abroad…

There are many people in Türkiye whose daily lives are worse than mine, women, LGBTQ+ individuals, and those who don't get what they deserve financially... I can't say anything to them, of course, but... I find this strange: 25-30 is the age when you discover yourself the most, and you have so many agendas: what kind of life will I live, will I be like this, what job will I do in which city... People who come here come back to a completely different point. For example, some say, "My English is bad, they think I'm stupid." I have a friend who's learning Dutch, and she spends the rest of her life between 25 and 30 learning Dutch, and her real concerns are largely in the background.

And since I've been someone who socialized by joking since childhood, no matter how well you master another language, it's very difficult to reach that point. On the other hand, talking like that is spoiled. Everyone has their own reasons, and no one gives up that easily.

“I KNOW VERY LITTLE ABOUT PSYCHOLOGY, IT’S LIKE A FAKE CERTIFICATE”

Do you have a diploma?

I have a psychology degree. I know very little about psychology. It's like a fake diploma.

Is the issue of incompetence, which has recently come to light with the fake diploma scandal, driving young people to despair? How do you cope?

There's a certain capacity for sadness and anger, and once you get there, it starts to seem ridiculous. People writing to Complaints, saying they still haven't received their diploma, and so on...

I came to Istanbul in 2018 to pursue a Master's in Cinema. Back then, we were experiencing many injustices. But the government was providing loans, a thousand lira per month, and with that, I could barely make ends meet in Istanbul. That's how I started doing stand-up, and that's how I was able to stay in Istanbul. Now, that's financially impossible for a student. Students can't go to theater or film clubs anymore because they have to work part-time. Everyone works, unless they have a family advantage.

Those children never socialize throughout their lives, they have to work during the brightest times of their lives.

This creates a profound meaninglessness regarding the courses. Will I have a job once I receive my diploma? Even with a diploma, someone without one might be preferable if they've made the right connections. I saw this in the youth of the protest era: it seemed like there was no future. When this happens, the world begins to shine, no matter how much Turkey might appeal to you. That's what I'm saying: I've run out of arguments...

“I WANTED TO BE A FILMMAKER”

It's been seven years since you started doing stand-up. How's it going?

When I started this job, I really enjoyed it. I wanted to be a filmmaker. Since filmmaking was financially challenging and took a long time, I went on Open Mic to try out these stories. I'd stand in front of my friends, write down what seemed funny, say whatever came to mind, and if I was laughing, I'd do it. I think that's what most people loved about it. I didn't even move on stage unless I wanted to.

I never expected something like this. When I first started performing on the big stage, I went through a period where I couldn't write.

I realized that people were getting out of their homes, making programs, and paying for tickets in a place like Turkey. The growing scene added to my sense of feeling that even the most distant person would be sent home with something that would make them say, "At least the kid made an effort."

That's why that period was difficult, I lost my voice, I felt a bit like I was in the service industry... Now I'm trying to find my excitement again in the beginning.

How?

You watched the show yesterday, and halfway through, their names from Turkish politics come up. I'm not saying goodbye to them completely, but I'm trying to find something that will still be meaningful when you listen to it 10 years from now.

Mehmet Ağar was also significant 20 years ago…

Thank goodness they are untimely… Unfortunately…

Are you talking about moving away from political humor?

That happens all the time, that's how my mind works, but I'm also looking for something close to the excitement I first found. Humor on these topics wasn't common back then. I wonder what it is now? If I were a spectator, what would I miss?

“THE STORY OF COMEDY IS THE REVERSE CORNER”

You disturbed us from one place, we got used to it, now are you trying to disturb us from another place?

The whole point of comedy, at least the kind we do, is a bit like that: surprises, twists and turns. That's what surprises the audience and makes them laugh. But when you listen to people a lot, podcasts, interviews, shows, they start to become very predictable. I'd like to do something like that to escape that a little.

Do you develop a trusting relationship with your audience over time?

I think it happens in every comedian-audience relationship. I have it too. But it also has its limiting side. If you say even one thing outside of that, like if another comedian says it, they look at you as if you've disappointed them because they didn't expect you to, even though they were going to laugh at you.

In that respect, people feel safe. They come knowing they won't be disturbed. That's also why they feel affection for you... This time, a very narrow path begins for me, and I have to both surprise them and not disappoint them.

Did you have to modify yourself when you suddenly grew out of your small living rooms?

If I'm being honest, it definitely has an impact. But when you're in it, you find something to fool yourself with. It's clear that the scenes have grown, and it's not like I'm not going to tell the same old jokes anymore, but then you look back and think, "Oh, I was sharper in this regard."

“LAWYERS MADE IMPORTANT 50 OF MY JOKES, I TOOK ONE OUT”

Do you send every text to a lawyer?

We sent it before we aired the first show. Because that's their job, the lawyers wrote a hundred things for each joke. We travel from city to city, doing 100 shows a year. You become more aware of how people will react to it, whether things will get out of hand or not, than a lawyer. In the first show, the lawyers criticized a total of 50 of my jokes. I only agreed with one and removed one word. We kept the other 49, and nothing happened. But of course, you never know what will happen (Laughs). But I didn't send this one (the second show) to anyone.

“I HAVE SOCIAL PHOBIA”

How did you learn to read the environment so well?

I have what I might call social phobia. While there's no official diagnosis, I exhibit many of the symptoms myself. Since childhood, I've been obsessed with what others will say, how I look, whether I did something wrong. Did I pick up the wrong fork, did I order the wrong thing? You focus on how others see me, whether I've done anything wrong to others. So, when I started doing stand-up, I knew what they saw in me. I remember saying the moment I came out: I'm skinny, unhealthy, speaks in a monotone, and have long hair. And I knew what they expected. It was a bit of an advantage.

As someone who cares so much about what people around you think, isn't it hard to make jokes?

Since childhood, sincerity has meant playing with the other person's boundaries. I'll speak hurtfully to my friend under the guise of a joke, then I'll say, "Are we upset?" and appease them, showing them love. My friends always make fun of me for this.

“MY STRESS MANAGEMENT HAS IMPROVED A LOT”

Has your anxiety decreased after being on stage for seven years?

My stage anxiety has diminished. I wouldn't normally be able to go anywhere alone and conduct a broadcast interview, but my stress management has improved considerably. When I performed at Harbiye, my performance wasn't complete; many parts were missing. I wasn't as nervous in front of 4,000 people. But, for example, I still get nervous when I go to the hospital alone.

With social phobia, especially in adolescence, there's a slight feeling of being watched even when walking down the street. This seems to be a real issue in my life right now. I left home in a sweater on a sunny day, not checking the weather. That night, someone tweeted, "I saw Deniz Göktaş, what are you doing with that sweater there, man?" It had a negative impact in that respect, but there's also a self-confidence I didn't once have, brought on by the idea that I'm someone who goes on stage, and people understand and love me.

“I HAVE NO KNOWLEDGE ABOUT A GROUP CALLED MANIFEST”

This time, I saw someone more dynamic and rhythmic on stage compared to last year…

Comedians are terrified of missing out on youth, of no longer being able to do the things that make youth laugh, and it's a valid fear. Naturally, you experience this. You're not in the daily world, the world is changing, you can't even adapt to artificial intelligence... Of course, I'm still at the beginning, but I feel like I've drifted away from university. I didn't know there was a band called Manifest, and I'm trying to keep up. Your mind isn't as sharp as it used to be. You can't find those jokes as easily. Being more nonsensical can come across as rude...

That's why it's not something I do on purpose, but I'm trying to make a joke quicker than before, trying to say the same thing with fewer words...

I used to have this "don't laugh if you don't laugh, I think it's funny" attitude. It was slow, irritating, annoying... Now I try to do it more rhythmically. I used to be someone who came from a student house and was really depressed, unhappy, and felt misunderstood. Now I don't have that luxury. If I go on stage that grumpy, it's just acting.

“CONTINUING TO BE GRUNNIE IS SPOILED”

Did you become happier as you grew older?

I'm certainly not happy, but I'm clearly not. I wrote something in that student house, and now I can perform in Edinburgh and still be in the same room with a hundred people I'd be friends with and laugh with them. It's a bit spoiled to keep that crankiness going.

Are you thinking of writing a book?

We were thinking about compiling the podcasts and the articles in Uykusuz and publishing them as a book. That's still a possibility. Other than that, I'm not that confident in my written language.

I'd love to, actually, because I think it's very freeing. Having to constantly tell stories that include me is a narrow path for imagination.

I'm so eager to write about a different character, a different world. But it's a completely different field, and I'm not that much of a book reader anymore, unfortunately. It helps me in stand-up and podcasting, but it feels so far removed from literature.

“I WANT TO CONTINUE THE PODCAST”

Will the podcast continue?

I want to continue. I made the last episode two years ago. When the stage work reached 10-15 episodes a month, I couldn't dedicate any time to it. I write the podcast in 15-20 days. Looking back, I love all but one or two episodes. It's gotten better, but I don't want to spoil the series with three or four rushed episodes.

Are you reducing the number of stand-ups?

I did a total of two shows this summer. I'm trying to write a script and watch something. I've been back there after years. I'm writing a movie right now, and it's going really well.

“I WAS LISTENING TO THE PEAK FOR HOURS”

I'd like to end the interview by remembering Irfan Abi, just like you did. Finally, why do you play the Peyk?

When I first moved to Istanbul, I felt very lonely. I lived in Hisarüstü, close to the Bosphorus. I'd go to the free cafeteria. From there, I'd go back and forth to Kadıköy, an hour and a half. And Istanbul seemed so foreign, the people... I had no friends, etc. You also have to be cheerful when going to a comedy show. I'd always listen to Peyk, for hours, just Peyk... If the show was bad, more melancholic songs... Then I started performing; we'd play Peyk songs at the entrance. Then İrfan Abi learned them too. They came to my show as Peyk. I remember there were 50 people in total, five of them... I looked at them as if my mother and father were there, as if they were the judges, laughing... They really loved it. Then İrfan Abi and I sat somewhere else, wanting to do something else too... Don Kafa plays at the end of "Selam Selam" as the credits roll. They accepted with pleasure and worked harder than I did.

That's partly why... I feel sad, but it feels like I'm traveling with him...