Whether
it’s gangly arms, gawky lips, thick middles, or thin limbs, it’s not a certain
type of body that makes a successful comic. It’s what the comic is willing to
do with that body.
ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย Usually you’re not aware of it when
it’s happening. It’s only later, when you’re trying to describe the hilarity of
Jack Black’s adolescent spasms or Richard Pryor’s brilliant riff on how his
father died, that you realize it’s what they were doing with their body that
made your eyes well with tears and your sides ache. Friday night at Geva Comedy Improv, the bodies
were electric.
ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย You’ve got to love the fact that you
get to bring a draft beer into the actual theater and that you’re only paying five bucks for a good hour-and-a-half
of improvisational absurdity. But even without the social lubrication and the
intoxicating price point of the ticket, the show would be stellar.
ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย Banking on the American love for
athletic events, the format of the evening is structured as a competition
between two teams of four comics. The WWE theme is reinforced by the thundering
techno and flashing strobes accompanying competitors as they take to the stage.
ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย The teams take turns improvising
upon the audience’s suggestions for skits, but there’s a specific caveat in
each one: In one skit, they have to change from a
regular speaking voice to Broadway-style song, in another they have to perform
as if it were an ABC Afterschool Special. The “rules”
make the improvisations stronger. In the same way that it’s the tweaking of
jazz standards that made Charlie Parker’s bebop brilliant, it’s the imposed
limits of each piece that make the comedic ramblings genius.
ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย Then there’s the judge. In
pretending to be fair, he sits out in the audience, front and center, in the
seat with the red X, flashing scorecards from 1-5 and keeping it clean by
making naughty-minded comics wear the humiliating “scumbib.”
He reminded me of a crueler version of Commodus in
Gladiator, doling out low scores even when the throng had gone wild, letting us plebes know that it was ultimately his
thumb that determined the evening’s victor.
ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย With improv,
you can’t be too cerebral. There’s not enough time. You have to get into the
zone and go for it, letting your body move and knowing from the roar of the
crowd that you’re scoring. Most of the actors were able to do so repeatedly.
ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย Sinewy, small, and ape-armed, with
the demeanor of a dazed and confused barfly, Matt Stanton was enviably insane
as a sadomasochistic mother punishing her hapless son for breaking his glasses.
He seemed to take real glee in miming a lashing with his belt, and proved, as a
great comic does, that it’s taboo subjects that get us
really laughing.
ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย The man I’ll call Mookie=Frodo, a geeky bearded guy with the magnificent
ability to morph from a Slavic-speaking female refugee into an Icelandic gnome,
made me hysterical throughout. Sean Daniels took a while to get warmed up, but
once he was going, his innate physical confidence
carried him along effortlessly. In one difficult skit called “Forward/Reverse,”
he was a boss bellowing “Farnsworth-Johnson!” and his heaving stomach and
straining red face were what made it genuinely comic.
ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย Tim Goodwin was Monty Pythonesque (the ultimate compliment); not only because of
his masterful British accent, but in his willingness to use his nervous,
stick-like body to convey humor.
ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย As much as I hate saying it, the
women just couldn’t seem to get in the game, and it wasn’t that the men
wouldn’t let them. Really, I thought it came back to the body-as-comedy
problem. Joanna Schmitt and Susan Hopkins just didn’t want to push themselves
physically into the realm of the absurd or the ugly. Even when a college-aged
couple from the audience came up to be the bodies for a love affair while the
comics did their voiceover, it was the guy who repeatedly raised his shaggy
eyebrows and pulled open his shirt in a show of love.
ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย ย But think about it: there’s no
female version of Jackass. You might
argue that there’s a female WWE, but that isn’t funny, it’s just dumb. Luckily,
Geva Comedy Improv was, for
the most part, really smart. As the T-shirts say: It’s cheap
and pants are optional. What more could you want?
Geva Comedy Improvholds its next
performances on Friday and Saturday, May 14 and 15, at 10:30
p.m., on Geva Theatre’s Nextstage. 232-4382. $5.
This article appears in Apr 14-20, 2004.
