To Hull and Back.
Bella Hull, Uncovered
“You know those people who get addicted to porn, and they can only orgasm when they’re watching a gorilla on a motorbike, or something? It’s like that.”
By Fred Spanner
Bella Hull has the rare ability to talk about career anxiety, moral panic, and gorillas on motorbikes in the same breath and somehow make it feel cohesive. The Cambridge-educated stand-up has built a reputation on sharp writing, dark instincts, and a disarming self-awareness about what comedy does to your brain over time.
From being permanently drunk at university and blagging essays with Wikipedia hyperlinks still intact, to surviving the terror of Footlights auditions and faking confidence on Have I Got News For You, Hull is candid about the chaos behind the calm delivery.
We caught up with her to talk nerves, bad jokes that still feel worth it, and why, after years in comedy, it now takes something properly unhinged to make her laugh.
Where did you hang out when you were at Cambridge Uni?
There was a place called Cindy’s. Wednesday was the big one; we used to get totally mashed. I was always in the ADC bar, as I used to do a lot of comedy there. I’ll be honest, I was pretty much hammered for the three years I was there. It was just basically being stressed, writing a show, doing it, and then realising I had an essay to hand in the next day.
Then I’d rush to the library and realise all the books had already been taken out by people who were far more diligent than me, then just trying to crazily hash together something.
We had supervisions where there was one tutor to two students. It was probably my lowest moment. I’d done an essay on 17th-century salons, which was basically a lot of copying and pasting from Wikipedia. I’d even left all the hyperlinks in. I’m actually getting shivers from thinking about it now.
She picked it up and said, “What the fuck is this?” I didn’t have an answer. I could only apologise. I was the thickest person in the room, but sometimes that's the best place to be.
You were in the Cambridge Footlights, following in some very famous footsteps. What’s the audition process for that?
I can tell you it’s very fucking scary. Looking back at it now, I define myself as having done the Fringe and hundreds of club gigs, so when people bring up Footlights, it doesn’t seem so big. At the time, it felt like the highest stakes thing.
I wasn’t very academic, but as a teenager, I was just obsessed with comedy. I started doing standup when I was 17, but I applied to Cambridge very strategically because I wanted ot do Footlights. So, when I got there, the idea that I wouldn’t get in wasn’t an idea I wanted to entertain.
You audition at the end of your second year, and there’s a committee of people who select the new additions. It was a great opportunity, because every two weeks they had these things called Smokers, which is an hour that’s all yours. It’s always sold out, and you get to do whatever you want. You can perform, or help write the show.
It’s a great opportunity to write and perform stuff in front of hundreds of people. When you’re 19 or 20, that’s a big deal. Of course, when it came to performing, I had terrible stage fright, and I ended up having to go to a hypnotist.
What the opportunity gave me as well was the chance to meet other people who wanted to do comedy. It also gave me the confidence after I graduated to give it a proper go.
I then got to meet other people who had made a bit of money and had some success, and I think that’s really important when you’re starting out. When I was 17, I didn’t know anyone else in the comedy world, and it felt so strange.
There were some lovely people as well as some awful people at Cambridge, but what it did was give me a head start, so when I started doing open mics in London, I felt confident.
How were the nerves before your appearance on Have I Got News For You?
I was so surprised to get that gig. A year ago, my career was in a totally different place. I was happy with my life, doing ten gigs a week in comedy clubs. I was loving it. Then the producers at Hattrick came to watch my show.
Then I got to audition for the show in front of the Hattrick guys, which was pretty scary. But I auditioned with Finlay Christie, who is a really old friend of mine. I felt very lucky to get it. It’s a show I’ve watched since I was a kid.
It felt extremely surreal to do it, and I was very worried that it would be a big mistake if it didn’t go well. There was also the worry that someone would ask me a political question, andI’d appear stupid. But they assured me that the comic’s role is just to be funny and not have a particular take on things.
Once the cameras started rolling, I just had to get on with it and try to enjoy it. I think I was one of the youngest comedians to do it in a while. I faked my confidence, but it went well in the end. The response was overwhelmingly nice, and my following went right up. I was getting lots of texts from dads saying, “Lovely smile. Best wishes from Bishop Stortford.”
You’ve made it now. As far as Bishops Stortford, anyhow.
Your comedy style is quite universal and easy to listen to. Are there any topics you feel you won’t ever cover?
I think the tide is turning on the ‘What you can and can’t say’ discussion. When the MeToo movement started, I think a lot of comedians took a back step and were, quite rightly, not wanting to offend anyone. I think a lot of good things came out of that, but I do feel the dam is slightly breaking now.
People are starting to feel more comfortable being edgier. I think a really good comic can get away with talking about anything, as long as the joke lands. I don’t think it’s a case of “anyone can talk about anything”. I think it’s a skill-dependent thing.
The more skillful you are as a comic, the more you can get away with. I also think that comedy is a lot about the surprise element. I’ve always liked super-dark comedy. It just itches a certain part of my brain.
You know those people who get addicted to porn, and they can only orgasm when they’re watching a gorilla on a motorbike, or something? It’s like that.
I get like that in comedy, because I’ve done it for so long. I’ve seen and heard so much that it takes something edgy or dark to make me laugh. And you have to be careful, because that’s not the broadest sense of humour. You have to kind of reverse engineer it.
I live with a comedian called Dan Tiernan, and the kind of jokes we tell in the flat will never see the light of day. It’s like we found it funny, but let’s see how we can make it work to appeal to a broader audience. People with normal brains, for example.
If comedy is ironic and it’s making a comment on a certain thing, it works. It’s like Al Murray’s audience. Half of them are in on the joke and half like it directly without noticing the layers.
That’s one of the problems with gaining a bigger audience. You can’t control how people are interpreting what you’re doing. I think it’s best just to write what’s in you, give it to the world, and then see what happens.
Have you ever been pulled up after a gig about a joke you made?
Yes, it was probably one of the darkest jokes I’ve done. It was about how I was an early developer and how I hit puberty really early. Everyone else was a child, and I was forced to be a CHILF. The two-star review said I was a paedo apologist! I was mortified. All of my friends thought it was so funny.
You do hit a fork in the road where you ask yourself if you should take these things out in future, or if you’re going to just say, “No! Fuck it!”
I’ve seen loads of comedians do jokes about stuff that I wasn’t in the mood to hear, but you have to accept these things in a comedy club. That’s the thing with comedy, you won’t like all of it.
Is there a TV show you’d secretly like to do?
My cringeometer is so sensitive, but I’d like to do more comedy panel shows and some comedy presenting. I’d quite like to do Love Island. It’s a fun show. The thing with comedy is that it’s so unpredictable. You can’t always plan these things. Often it's just luck. I’m writing for the new UK SNL show, then I’ll need to write my next Fringe show, too. I write best when I’m under pressure.
I’d like to keep doing standup. That’s my thing.