The 2 Johnnies launch a prime time TV show on RTÉ2
In the middle of March, as the world teetered, a former SuperValu butcher and his hurley-making best friend from Cahir were almost caught up in a real-life disaster movie.
“We were in Boston and made the call to come home,” says Johnny McMahon, better known nowadays by his stage name of “Johnny Smacks”.
“It was all kicking off with Coronavirus,” nods Johnny O’Brien, aka Johnny B. “We were meant to go to New York but decided against it.”
“We thought we might have to swim home,” chimes McMahon, finishing his friend’s sentences.
There’s a lot finishing each other’s sentences with O'Brien and McMahon, aka The 2 Johnnies. From the unlikely show-business hotbed of South Tipperary, the duo have become one of the biggest new sensations in Irish comedy. And their popularity is set to spread further with a new RTÉ travel series, the 2 Johnnies Do America.
“It’s Louis Theroux meets Nationwide — with a bit of insanity thrown in,” says O’Brien, who initially comes across as the chattier of the pair (as the conversation continues it becomes clear that both are somehow the chattier of the pair).
They at least made it to Los Angeles before Covid-19 ushered in the horrible new normal. Their capers in the City of Angels form the basis of the first episode of the show, which comes to RTÉ 2 Thursday, September 3. Among other escapades, they visit the “LA Cougars” GAA club and are taken to a goat yoga class by an Irish influencer.
“The LA Cougars have one of the most intense coaches I’ve seen,” says O’Brien. “He’s a Dub and a proper Mr Motivator. They train on Venice Beach and play at Culver City. We said we’d join in the training while the cameras were rolling. Suddenly he’s screaming at us, in 25-degree heat. We’re sweating to death on the beach and this guy is taking it pretty seriously.”
There was also time for a visit to the Compton and Watts neighbourhoods, notorious in the Eighties and Nineties for gang violence.
“They have a drive-in funeral home. They reckon it cuts down on the violence,” says O’Brien.
The 2 Johnnies aren’t for everyone. If you like your comedy piquant and deep-fried in irony — if you’re a snob, in other words — they may not be your thing. I mention a conversation I had with YouTube comic Farmer Michael, who spoke of the derision he had received from the comedy establishment in Dublin. The idea of a comedian from “rural” Ireland becoming a phenomenon seemed to get beneath the skin of “real” stand-ups.
“I don’t think we’ve ever met anyone who does stand-up in Dublin,” shrugs McMahon. “We wouldn’t know them.”
“I guess maybe there was a bit of snobbery at the start,” says O’Brien. “When it comes to selling tickets, they’re asking you for advice. Things have changed.”
The 2 Johnnies began in 2016 when O’Brien, the hurler maker, and McMahon, the butcher, were asked to MC a fundraiser at Cahir GAA (McMahon at the time lined out for the football team). They discovered they had chemistry and went down a riot. Comedy duos either work or they don’t. And the 2 Johnnies sparked immediately.
O’Brien, as it happened, had a secondary career alongside the hurley-making. He was lead singer with covers ensemble Johnny B and the Boogeymen (“Tipperary’s favourite wedding band”). But after the Cahir fundraiser he realised comedy was his true passion and so he knocked music on the head. McMahon, meanwhile, had soon quit his SuperValu job. Within six months of their first time on stage together, they were working full-time on the 2 Johnnies.
They have since created a mini-empire. Their 2Johnnies Podcast has an estimated quarter of a million weekly listeners. An accompanying YouTube channel has racked up over 106,000 subscribers, with fans flocking to sketches such as “When Should You Move In With Your Other Half?” and “10 Things You Didn’t Know About Cork” (“Cork people can tell you’re dyslexic just by looking at your feet”). Prior to the pandemic, they were headlining top-tier venues such as Vicar Street.
“We’re captains of our own ship,” says O’Brien. "That ship is going in many directions. It’s spinning around, I would say. We’re constantly working. If we’re not working on YouTube we’re working on a TV show. And if not that, a podcast."
They try not to get caught up in analysing their success. Their philosophy is that if it works, go with it. But, if you can permit them to be serious for a moment, they feel that they speak to the lived experience of young Irish people. Also, they don’t take themselves especially seriously (rarer for Irish comics than you might think). On their podcast in particular, they know when to shut up and let guests such as Bryan Callen (an American comedian who had a cameo in ) and Dave McSavage have the floor.
“People like that we’re honest and that we aren’t what you hear on the radio day in day out,” says O’Brien. “The first time we did the podcast, we were thinking, “I hope people like this. I hope we have something to say.” There’s a lot of generic stuff out there [in podcasting]. People are afraid to give opinions. That’s where we differ. Our opinion isn’t the most important one. But we give it anyway.”
They started as a largely Tipperary phenomenon but had soon gone national. It’s a sign of their stature in Irish comedy that they received one of the more prominent slots in RTÉ’s Comic Relief broadcast in June, sharing the bill with a reunited Zig and Zag and the cast of . It was quite a turn, too, as they performed as 'Westlife', with sports presenters Marty Morrissey and Des Cahill on backing vocals. At one point the camera suddenly zoomed in to reveal Morrissey in a blinding white suit. Once seen it was not easily forgotten.
“They asked us if we had any ideas,” says O’Brien. “It was the first time we’d been outside Tipperary since the lockdown. Any excuse to get out — even visiting a filling station was a novelty.”
“Marty and Des are great craic,” adds McMahon. “Who doesn’t want to dress in a white suit and dance around with Marty Morrissey? Any time you don’t get trolled on Twitter after doing national television is a good night.”
RTÉ’s reputation for comedy is patchy to put it mildly. Perhaps it’s an indication that the broadcaster has finally seen the light that it is bringing outside talent such as the 2 Johnnies.
“People say RTÉ can’t do comedy,” says O’Brien. “That is the perception. Recently it’s maybe had to do with the fact that and have been on the BBC and Channel 4. With our project, we loosened the reins and just ran with it. That’s how you make good comedy. If you’re putting shackles on people you’re not going to be funny. You have to be yourself. We just do what’s funny.”
