Comedian Ron James on life, the road, CAA and everything else
5 Minute Read
Sitting on a park bench in front of the CAA offices, Canadian comedian Ron James is singing a few notes from “Summertime Dream” by late fellow Canadian, Gordon Lightfoot.
It’s almost too intensely, too iconically Canadian, but Ron James is not a man to shy away from the awkward moment.
He's a quick-witted and fast-talking comedian, but not as much of a singer, so after making his way through the opening lines --
“Where the road runs down by the Butternut Grove ...to old Bill Skinner’s stream, do tell at the noonday bell, it's time for a summertime dream”
-- he pivots back to waxing poetic about driving Canadian highways over several decades of touring, much of it in an old Ford Rambler.
“I remember that first tour around the frozen tip of Lake Superior in the dead of February, playing lonesome sentinels of Gitche Gumee [the Ojibwe name for Lake Superior]. And I turned the corner one day and I got this metaphysical drop kick to the solar plexus. It's like I was driving into a canvas painted by the Group of Seven, and it was truly an epiphany. It was a holy moment, and that's what I began to call the soul note of the big wide open.”
Having criss-crossed the country for decades, it’s no surprise that James is a life-long CAA Member who says he’s “on a first-name basis” with the South-Central Ontario dispatch team, having needed regular boosts for a Toyota 4Runner he once owned.
“I’ve never had a life-or-death situation, thankfully, but I've battled blizzards that a Yeti wouldn’t wander into, knowing full well that had I jack knifed and ended up being hauled into the woods by predators, CAA would have found the car.”
Blizzards and road hazards aside, James’ intimate and ongoing relationship with every bend in the road has only deepened his poetic arcs and sharpened his wit.
Currently touring “Not Nearly Done Yet”, in which he opines on everything from dating as a senior citizen to growing up in the Maritimes, James’ incisive wit is as pointed as ever. He also draws on material from his autobiography, Ron James All Over the Map (Doubleday Canada), which he wrote during the pandemic lockdown spent in his Toronto condo.
“The book allowed me to explore the narrative and pay attention to the emotional note I want it to hit, rather than worrying about getting laughs all the time,” he says.
“And not to say that getting laughs all the time is bad, it's just the rules of that rink. But they complement each other. I've always enjoyed having words trip off the tongue and tickle the ear as well as the funny bone.”
Words certainly flow from James’ mind without pause, which he says is part of the reason he grew up with a stutter.
“I stuttered something terrible. We went to a speech therapist and then a doctor who said, ‘He’s just got so many thoughts in his head, he’s trying to get them out too fast.’ And of course,” he adds, “year later I was diagnosed with ADHD. It all makes sense.”
There’s not much James leaves unsaid, so CAA Magazine asked him a few questions. Answers are edited for length.
You’ve been doing stand up for decades and had The Ron James Show on the CBC for years. Has touring changed much for you?
After 30 years in stand up, it's a wonderful feeling. It's a sanctuary, right? It's your home and it's where you can channel the life force to the best of your abilities. There's so much polarization, whether it's the overly sensitive legions of the woke who can't take a joke, or the foot soldiers in the armies of the New Reich where up is down and blue is brown whose leaders are a joke. For the two hours I'm on that stage, somehow I manage to get everyone on the same page and they all enjoy themselves and process the trauma of their daily march through life. Bright fury in the language of laughs.
You’ve lived in Toronto for 45 years, but you’re known as a relatable East Coaster, like so many famous names, from Ernest Buckler to Rick Mercer.
I got goosebumps mentioning [Buckler’s] name. The Mountain and the Valley. Thomas H. Raddall, of course. The Nymph and the Lamp. Alistair MacLeod was a huge influence on me. Wow. I will guarantee that in my 45 years in the business, no one’s ever dropped an Ernest Buckler reference in an interview. So, thanks.
Is your lyrical approach to language all you or the place you’re from?
It's a little bit of both. I inherited from people who loved language. My father could really wrap his tongue around a profanity, but it was so alliterative. There's something about the beautiful gifts that he and my mom gave me. My relations were great storytellers, and they were funny and caustic and salty. Over time, I just became more comfortable in my own skin up there [on stage] and I was able to honour the language in a way I wanted while the mandate of the microphone.
You were on Second City and spent time in Los Angeles but didn’t want to raise your family there, so you based your career here. Any reflections on that choice?
I’ve always been grateful for every single gig because the 11 months I was unemployed in Los Angeles and just nose-diving into debt really sired my desire to achieve the Canadian dream. I just love touring this place, whether it’s newfoundland or Thunder Bay, seeing the kindness of people in Saskatchewan, just everywhere. I’d much rather be my vehicle, negotiating widow-making strips of asphalt smeared with black ice to get to a gig that’s going to be packed on a frozen February night.
Last question. What makes us laugh?
Canadians don’t like their comedy mean. That doesn’t mean you can’t rock the apple cart. That doesn’t mean you can’t speak truth to power. It doesn’t mean everything has to be nice, because you have to hold power to account, that’s the mandate of standup comedy. But it’s how you do it. I’ve always tried to achieve some level of affable subversion.
I’m just so excited to be sneaking up on 67 and still hearing laughter from the audience. Seinfeld said the greatest joy is from making people laugh. It’s always been the case with me.
