comedy

Mr. Show

Posted on by sll

Thirty episodes later, I feel like I’m part of some sort of hidden cultural lexicon. I now know where Druggachusetts is, and how insane that guy’s taint is, and many other things that [exclusivity coming] just wouldn’t make sense in a world without Mr. Show. It’s an intense, weird investment of time, definitely “patchy” (as it was described to me before I watched it), but if you’re a self-proclaimed comedy nerd, it’s worth it. And then you’ll be able to bring it up in conversation and be that person that made the profane reference that no one gets. (I’m speaking from experience.)

Flower-sweatered and beat-up-shortsed David Cross and crisp-suited Bob Odenkirk are weird guys, and they sort of eschew mainstream sketch comedy. Odenkirk was actually a writer on SNL for a little bit, and as I learned in a book I’ll be reviewing shortly on this here blog, he wasn’t a huge fan of the way things worked over there. To each his own, for sure. And so he and Cross did their own thing, on a network that allowed swearing and nudity and general heathenness, and the results were oft hilarious. Oft not, too, but that’s part of it. They were giving their version of a sketch comedy show a shot, and in the process they also trained a bunch of writers who have now come to be the leaders of LA alt-comedy, like Paul F. Tompkins, Scott Aukerman, Sarah Silverman, Tom Kenny, John Ennis, Scott Adsit, Jay Johnston, and Brian Posehn. The world is an odder, better place because these guys are making it funnier. Trust. And, even more credit to these, they’ve all aged incredibly well. It’s not often that you look better at 40ish than at 25ish. (PFT gets more dapper with age, folks.) It’s pretty fun seeing them all as kids, clearly goofing around and having the greatest time. It’s like The State, except it’s not The State. Apples and oranges, but still fruit nonetheless.

Odenkirk and Cross are still at the tops of their games, branching out into different kinds of acting while always remaining somewhat oddball. If you closely examine Saul Goodman on Breaking Bad, for example, you see that he’s not really a straight-up serious portrayal; Bob Odenkirk does it a bit tongue-in-cheek. Conversely, on Arrested Development, there’s an earnestness to David Cross’ Tobias Funke that’s almost tragic. These guys commit so well to their characters, no matter the size of the role, that it’s impossible to tell when they’re joking around because they’ve got sincerity nailed. Maybe that’s why their sketches worked so well even when they didn’t look the part. They committed.

Before I shut up and let some of my favorite sketches speak for themselves, there is a very special, brilliant aspect of Mr. Show that can’t be conveyed in YouTube clips. It’s the fact that these guys made a point of unifying all the sketches within a show, be it under a single theme or through some sort of hilariously weak connection between the last scene of one sketch and the first scene of the next. Shows just don’t think about that continuity anymore, though admittedly commercials probably prevent it from being a more prevalent feature, but it was incredibly refreshing to see just how much thought went into the show as a whole, and to see all the sketches flow so smoothly into one another. It was as close to old-fashioned, I Love Lucy TV integrity that a show with this much talk of boobs and balls could have. I digress, though. Here are the bits that cracked me up the most:

“Change for a Dollar” from “The Cry of a Hungry Baby,” Season 1, Episode 1

“Drunk Cops” from “The Biggest Failure in Broadway History,” Season 2, Episode 3

“Everest” from “The Story of Everest,” Season 4, Episode 4

“Inside the Actor” from “Sad Songs are Nature’s Onions,” Season 4, Episode 9

Finally, my absolute favorite, “Swear to God.”

Sleepwalk With Me

Posted on by sll

I listen to a lot of comedy podcasts, which means that, for the past month, I’ve been bombarded with mentions of this movie. Mike Birbiglia has appeared on a few, Ira Glass has appeared on others, and when they’re not there promoting their movie themselves, they’re getting their comedy and pop culture friends to promote it for them. Under most circumstances, I’d find this annoying. But in the case of Sleepwalk With Me, I did not. It’s impossible to dislike these guys. They’re just so damn cool.

Comedian Mike Birbiglia enlisted This American Life’s Ira Glass, a.k.a. my new crush, to help him transform his most famous standup comedy bit/book/etc into a screenplay, and the result was a cute, charming little movie, independent at its core. If you’re a comedy nerd like me, you might have appreciated Marc Maron cameo-ish-ing as himself, Marc Mulharon, or others like Wyatt Cenac and Jessi Klein popping up briefly. If you’re an NPR nerd, you might have been delighted at seeing Ira Glass wield a large camera. If you’re an HBO nerd, you might have loved seeing the artist formerly known as Claire Fisher (Lauren Ambrose, idiots) use that classically-trained voice of hers to belt out a tune. But this movie wasn’t all winky and noddy and inside-jokey. It was actually about Birbiglia’s weird first years as a standup comic, when he developed a severe sleepwalking disorder and was in a serious, moving-towards-marriage type of relationship despite being an outwardly easygoing guy. This movie dealt with these stressful issues in the only way that made logical sense — truthfully. That is, the story that was told wasn’t cliche, because it was Birbiglia’s to tell. I’d heard Birbiglia tell the sleepwalking story countless times, and yet seeing it climax on screen was still terrifying — he literally jumped out a window in his sleep and could have died — and humbling. Even sadder still was [SPOILER ALERT] the final shot, which showed him inside a protective sleeping bag and wearing mittens, the new solution to his sleepwalking problem. Most of the audience laughed at this image; I did not. It was heartbreaking. Maybe Birbiglia didn’t mean for it to be as tragic as it was, but it was an honest, resolved way to end the film, and to show at the same time that not everyone solves all their problems. Speaking of which: I’d not heard him tell the story of his [SPOILER ALERT, AGAIN] eight-year relationship and subsequent breakup with Abby (Ambrose), but I found this part of the movie very honest, too. Of course, he peppered their relationship with witty bits and used clever editing to make their fights seem more amusing, but the facts around their breakup were made abundantly clear. “It just wasn’t working out” just won’t cut it for me anymore when I watch movies, because Sleepwalk With Me gave that phrase new meaning.

Mike Birbiglia isn’t a movie star, but he’s incredibly likable, and incredibly talented at timing his tales. I think I loved his car soliloquies the most, indie-movie as they were, because they showed off his true comedian self, a dude who makes light of the darkest points in his life.

Kasher in the Rye

Posted on by sll

Brace yourselves, comedy fans. The adorable enigma that is Moshe Kasher wasn’t always adorable or enigmatic. Read his 300-page memoir, Kasher in the Rye and you’ll understand why I’m saying this.

I became enamored with Kasher’s standup after seeing him story-tell at the Purple Onion this past sketchfest, and I followed up that performance by seeing him at Oakland’s Vitus for his book tour. And then I read the book. I’m glad I did; I think it’s required reading for any Bay Area comedy fan, as Kasher grew up on the mean streets of Oakland, but I also think it’s required reading for any screwed-up kid growing up on the mean streets of Oakland. Kasher lived a tough life, though the toughness was mostly his own making.

Before he turned 16, Kasher had been diagnosed with basically everything: alcoholism, drug addiction, ADD, you name it. He had been kicked out of countless schools, tried every substance he could get his hands on, and lashed out physically against his deaf mother. (Oh, and he spent time in the Sea Gate Hasidic Jewish community with his father. Must have been an odd transition to make every summer.) In short, he was a massive shithead. I can’t imagine how difficult it must have been to write this book, rehashing all the horrifying details of his youth, especially considering how different he is now and who he left behind to become clean, sober, and incredibly successful. It seems like it would have been telling the tale of someone else, a person you vaguely remember but a person who definitely doesn’t exist anymore. It’s a fascinating book, allowing insights into the druggie world of Oakland and the infinite downward spiral of the prepubescent drug addict, though most people won’t be able to relate to his story, nor will they find it funny.

I admit I was expecting to laugh a lot more than I did when I read this book, but I suppose the topic was so dire that it couldn’t be taken too lightly. I always refer back to The Bedwetter in these instances, because I think Sarah Silverman found the perfect balance between heart and humor when she wrote about her own childhood traumas. Then again, we are comparing two very different childhoods.

Kasher is not entirely without its witticisms, however. He really is a fantastic standup, and moments of wordplay glory are sprinkled throughout, as are many sharp pop culture references. (I particularly loved the Stand By Me mention on p. 100, as I just saw that flick for the first time, ironically in Oakland. My life comes full circle sometimes.) Here are some standouts:

p. 23, on the new Hasidic haircut he was about to receive // “In my mother’s household, I’m mostly secular, thus the payos make little sense. But when I come to New York, I feel a deep shame that I’m not aesthetically pleasing to you, a bewarted pogrom survivor that I’ve never met before, and the rest of your judgmental ilk.”

p. 115 // “The bad part about mind-expending drugs when you are thirteen years old is that there really isn’t much to expand upon.”

p. 133 // “There was something I found so phenomenally satisfying about the process of cracking a therapist’s professional armor. I’d look for a small chink, poke my little vitriolic prick into it, and start pumping it until they lost their shit and I ejaculated victory all over them. When they lost it, I’d won. I felt so powerless so at the mercy of these square-ass adults so much of the time, that grabbing their power from them felt orgasmic.”

There you have it. Lots of graphic imagery, lots of angsty teenager profanity, lots of blunt dialogue (about blunts). It’s a trip about a trip. And now I’ll stop with the drug puns.

Zombie Spaceship Wasteland

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If you read this blog, you may have noticed that I’m a fan of comedy. I read comedy books, I go to comedy shows, I watch funny TV series, that sort of thing. I’m a comedy nerd. (There, I said it. Feels better already.) So it would seem natural that I’d read Patton Oswalt’s book, Zombie Spaceship Wasteland. (Which I did.) And it would also seem natural that I liked it. (Which I did.)

Cool, okay. That’s basically it. I thought it’d be funny to set up that first paragraph so it would seem like I might hate the book, but I totally don’t. It wasn’t my favorite comedy book; Sarah Silverman’s The Bedwetter still holds that title. But ZSW actually lived up to most of the hype quotes plastered on the back cover and the first few pages. Normally, I find this stuff irritating, but I couldn’t help read it all when all the flattery comes from other comedians I like. They all comment on how great a writer Oswalt is, and I have to agree. He has a way of sounding erudite and immature at the same time, which is a compliment of course, and each word he writes is so easily heard in his voice. I almost wish I had bought this as a book on tape, because it would have been even more fun to read with… him doing it for me, in my ears.

One of my favorite parts of the book was the first appendix (yes, there is more than one). Back in the day, Oswalt came up with a character, Erik Blevins, under whose name he wrote a bunch of intentionally-bad film treatments. I found myself laughing out loud in whatever public place I happened to be reading them in, which was a little awkward for everyone else, I imagine, but perfectly delightful for me. I’d rather not quote any of the treatments, as they’re best read in their entirety, but the standout was “Carvin’ It U!p 2 Da Streetz.”

Of course, I’ll quote other things that he said, because he’s got quite a way with words:

p. 86, on moving // “When you’re beginning to suspect you might be leaving a place, you become hypersensitive to it, as if your mind is subconsciously stocking itself with smells, sounds, sights, and tactile sensations of a place you’ll no longer see every day.”

p. 98, on Zombies (and later Spaceships, and Wastelands, as the title suggests) // “Zombies can’t believe the energy we waste on nonfood pursuits.”

p. 143, on a shitty hotel room // “I make a pot of coffee with the little coffeemaker that’s in the room. Now the room smells like a hot, wet hat. The coffee tastes like pants.”

If those quotes sound like they come from three different books, it’s because I think that was sort of his intention. Oswalt clearly had the ability to Get Real, in the sense that he wasn’t afraid to be sincere (i.e., not funny) at times, but he didn’t want to go a very long time without getting a laugh, either. So he alternated between chapters with real life career-in-comedy stories, and nonsensical, creative theories about all sorts of topics that he’s clearly been developing for some time. His brain is a fascinating place.

The Second City

Posted on by sll

I totally bought this book at Powell’s in Portland for a whopping $4.50. That title/topic plus that superb cover art? Irresistible. Poor graphic design, you are my kryptonite, for some reason.

Anyhow, in all seriousness, this coffee-table-esque book was quite informative, considering that its informativeness stops mid-80s. Though the book was published in 1987, thereby skipping all of Second City’s more-current and more-famous alumni, it still provides a thorough, comprehensive, extremely name-droppy history of what I think is one of America’s greatest institutions. Of course, if you read this blog, you know that “mildly interested” would not be an appropriate way of describing how I feel about comedy, so I might be more inclined than the average person to read and enjoy this book, but it still might be fun for those looking to see what exactly happened in the days before Steve Carell and Tina Fey.

Among many things, I learned (or perhaps re-affirmed) that Second City is comedy mecca. It was the right place, the right time, and the right people who all made it come together, and the results were (and still are) spectacular. I’m not going to actually recount the history here, since it’s way more effective in the book’s actual form, but I will say that I was left with an incredibly deep amount of respect for the Second City players and how hard they must have worked night after night. I know we’re dealing with entertainment here, so I don’t mean for this to sound as absurd as it might, but the improvisers on stage work hard, both then and now. Improvisation gets performers to use something that they wouldn’t normally use in acting, a quality that isn’t really defined and can’t quite be taught. But Second City did the best possible job of educating talent anyway.

The names that went through this place, and the branch in Toronto, are incredible: John Belushi, Dan Aykroyd, Gilda Radner, Martin Short, Eugene Levy, David Steinberg, John Candy, Bill Murray, Catherine O’Hara, Andrea Martin, Shelley Long, I could go on… but I won’t, because then this post would wind up almost identical to many passages in the book. As I said before, the author Donna McCrohan relied very heavily on Hollywood name-dropping, lists of actors, and you-had-to-be-there retellings of skits (which I found especially loathsome for improvised pieces). I’d say those first- and second-degree anecdotes were the weakest part of the book. I preferred the parts of the book that detailed how the bigger name players came to Second City and where they moved on to.

And, of course, the quotes. When the stories came straight from the source, when McCrohan included long passages of waxing reminiscent, when the talented people associated with Second City were allowed to go off on tangents, that’s where the meat of the book was.

As usual, I’ll end this post with a few of my favorite quotes from the book. And they’re not quotes from skits, because it was infuriating enough for me to read them and not be able to imagine them happening.

p. 40 // ” True satire is more far-reaching than simple ridicule or humor. If the teacher has a mole and a strange nose and someone draws these in an exaggerated manner, the caricature may qualify as parody but it’s not satire. It’s only satire if it targets a defect that’s hurting someone else. Satire ridicules to expose, with the idea that awareness is a step towards remedy.”

p. 69, quoting Alan Arkin // “After the Susskind show, all of a sudden, we became the ‘in’ thing to go see. We were getting the mink coat crowd. And we were getting all kinds of referential laughs, that had nothing to do with the humor. That’s the kind of laugh I’ve always hated, where people laugh because they understand your reference and are letting you know that they know what you’re talking about, and how smart they are, which has nothing to do with their having been shocked or pleased or delighted.”

p. 103, quoting Shelley Berman // “THe best suggestions, though, are the simple ones. If the suggestion is already comedic–brothel, hooker, proctologist–you know the person who called it out either hopes that he or she is funny, or thinks that by giving you a funny idea, you will emerge funnier. The truth is, you don’t need that, and if you do need that, you’ve got to examine what you’re doing for your comedy.”

SF Sketchfest 2012

Posted on by sll

It’s really over. I can’t believe it. It seems like just yesterday I was freaking out about the stellar lineup and calculating how much money I was willing to shell over (TO TICKETMASTER, NO LESS) and jumping online at exactly 10:01 to secure a seat and drafting endless pushy emails to my friends about how much fun it was going to be. In the end, I got more than I bargained for entertainment-wise. To those who missed out, you missed out. I’m not going to sugarcoat it. SF Sketchfest is a wonderful month-long event, and if you’re lucky enough to be in San Francisco in January and February, you should go. But only if you like happiness.

The lineup this year really was superlative, which is why I ended up spending so much money, and also why I was totally willing to do so. Not to get all suck-uppy, but I’m very thankful for Cole Stratton, Janet Varney, and David Owen, for giving us deprived San Franciscans the opportunity to support great live comedy. Of course, we have our own good live comedy, and occasionally it hits on greatness, but when people like Amy Poehler come to town, there’s really no comparison. SF Sketchfest brings the people that we want to see.

Several months back, I made a pact with myself that I wouldn’t review improv shows. I’d like to extend that rule to most of the events I attended at SF Sketchfest, too, and not just because I’m lazy. While I think live events like concerts and pure standup comedy merit reviews, I think it’s important to remember that live shows are imperfect. Humans are imperfect. Reviewers get really caught up in finding the flaws in a live show, and I just don’t see the point. We’re not up there on the stage, bearing our souls musically or comedically, so why should we tear someone down for doing it? Instead of reviewing each of the nine shows I ended up attending, I thought I’d do a countdown of the best moments from my SF Sketchfest experience, so you can get way jealous and then go buy tickets for next year.

13. Hearing the tale of the origins of the Upright Citizens Brigade. Amy Poehler, Matt Besser, Matt Walsh, and Ian Roberts all purchased the ex-strip-club space together in New York, and then ran it as a business for a very long time. As in they did all the work of cleaning the toilets and distributing flyers and controlling the payroll. I respect elbow grease.

12. Taking a picture with Michael Showalter, and also Chris Hardwick and Matt Mira. I absolutely loathe taking pictures with famous people, because it makes them seem inhuman, and it must be really awkward for them to be in so many pictures with people they don’t (or probably will never) know. But for some reason I acquiesced to friends this year. I snuck a pic with Michael Showalter, a.k.a. Coop, the Baxter, Michael Showalter, and many other lovable, brilliant characters, and I really enjoyed the fact that he was wearing a plaid shirt. I also stood in line to meet the Nerdists, and Matt Mira and I bonded over the Dave Matthews Band whilst Chris Hardwick stood there, probably a little stressed out.

11. Reaffirming my love for Oscar Nunez. This man is a brilliant physical comedian and improviser. The Office rarely does him justice. Theme Park improv always does.

10. Hearing Chris Hardwick sing the “Doug Loves Movies” theme song live. Sometimes technical difficulties turn into great moments. Also, that episode of DLM may be the longest one yet. And I was there for all the “no homo” parody jokes.

9. Pissing off the Cobbs Comedy Club people by ordering tea instead of something more expensive. Fuck you, two-drink minimum!

8. Seeing Moshe Kasher, Neal Brennan, and Caitlin Gill up close. I had vaguely heard of all three of these comedians, but I consider my first real impressions of them to be the great standup sets they did at Sketchfest. Between Kasher telling the story of how he blew his bar mitzvah money on phone sex lines, Gill discussing her cat-lady tendencies, and Brennan explaining how he is one of 6 white guys who can say the n-word, I was in comedy heaven.

7. Reaffirming my love for Best in Show. Everyone should see their favorite movie again, but in a beautiful theater and with two or more of the stars in attendance (a.k.a. Fred Willard and Michael Hitchcock). Now I’m spoiled. Clooney better be sitting in the back row when I go check out The Descendants.

6. Seeing Rob Delaney’s physical stance up close. He is a large man, with a large presence and incredibly soft, sympathetic voice. I love him unconditionally now.

5. Seeing the unaired pilot of Reno: 911!. Let’s all be very, very glad that Wendi McLendon-Covey replaced the youngish bimbo that was on it before.

4. Sitting in the front row at the aforementioned show and becoming Thomas Lennon’s favorite person for 90 minutes. Dangle had a thing for Cobbs’ front right corner, and I was in the hotseat at that show. He actually came down to floor level twice to kiss my cheek for no reason. Turns out one of my co-workers experienced this same thing at another Lennon-attended Cobbs show. Points docked for creativity, but added for sher charm.

3. Meeting Paul F. Tompkins… and telling him how his podcast makes me laugh out loud at my desk.

2. Witnessing Dan Harmon blasted drunk at the Nerdist podcast. This is something that I feel especially privileged to have been in attendance for, because with all the blasphemous, amazing things he uttered under the influence of a lot of vodka, I wouldn’t be surprised if Hardwick and Co. didn’t air the episode online. It was that good.

1. The sheer force of celebrity present for the reading of Wet Hot American Summer. Poehler, Showalter, Paul Rudd, Ken Marino + shorts, Chris Meloni + bandana, Molly Shannon, Michael Ian Black, David Wain, Marguerite Moreau, Joe Lo Truglio… and then there were more. David Cross stood in for David Hyde Pierce, Busy Phillipps for Janeane Garofalo, Gillian Jacobs for Elizabeth Banks, Colin Hanks for AD Miles, Bobcat Goldthwait for H. Jon Benjamin, and Josh Malina for whoever it was that said my second favorite line, “Get McKinley LAID!” (My first favorite is DHP’s “Fuck my cock!”)

So there you have it. A SF Sketchfest miracle. Even more fun than I thought I’d have, even more stuff learned than I thought I’d learn, even more talent than I thought I’d share a room with. Christmas sucks. SF Sketchfest is the most wonderful time of the year.