Sam Spade Comedy

How is a comedian like Sam Spade? I'll get to that.

I did the Velveeta Room this weekend. I hosted the open mike on Thursday, and was MC for two shows each on Friday and Saturday. I did Sgt Hardwick again, since I really think he's the best thing I can do for 10 minutes of paid comedy.

Last Sunday, I did the Sarge at the Cap City open mike. Got a very good spot in the middle of the pack -- that hasn't happened in a while. Ever since Scott Hardy left, they have consistently put me as one of the last five comics. As a result (at least partially) I have rarely done that open mike, preferring instead to use their Comedy Gym Showcase. At any rate, the Sarge was fantastic, and I felt like I was warmed up for the Velv.

Thursday open mike at the Velv did not go well. I stammered over lines. I had a couple of new jokes I was going to try out in case the room was mostly comics. It was, but I screwed up the ones I had the balls to try. I had lost the respect of the audience, and that makes it difficult to be in front of them for the full two to three hours. I wasn't happy with it. Still, a good portion of the audience stayed the whole time, and left happy. So it wasn't all bad.

Two shows Friday night, both were bad. Patrick Christmas was at one of them. The thing that struck me most of all was that when I performed the song "Believe", nobody got the punch line. How was that possible? I understand if you don't laugh out loud, but I got the genuine impression that nobody got it at all. I've performed it many, many times, including four as the Sarge, and this was the first time that's ever happened. And it happened twice.

For the late show, I brought in the Taco Bell bit, which is material-driven (rather than character-driven like most of the Sarge's act). The audience seemed to like that more. Could it be that the opener needs to be material-based comedy? That an audience can't handle the character (Napoleon Dynamite-esque) stuff? That they're not in the right frame of mind for that yet?

I considered dropping the song for the second day. It failed twice in a row! But I know that it's funny. There had to be something I could do better. Plus, I suspect people who work in the place hate the guitar stuff, and would be very happy if I took it out. In the end, I decided to keep it in there, mostly because of the selfish reason that it's what I eventually see myself doing. I want to become good at guitar comedy in particular, and I had better not let just two audiences get in my way. So I kept it in, but I was nervous.

The first show on Saturday was sold out, but I wasn't very good. However, the song went over pretty well. They still didn't any entertainment out of the Sarge character. And Wes Reynolds and Steven Harrison were in the audience. It felt bad, but at least I could feel better about the song. Still, the Taco Bell stuff did the best.

Alright. Now I'm feeling really down. I had three mediocre-at-best sets in a row, and I've only got one more. The crowd is quite small, less than 20 people, making it really hard to knock it out of the park. What do you do? You do the same act you've been doing, because that's all you can do, but the pressure is off. No matter what, your obligation is over in ten measly minutes. You might as well have some fun with it.

I decided to slow things down. Take some time to introduce myself as Hardwick. Maybe they'll be with me when I do the Midget & Nun bit. And it worked. I had a very good set, which is difficult with such a small crowd. I even got the impression that they liked me more than special guest Doug Mellard, and maybe as much as they liked Jeremy Neal. They shouldn't have--I'm nowhere near where they are. But I delivered for that one show.

My dignity salvaged, I can now spend this week knowing that the last time I performed I did pretty good. Of course, I might have trouble convincing Steven, Wes or Patrick, but I know.

The headliner for the whole weekend was Jim Hamilton. I would classify him as partially a character-driven comic, like the sarge. But his character is like a dark version of Emo Phillips. Every show, he delivered thirty minutes of his material, and it was fun to watch him work. We've never been close personal friends, more like professional colleagues. My impression of him has always been that he takes comedy very seriously. He seems depressed a lot. Sort of sad, but driven.

Anyway, I asked him how he felt about his show, and he seemed very disappointed. He said the crowd was pretty unruly, which, of course, makes it tough on a comic who's trying to perform tried and true material. Still, I saw the show, and thought he did fine. Maybe he didn't knock 'em dead like he did for his Comedy Central Premium Blend taping, but still, he held a room full of people for the entire 30 minutes and kept them entertained and drinking. What more is there?

Of course, there's much more, but I thought he delivered that, too. I was particularly intrigued by a crowd control bit he did. The bit is, he asks the audience for a town to make fun of. They answer with one, like Pflugerville, and he says, "Okay, Pfugerville. You're going to love this one. True story! I'm driving throught Pflugerville..." It's a good joke. But one unruly crowd gave him College Station. He starts using it, and part of the crowd groans. He asks for another town. None comes. He keeps at in, and finally somebody says "Kerrville". Now, the audience has lost the train of thought and doesn't remember where he was going. Technically, the setup is out there, and all he has to do is deliver the punch, but the audience isn't ready yet. Jim slowed things down, said "Okay Kerrville. Kerville? Am I pronouncing that right?" Of course you are, Jim. No one on this planet could possibly mispronounce a name that easy. But it was a great tactic. The audience believed it, and I'm convinced that because he slowed the pace down, he reminded them where they were in the joke. If I had done the same bit, I would have rushed into it, and the joke would have failed. But instead, he delivered it masterfully, to a great result.

What I'm getting at is that there was a lot he could have felt proud of. Instead, he seemed disappointed and depressed. But why? Didn't he hear the applause and the laughter?

Here's my theory: applause is a Maltese Falcon.

As comedians, we're always chasing after applause. More and more of it. We think it's going to make us happy, like it will make our lives worthwhile. But when we get it, we realize that they are applauding what we did, not who we are. They are saying "That was funny," not "You're a funny person". That makes it hollow and meaningless. Because once you get your Maltese Falcon, you scrape away some of it's golden paint and realize it's made of lead.

Sometimes, after a great performance, I have felt an immediate euphoria followed by a huge crash. I'm convinced this is why Kirk Cobain felt it necessary to kill himself after achieving the pinnacle of a rock star's career.

I don't think anybody else understands this. I have trouble talking about it. I can barely explain it myself.

So if applause isn't worth it, then what makes me happy? Why perform at all? There's one thing above all else that gives me a lasting high: it's when I do better than I expected I could have. Like the time in high school, junior year at the high school state swimming championships, when in the finals I really, really wanted to break 5:00 in the 500 free. A 4:59.9 or 4:59.8 would do, and a 4:59.5 would be even better. And after the race, I looked up and saw, to my own shock and amazement, 4:53. I never saw that coming, and it was a big enough event for me that I'm writing about it to this day. Of course, in college, I swam much faster, getting 4:39's unshaven. But the expectation-shattering race is what I think of as my greatest.

If you're a comedian, don't get depressed by an audience response, ever. It's fleeting, and it doesn't mean anything. Keep working. But remember, you're doing this to try to impress yourself. You know what you're capable of, and sometime, you're going to be dead wrong. That will be your greatest moment.

Comedy -- it's the stuff dreams are made of.

P.S. -- I apologize for spoiling the ending to the Maltese Falcon, for anyone who hasn't seen it yet. But for crying out loud, it came out in 1941, and the statute of limitations on giving away the secret has long since past. In another 50 years, I'll talk about how comedy relates to the Sixth Sense.