Stand-up Comedy

Stand-up Comedy

          If you’ve seen the movie The Aristocrats, you know how demented comedians can be.  The Aristocrats “joke” is purposefully lewd and disgusting.  In fact, the joke perpetuates and magnifies the crudeness and pushes comedians to try to out-do each other with more and more sick imagination.  It does not help burnish the image of the profession.  I’m sure one of the biggest challenges for new comedians is to know where to draw the line and how much vulgarity to put into their routine. To a certain extent, the more buttoned-up and clean-cut the comedian may seem, the funnier it is if they toss in some vulgarity to spice up the dialogue.  I’ll bet that makes maintaining that line in the sand that much more difficult to do when comedians want so badly to get a rise out of their audiences.  It’s a slippery slope, and it is hard to stay on the non-vulgar path.

          At a cabaret show last year there was a lovely young lady singer/performer whose riff was mostly about her being a lesbian.  That humor may have been risqué and a bit off-color, but it was not vulgar per se.  This well-dressed and attractive young lady told one of the funniest lines I’ve ever heard in a live show.  She was describing life in New York and referenced seeing a bum squatting in between two parked cars, presumably to defecate.  That alone was not so funny, but then she said, in quite a matter-of-fact manner, “Who among us hasn’t been there?”  It was such an absurd comment made by such a dainty feminine person that it struck me as hilarious.  To me, that surprise factor combined with basic every-day realities (in this case, stark realities of city life) are the essence of good humor.

          I know three people who have decided to try their hand at stand-up comedy.  The first is an old banking friend who always had an offbeat sense of humor.  Back in the days of our banking partnership (during the 1990’s) there were always three of us who were tapped to be the master-of-ceremonies.  It was like being chosen to be the MC at the Oscars.  It required someone who could be funny in a disciplined way, but who could also be quick-witted enough on their feet to thrust and parry with rogue partners trying to make fun of the festivities.  This old banking friend is tall and has that Ichabod Crane look about him with a shock of white unkempt hair, so he started off with a bit of sight-gag humor since he always looked uncomfortable and ill-at-ease.  His humor was what I would call “retired Jewish guy” humor that always started by him saying he was retired, but all he knew for certain was that his employer had just stop sending him a paycheck. It usually got a laugh, but I wasn’t sure why.  I went to a number of his shows over the years and as he aged, he started losing a step, or two, or three, etc., etc. It became painful to attend, but some of us kept supporting him until he decided to pack it in.  I guess it fulfilled a need he had at the time, so no harm done.

          When this partner was not asked to be MC, the task fell to either our head of trading or me.  Our head of trading was a shortish ordained Rabi with a meaningful Jewfro (that’s what he called it) and usually wore suede Wallabies for some reason.  He was capable of hilariously funny humor, and he always got the audience on his side out of respect for his trading prowess, his devotion to his religion and his wry twinkling smile.  I, on the other hand, had my size as a sight gag. I will admit to a modicum of wit, but I felt that whatever success I had in this role was attributable to excess effort that I put in to polish my act.  It did not just “happen”, and I could at best count on half the audience being favorably disposed towards me.  Sometimes I made it work and sometimes not do much.  I am sure that all three of us have some wound of youth that made us want to put ourselves on the line in such a high-risk way.  Who knows why people subject themselves to voluntary activities that have minimal upside and plenty of downside, but we do.

          The next friend to subject himself to the rigors of stand-up comedy was a “young” guy who worked for me thirty years ago.  He’s actually not so young at this stage.  He is a very smart, good-looking, Ivy League graduate who never really got out of his prep school manner.  He was a bit sophomoric in his twenties and he hasn’t really gotten better since.  I have not gone to see his show because it makes me cringe just thinking about it.  This is a guy whose nickname gave him away as a self-centered sort who has a crude frat boy sense of humor.  I should probably go to one of his shows just to see if I’m correct.  I recently had lunch with him and learned he is a rabid pro-Trumper.  His diatribe about being tired of the pompous liberal-elite put me off to wanting to spend more time with him for a while, much less to go watch his brand of humor.

          I have known for some time that my son, who graduated from my alma mater with a degree in performing arts, had a hankering for stand-up comedy.  I have suspected for years that he aspires to being on Saturday Night Live.  He was the lead in every middle school and high school play. He played drums in an accomplished high school band.  He sang acapella in college.  He has been doing improv work on the side for two years as he has started his career.  He spent his first year out of school as the personal assistant to Jim Gaffigan, the top-rated comedian. He is a good solid performer with a good voice and a good stage presence.  So, I was not surprised when I heard that he has started a stand-up comedy career.

          His first show was last week, and he gave me a video of the performance.  His schtick was based on his family life as the child of a modern family of divorce.  He made joking reference to both his mother and me.  He was very funny and performed admirably.  I shared the video with some relatives who said they laughed out loud (I suspect part of that reaction was watching me get some comeuppance).  I had dinner with him last night and he confided in me that he had posted the video on Instagram at the urging of his friends who attended the performance.  He said he got over 100 texts complimenting him on the performance.  He said it meant more to him than any other performance he has done and that the praise was encouraging him to go on and do more stand-up.  I encouraged him and we talked about how he might expand the source of his schtick material. 

          While I do not want to see my son chase a dream that is so filled with likely disappointment, I admire anyone who chases their dreams at all costs.  That makes me prone to encouraging him for as long as he has the dream. I watched The Rookie the other night and am reminded that one of the worst pieces of fatherly advice that I have seen given is “Do what you want to do until it was time to start doing what you were meant to do.”  It was meant to discourage his son, Dennis Quaid, from following his dream in the Major Leagues.  Kim pointed out to me that the way to look at it was to wonder if perhaps playing baseball is, indeed, what he was meant to do.  I like that.  Maybe my son is meant to do stand-up comedy.