Interview with the Swiss comedian Emil Steinberger

Mr. Steinberger - wait, is that even the right form of address, or are you Emil to everyone?

In the past, people really just called me Emil on the street. Nowadays, it's more and more common to call me Herr Steinberger. But the form of address changes almost from town to town in Switzerland. I don't make a distinction. Both are fine.

You are said to be more famous in Switzerland than William Tell: Do you consider yourself a national treasure?

Oh no, even if the press loves such expressions. I'm modest about that. I could easily do without such comparisons.

How much of Emil Steinberger is in the fictional character Emil?

Quite a bit. I have to admit. One or two of Emil Steinberger's character traits do shine through in his stage character.

What characteristic did the stage Emil take on?

In the beginning, I was shy and inhibited. My upbringing played a role in that. I constantly asked myself: What do people think of me? And when Emil Steinberger got red in the face, Emil on stage did too from time to time. But he couldn't run away. He had to persevere. It was only through these performances that I gained courage. For that, I'm grateful to life on stage.

You are 92 now: Does the stage keep you young?

For the past three years, we've worked primarily on the "Typisch Emil" film. Those were tough years. We basically tell my entire life story in the documentary. There was little time for performances. But I enjoy acting. I don't keep track of how old I am. Suddenly, I was 80 and hadn't even noticed. Whenever possible, I don't concern myself with dates. I'm fine.

The “Emil” film is already showing in cinemas in Switzerland: What are the reactions?

I was surprised by how moved the audience was after the performances. Some of them teared up, and then I did too. They didn't let go of my hand. Others hugged me—and asked my wife Niccel beforehand if they were really allowed to hug Emil.

What moves the audience so much?

There are parents in the audience who wonder whether they supported their children enough. Conversely, adults say their parents never appreciated their talents. They let their parents dictate their careers, and they want to change that – just like I did: First, I became a postal worker, as my parents wanted, and later, they never appreciated my work as a comedian. My mother called it "stupidity," as you can read in interviews.

Do you still feel these injuries?

It was hard at first. I often cried on the street as I marched to the theater. I couldn't comprehend it. This lack of sympathy hurt me deeply. You can't get over something like that.

Your success should have taught parents a lesson: How often have you performed the famous number with the stroller and the three kilo and 850 gram baby?

At least a few thousand times. "The Stroller" was one of the first numbers. For a long time, I played it almost nonstop. When I was 80, I plucked up the courage to push the stroller back on stage. The number at the police station also came back into favor in nostalgia programs.

Do you remember how the stroller number came about?

Originally, I wanted to write a scene about baby food. I'd read on a package how terribly complicated the blending process is. You're supposed to mix three-quarters of this with one-eighth of that. But then it turned out what wonderfully chaotic situations a stroller can trigger, especially when it comes to the technology...

...it was a problematic Swedish model, as Emil says on stage...

...exactly: And suddenly, baby food became a secondary concern. It always made me happy when I could improvise a trick on a whim. Stroller technology was constantly evolving, but I still use the stroller from the 1960s that my son used as a baby.

How much do you improvise during your performances?

During the first few performances after a premiere, I refine the program. I listen to recordings on tape, delete, and correct things. After about 20 performances, everything stays as it is. Then not a single word is superfluous. If a new gag unexpectedly pops up during the performance, hopefully my wife Niccel will be backstage writing it down so we don't forget it. At one program, I asked the audience to shout out what they would like to see.

Expert on the Swiss bourgeois: cabaret artist Emil Steinberger at a performance in the 1980s.

Source: IMAGO/Wilhelm Mierendorf

Without any restrictions?

Yes, I was supposed to improvise, for example, a doctor's visit or a gas station attendant without gas. I did that right away. It always worked. In total, I did 260 such improvisations. I have to give myself a pat on the back for that.

Are you surprised that people still laugh at your stories from back then?

It's incredible that people can remember the lyrics for decades and recite them by heart. They tell me this at every book signing. Just recently, someone told me that five generations of their family are appearing in the film "Typisch Emil."

Where does the durability of your humor come from?

I'm concerned with human nature. Political references hardly play a role. Human weaknesses remain relevant. We humans always make the same mistakes. We have to admit that.

Were you sometimes tempted to include political elements?

I've often thought about it. After just three minutes of watching TV, I'd come up with something. But I never did it. I wouldn't have been able to connect the characters I play with current political issues. A viewer once said to me: It's so nice with you. You sit down and are entertained. With other comedians, you always have to study exactly what they mean.

Do you pursue a humane educational mission?

No, that would be arrogant. I'm not driven by missionary ideas. I don't want to change people. I play it funny, polish everything with a little nonsense, and then you realize how stupidly we humans often behave.

You've touched so much in your long career on stage. You even performed an entire season with the Swiss Circus Knie. How did Emil get along with tigers and elephants?

That was a crazy year. With Emil, everything was over the top. We had to do a lot of extra performances and ended up with more than 1.3 million viewers in one season, a record. I never would have dreamed it. We hardly rehearsed back then. I played an ice cream seller or a spectator who wanders into the tiger's cage. I also brought the children into the ring and chased them around a bit as animal tamers. One child lion even got a cauliflower as a reward. The people were happy.

Your career took you behind the Iron Curtain to the GDR: How did that happen?

In the mid-1970s, I appeared on the television show "Ein Kessel Buntes" at the request of the Friedrichstadt-Palast in East Berlin. Afterward, I was offered a role at the Distel cabaret theater. Emil was apolitical, after all. The officials still feared that I might introduce something controversial. But I didn't. And lo and behold: people in the GDR laughed at the same things.

Do you play different numbers in Germany than in Switzerland or Austria?

No. Outside of Switzerland, I speak standard German—or French, translated as simply as possible. I have to paraphrase some things. But there were sure signs that a stunt would work: I remember once the cameraman was shaking with laughter during a recording—and the TV images along with him.

Do the Germans appreciate your linguistic approach?

Some people think I speak Swiss German. Then, when they're on vacation in Switzerland, standing at the cheese counter, they wonder why they can't understand the salesperson. And then they ask: How can that be? I understand Emil too.

How do the Swiss view the Germans today?

A lot seems to be happening there right now. Clearly, there's a lot that needs to be caught up on and made up for. Road construction, Deutsche Bahn, the military, even the fear for democracy exists. There's a huge package on the table. As a Swiss, I don't even want to comment on that.

And how must Switzerland change?

Well, unfortunately, we can't lower the high prices. That would be something. We're already expanding the army. And we saw how dangerous it is to live in the mountains these days with climate change when the village of Blatten suddenly disappeared under glacial debris.

Has humor changed today?

The American style has won: comedy that relies primarily on language, but less on facial expressions, costumes, and body language, which is my preferred style. Comedy can fill theaters again. There are really good people doing it, including here in Germany.

Does humor help against hate?

Yes, but only if there's no hate in the humor. Humor can make everything better. Humor can be medicine. If I feel the flu creeping up on me before a performance, I'll be healthy afterward.

Do you at least still have stage fright?

Before a premiere, I feel the tension: How confidently will I know the text? But fortunately, I've never had real stage fright. It starts as early as 4 p.m. in the afternoon! Anyone who suffers from it really suffers. I couldn't have endured that, and it wouldn't have been possible on my long tours. Today, I can chat with the firefighter on stage, and a minute later, the curtain rises.

What’s next for you after “Typical Emil”?

Let's see what effect this film has. My wife is a painter and finally wants to get back to work in her studio. For years, she's been busy organizing my life every day, whether it's tours, interviews, or travel. I couldn't manage any of this without her. Without her, there wouldn't be the "Emil" film either. Maybe I'll continue writing my autobiography, which should have been finished long ago. But because life always goes on, I must always keep writing. To put it in my own words as a Swiss person: I'm not out of the woods yet.