Former comedians share the tipping point that led them to quit in documentary

The percentage who can become major stars is less than 0.01%

“When I was a student, there was this extremely popular theater called Shinsaibashi-suji 2-chome Theater. Comedians in their third or fourth year were appearing on TV one after another. People around my age were freely performing as if it were an extension of school after class, and girls were screaming and cheering. I thought, ‘What a glamorous and fun world this is,’ and I dreamed of becoming a comedian. But only a very small handful of comedians ever get that kind of spotlight.”

These words come from Mr. Peiji Fujii (53), the straight man of the comedy duo Tobii Renkyu. He joined Yoshimoto’s training school, Osaka NSC, as part of the 13th class, and was active on shows like Bakusho On-Air Battle (NHK, 1999–2009). His NSC class had around 300 students, including Jicho Kacho, Yasei Bakudan, Black Mayonnaise, Yoshimi Tokui (from Tutorial), and Chance Ooshiro. “Even now, only about 10 are still active, and that’s actually a lot,” Fujii said (all comments below are his).

Today, many comedians appear on TV in variety and information programs. But even including stage performances, the number who become truly major stars—whose names are recognized nationwide by people of all ages—is likely less than 0.01%. Even those who can live solely off comedy earnings might not even make up 0.1% of all comedians.

Fujii still performs as part of his duo while also running his own YouTube channel, “Peiji Channel.” One popular series there, titled “Let’s Hear from Comedians Who Quit,” interviews former comedians about why they quit and their feelings at the time.

The show features, among others, Yukiko Nonomura, now a writer and commentator; Yosuke Matsuo, formerly of Zabungle, now living in Okinawa; Manbo Yashiro, formerly of Karika, now a screenwriter and director; and Shinichiro Ozawa, formerly of Pistachio, now working in child development support. Out of over 60 people interviewed, 19 stories were selected, with additional research, edits, and commentary compiled into the book “Geinin Haigyo: The Voyage and Regrets of Those Who Didn’t Become Downtown” (Tetsujinsha).

In comedy, it’s normal for most people who become comedians to fail to realize their dreams and quit. Yet, “Among them were some comedians who were called geniuses by their peers and could make the theater roar with laughter as if the ceiling would collapse.”

What prompted the author to speak with comedians who had quit? There was one former comedian whose presence sparked the idea.

Verbalizing the Moment the Seesaw Tilted

“It was ‘Folk Dance DE Narukozaka.’ By the time I started working in Tokyo, they had already disbanded, and the boke of the duo, Keitaro Okeda, had quit being a comedian. I never met him in person, but everyone who knew the two of them would unanimously say, ‘Okeda is a genius.’ And I kept thinking in the back of my mind, ‘Then why did he quit?’

Afterwards, his partner, Nagisa Murata, went solo following the duo’s breakup and later formed the duo ‘Hana Engine.’ They even made it to the semifinals of the ‘M-1 Grand Prix’ and were starting to show results. But in 2006, just when things were taking off, he suddenly passed away due to illness. Then, a few years ago, Okeda also passed away from illness. In the end, the questions I wanted to ask were left unanswered forever.

Meanwhile, I kept aging in the comedy world without achieving results, and my close comedian friends gradually started quitting. Around that time, I was also struggling with my YouTube channel not growing, so I thought of doing a project like this as one of the reasons to start it.”

Fujii actually interviewed his former comedian friends and uploaded the videos to his YouTube channel. Although they don’t appear in the book, the first person he interviewed was former solo comedian turned writer Professor Daiwa (Takashi Daiwa), who had once made it to the finals of the “R-1 Grand Prix.” The second was Tenpei Morieda of the duo Elephant John, who had reached the finals during the “THE MANZAI” contest period on Fuji TV.

“When I actually spoke with them, I thought, ‘This is interesting,’ Professor Daiwa was a solo comedian, so the decision to continue or quit was entirely his own. He’s married, so of course there were considerations for his wife. On the other hand, Morieda of Elephant John was in a duo, so there was the sense of shared fate with his partner. Quitting himself would also mean ending his partner’s work. So the struggles and decision points were different for each of them.”

When Fujii entered the comedy world, there was a prevailing idea that if you haven’t made it by 30, you should quit. This age limit surely made the decision to quit even harder.

“I think the desire to continue as a comedian and the reality of not seeing a future is like a seesaw. At a certain moment, that seesaw tilts with a clack toward quitting. It’s not something you could easily hear directly from someone’s mouth.

I had attended the final shows of both Professor Daiwa and Elephant John and even joined the after-parties. Naturally, questions like ‘Why are you quitting?’ came up, but the answer was always something like, ‘Well, you know various reasons.’ The core part was left ambiguous. I’m sure there were things hard to talk about at that time. But after time passed, when I had the chance to ask again, they carefully shared their feelings from back then, and it was fascinating to hear.”

Commitment to being a comedian

Geinin Haigyo (“Comedian Retirement”) depicts, in 19 different ways, the conflicts and struggles leading up to retirement: the tug-of-war between age, income, and daily life; relationships with comedy partners; the constant difficulty of creating material; and, for each, what being a comedian truly means.

“Getting on stage, performing a set, and making people laugh—that brings an incomparable joy and exhilaration. As is often said, it’s addictive. Kuri-kun from the former duo Armstrong once said, ‘The sensation of hearing the laughter hit you like a don!—it feels even better than sex.’ Well, that might vary by person [laughs], but there’s no doubt it’s an incredible feeling. Once you’ve experienced that, quitting isn’t easy. And to feel that again, you have to keep standing on stage as a comedian.”

At the same time, he notes that “some former comedians said, ‘Once I put down the title of comedian, life got a lot easier.’” The binding sense of having to be a comedian seems to weigh heavily on performers.

Words from former Pistachio member Ozawa, such as “If you call yourself a comedian, you feel like you have to do material” and “Since I no longer want to succeed as a comedian, calling myself one would be disrespectful to actual comedians,” show not only respect for active comedians but also a hint of lingering guilt.

“I think how a comedian should behave or what they should do is something each person can decide for themselves. I can’t make a living from comedy alone, but I want to cling to the title of comedian. I want to converse on equal footing with the funny comedians around me.

Personally, I feel that once you become a former comedian, that equality disappears. Even if you quit, it doesn’t mean the connection is gone, but it feels different. I might catch myself thinking, ‘Ah, I’ve quit now,’ at any given moment. That’s just my personal feeling.”

One wonders whether Fujii himself ever considered retiring from being a comedian.

Emotions You Only Notice After Quitting

“I’ve had moments when I thought, ‘Maybe I have to quit,’ but I’ve never once decided on my own to quit being a comedian. Even if I left and took another job, I’d probably regret it. Well, one reason I’ve been able to keep the duo going is that my partner Iwami never says, ‘Let’s disband’ and that’s a big factor too [laughs].

If he quit, we couldn’t do manzai. Of course, as long as I continue in comedy, I hope that someday I can work alongside my peers who are currently successful.”

When asked which words from the former comedians in the book left the strongest impression on him, Fujii mentioned Yukiko Nonomura’s remark, “At the time, I thought I was doing my best, but I really wasn’t,” and Kuri’s comment, “Even if I think I should give it my all, it’s not easy. Turning that switch on is really difficult, isn’t it?” Both are feelings you only realize in hindsight.

When leaving a place you chose to be in for various reasons, the moments of self-reflection—thinking, “If only I’d given it my all.”—apply not only to former comedians but to any line of work.

“This book contains many stories like that. But it’s by no means just a collection of complaints or regrets from former comedians. It’s a realistic, forward-looking documentary depicting people who risked everything to pursue a big dream, failed, and then rose again.

I added plenty of annotations so that even people who aren’t well-versed in comedy can understand. I think there are words in the casual conversations that resonate with anyone facing various situations. I’d be happy if it reaches as many people as possible.”