Honestly, if you saw Steve Martin at a dive bar in 1970, you probably would’ve hated him. He wasn’t doing "jokes." He was doing card tricks that failed on purpose. He was playing a banjo while wearing bunny ears. He was basically the world’s most confident bad entertainer.
But that was the whole point. Steve Martin on comedy is a masterclass in how to win by breaking every single rule that came before you.
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Back then, comedy was about the setup and the punchline. You tell a story about your mother-in-law, you hit the zinger, the audience laughs, and the tension is released. Martin thought that was boring. He wanted to see what happened if you never let the tension go. He’d build and build and build, being sillier and weirder, until the audience literally started laughing out of desperation because they didn't know what else to do.
It was a total gamble. It almost didn't work.
The Philosophy of "Anti-Comedy"
Most people don't realize Steve Martin was a philosophy major at Long Beach State. He wasn't just some goofball; he was a guy who read Wittgenstein and Lewis Carroll and thought, “What if I applied logic to being an idiot?” He decided that if a laugh is just a release of tension, he could create a new kind of "comedy" where the performer is the joke, not the material. He didn't want you to laugh at a pun. He wanted you to laugh at the fact that a grown man in a white suit was standing there with an arrow through his head acting like a genius.
It was avant-garde. It was punk rock before punk rock was a thing.
The 18-Year Overnight Success
Martin has this famous breakdown of his career:
- Ten years spent learning.
- Four years spent refining.
- Four years spent in wild, "rock star" success.
That’s nearly two decades of grinding in places like "The Beef and Bottle" or opening for bluegrass bands where nobody cared who he was. He used to perform at drive-in theaters where people honked their horns instead of clapping. Imagine the grit that takes. He gave himself a deadline: if he didn't make it by 30, he was done. He made it by the skin of his teeth.
Why He Walked Away at the Top
By 1978, Steve Martin was the biggest thing on the planet. He was selling out football stadiums. People were showing up wearing "Wild and Crazy Guy" shirts and screaming his catchphrases so loud he couldn't even hear his own timing.
And that's why he quit.
He realized his "experiment" was over. When you're performing for 45,000 people, you can’t do nuance. You can’t do the subtle flick of a finger or a long, awkward silence. You're just a tiny white dot in the distance delivering "the hits." He felt like a jukebox.
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In 1981, he just... stopped. He moved to movies (The Jerk, Roxanne, Planes, Trains and Automobiles) and eventually became the elder statesman of comedy we see now in Only Murders in the Building.
What You Can Learn from the "Wild and Crazy Guy"
You don't have to be a comedian to use Martin's playbook. His approach to Steve Martin on comedy is really just a blueprint for any creative work.
Be Naive (on purpose).
Martin always says that "naivete" is the most important thing for a creator. If you knew how hard it was going to be, or how "unqualified" you were, you’d never start. He didn't have "natural ability" for comedy; he had the guts to be bad until he was good.
Precision is Everything.
The "silly" act was actually incredibly calculated. He would tape his shows and listen back to the timing of every single word. He learned that being "out of control" on stage requires total control behind the scenes.
Perseverance Over Talent.
He’s the first to admit he wasn't the funniest guy in the room. He was just the one who didn't quit when the "Beef and Bottle" crowd stared at him in silence.
How to Apply This Today
If you're trying to build something new, stop looking at what everyone else is doing. Martin didn't look at Bob Hope; he looked at magic shops and philosophy books.
- Find your "Arrow Through the Head." What’s the thing you do that feels weird but authentic to you? Lean into it.
- Commit to the "10-Year Rule." Stop expecting a viral hit in six months. Real craft takes a decade of being ignored.
- Watch "Born Standing Up." If you haven't read his memoir, do it. It’s widely considered the best book ever written about the actual work of being funny.
Steve Martin proved that you don't need to tell the best jokes to win. You just need to be the only person doing exactly what you're doing.
To truly understand his impact, start by watching his early appearances on The Tonight Show from the mid-70s. Pay attention not to what he says, but to how he stands and how he uses silence. It’s a masterclass in holding an audience’s attention without giving them what they expect.