About halfway through Marc Maron’s set at Kodak Hall Saturday night, Maron did an impression of himself stalking around in his
early years. He said, mockingly, “I had to own the stage.” The irony was, all
these years later, with a far more subtle (though not always) approach, he
owned the whole theater. In fact, from the first minute of his act, which
consisted of him reacting to the grandeur of the hall, he had the audience in
the palm of his hand.

A fair amount of his act was about other things
he frequently held in the palm of his hand, but — and you really had to be
there for this — it was his imitation of female masturbation that got one of
the biggest laughs of the night. A lot of his material would fall into the
category formerly known as risqué; I’m not sure that category exists anymore.

There were segments of Maron’s
act that could be called a routine, but even these were sprinkled with
improvisatory bits. His overall theme was the tension between flying without a
net and falling back on tried and true material. He’s obviously a comedian who
likes to take risks, making him a perfect choice for the Fringe Festival.
Although the balconies were sparsely populated, the main floor of Kodak Hall
was just about full.

A recurring presence that tied his act together
was a meta-Marc-Maron, who critically evaluated how
he was doing at various points along the way. Perhaps his finest improvisation
came when he accidently kicked over his water bottle. Discovering it a few
minutes later, he got down on his hands and knees with a towel, and after
commenting, in the meta-Maron voice, about his
transition to a character in a Eugene O’Neill play, he dove into the role,
complaining loudly of a family stain that could not be removed. It was pretty
brilliant.

He segued from topic to topic, telling stories
involving hypochondria, drug use, morning radio, judging people, spirituality,
and religion. Maron himself was at the center of all
of them, usually in the role of antihero. His narratives about his
relationships and his anxiety about running out of time to have children (he’s
about to turn 50) were funny, but they also contained poignant truths.

One thing Maron does
not do is paint a pretty picture of his life. Yet, he manages to be hip, smart,
and loveable. Maybe audiences respond to all those neuroses he is willing to
expose in himself so they don’t have to expose theirs. It could be he provides
some sort of Dorian Gray-like portrait for his fans who
feel a sense of relief that they’re not him. Whatever it is, it worked Saturday
night. After the show (and a standing ovation) Maron
stuck around, shaking hands, signing autographs, and posing for pictures with a
long line of fans.

The opening act, Nate Bargatze,
had a comedic identity built on the idea of being not too bright. He announced
early on that he was from Tennessee and, pointing to the deaf translator
signing on the side of the stage, he said, “We’re gonna
find out what ‘unh’ looks like.” He was very funny, keeping his deadpan
delivery in place while traversing topics ranging from locking himself out of
his hotel room naked to replacing guns with tigers.

This article appears in Sep 18-24, 2013.