“I like that this is alt comedy,” remarks a performer. “That way, if it’s not funny, it’s…alternative.” To check up on the size of the city’s funny bone, it’s instructive to look at what passes as alterna-funny in Toronto.
The ALTdot COMedy Lounge, a stand-up night that runs every Monday at the Rivoli (334 Queen St. W.), advertises itself as “Canada’s most popular alternative comedy showcase.” This is not empty boasting: with a generally strong and extensive line-up of up-and-coming comedians and considerable critical acclaim, ALTdot is among the most dependable comedy nights in Toronto.
Yet the acts at the ALTdot COMedy Lounge are not markedly different in tone and content than many similar acts at other clubs. Indeed, even the most daring standup might seem at home at the more prestigious Yuk Yuk’s. The ALTdot stage, in fact, sports a banner promoting its sponsorship with the Comedy Network—about as bourgeois an institution as there is on the Canadian comedy landscape.
Is this alternative comedy? Does alternative comedy even exist? Though more than one venue claims to offer it, most of the comedians we contacted balked at the label. “I wouldn’t use the word alternative,” says Norman Sousa, a member of the Sketchersons and proprietor of the Comedy Bar (945 Bloor St. W.). “There is no such thing. Everything has been done, and there are so-called ‘alternative comics’ in the mainstream. The difference is just that there is no corporate backing. I prefer the word independent.”
“There have always been alternative movements in, say, music,” says Yuk Yuk’s founder Mark Breslin.”[Where] the band doesn’t care as much about the stagecraft, and they’re not as concerned about reaching out to the audience but having the audience come to them. Some people feel that’s more authentic. Second thing is, in some kinds of alternative music, there’s a kind of understatement that’s implied. Nothing’s played big. When a rock band comes out and says, ‘How are you tonight, Toledo?!’ you know it’s not an alternative band.”
If the alternative label really has currency, perhaps it lingers from the period in which it was first conceived. “In the ’70s, you had an enormous change that went from comics who were talking about what was external to comics who were talking about what was internal,” says Breslin. “[From] comics who wouldn’t swear to comics who were ‘using the vernacular.’ Comics who were very much wearing suits and ties, to comics who were dressed like the audience might be dressed.”
With this movement came the prominent alternative comics: Lenny Bruce and George Carlin, whose profanity and political commentary were enormously controversial; Andy Kaufman and Steve Martin, who defined meta-comedy; even the Monty Python troupe, who blended music-hall boisterousness and English satire with meta-rumination and absurdity. To compare these comedians with, say, Milton Berle or Abbott and Costello is to see a change in the philosophy of comedy. “The idea of comedy as some kind of psychic release—which was very different from the way comedy was looked at in the ’50s—that stayed the same since that comedy revolution,” says Breslin.
Alternative comedy in the ’60s and ’70s was a state of mind. Today, with virtually every club showcasing acts similar to the Bruce and Carlin spirit, it has shifted to mean “independent comedy,” of which our city has an uneven assortment. If you want to see some of the worst stand-up in the city, drop by an open mic night. We recommend the Ram in the Rye (63 Gould St.). Waiters and waitresses patrol the tables with little regard for the performers; spectators talk and eat throughout the acts; sports fans at the back of the bar hoot loudly over the TV. For comedy, which requires concentration from the audience, it’s deadly.
But even a Carnegie Hall audience couldn’t save these acts. All of them are relatively inexperienced, often first-time performers who haven’t quite worked out the kinks in their acts. “Wouldn’t it be really weird dating a girl with Down syndrome?” asked a lanky comedian of about 18. “Imagine her trying to jack you off with a hand like this,” he said, putting his arm into a flipper shape. Moans of disapproval quickly followed. “Uh… wow…I offended people,” quipped the comic before he was escorted from the stage.
The next comedian wasn’t as offensive, but he wasn’t funny either, and with the clock nearing midnight, much of the audience chose his act as the time to leave. He concluded his set by having a conversation with a couple seated at a table near the front: “If I didn’t seem too good tonight, it’s ’cause I normally do sketch comedy. I actually study comedy at Humber.” You know your act didn’t go well when it ends with an explanation of your credentials.
Even worse is Weedy Wednesdays at Vapor Central (667 Yonge St.), one of the city’s many “pot comedy” venues. Consider the following joke by emcee Bryan O’Gorman, available for your viewing pleasure on YouTube: “Girls have it better sexually, just because women can have sex with more than one guy. They can be penetrated by more than one guy at a time, right? For guys, though, you’ve only got one penis. There’s only so much you can do with only one dick…unless you do it really fast.” O’Gorman then mimed penetrating a line of women in rapid succession.
Later that same show, stand-up Tom O’Donnell offered a story about how he met a drug-addicted girl “with daddy issues” on a Greyhound bus. “And immediately I knew it was pretty safe to say I’m gonna get laid!”
Two topics pervade at open mic nights: sex and marijuana. After a few visits, you begin to realize that there are only so many ways to announce that your watch “says 4:20! Yeah!” Perhaps Judd Apatow, whose films rejuvenated the stoned slacker image made popular by Cheech and Chong, is to blame. His brand of “sex comedy with a heart” has inspired a slew of imitators that keep the sex but fumble with the heart, and his loveable stoners have spawned a new generation of hapless ones who think they can tell jokes.
Sex and drugs are certainly rich comedic terrain, as even feeble jokes on the topics are often rewarded with at least a shock laugh. So why does this material remain taboo in our sex-driven media age? “Yeah, we’re bombarded with sex every day,” says Breslin, “but we’re only bombarded with sex in very particular sites and particular places. Try it at the dinner table with your parents—it will really still provoke a reaction. It’s the dinner party question: can you do it at a dinner party? If you can’t, it’s still taboo.”
Finding quality independent comedy performances in Toronto is a greater challenge than it seems. Don’t bother looking at the NOW Magazine comedy listings—they’re mostly out of date. More than once during the writing of this article, we arrived at a venue for a scheduled comedy event only to be met by blank stares from the owners. Granted, it’s hard to imagine XXX Open-Mic Comedy at Philthy McNasty’s was much of a loss, but it doesn’t bode well for our comedy landscape when these events stay in the NOW listings for months after their demise without anyone noticing.
It’s true that there are bright comedians working in the city, but it’s curious that they’re so inaccessible. Maybe part of this results from how arduous it is for good comedians to find a regular gig. Hearing Mark Breslin walk us through the process of becoming a regular at an established facility would certainly daunt any local aspirants. Becoming a Yuk Yuk’s headliner is a long process that averages 10 years, beginning with amateur night performances, then Tuesday nights, then Wednesday nights, and then finally regular booking on the prime Friday and Saturday slots. (Certain exceptionally talented comedians, including Yuk Yuk’s veteran Jim Carrey, can make it earlier, but this is rare—earlier still means a matter of years.)
The Yuk Yuk’s system is not necessarily an imprudent one. At the Ram in the Rye the day after Heath Ledger died, one poor, doomed comic made the mistake of taking Ledger’s demise as fair game. “I was watchin’ Entertainment Tonight yesterday, and there was this story about Heath Ledger. And I didn’t really hear what it was about, but I was thinkin’…y’know, Brokeback Mountain was, like, three years ago, and that guy’s so overexposed…in fact, I hope I never see another Heath Ledger movie ever again.” A hideous silence followed.
Yes, it’s in bad taste, but that same joke might have worked if delivered by Ricky Gervais or Sarah Silverman, to name two stand-ups who have honed their stage personas to the point where they can get away with a “sick” joke. Perhaps this unfortunate comedian might benefit from 10 years of development.
But for many young comics—those that have already developed a comic voice, or those left of the mainstream—a decade is too long to wait. Facing the prospect of the open-mic wilderness or embracing conventions, a number of comedian-organized venues are developing strong reputations for showcasing young talents that have already developed distinctive styles. The Comedy Bar, which opened in November, is a novel, comedian-run enterprise that highlights both established troupes (the Sketchersons) and up-and-comers (Frenzy). The Rivoli’s Laugh Sabbath is also consistently lauded for programming interesting acts by younger performers, and even the ALTdot COMedy Lounge is a good spot for undiscovered talent. And some groups, like the clever Big in Japan, are using rock clubs and indie bars for organizing small showcases.
Rivoli regular James Hartnett believes that the hope of the Toronto’s scene is developing a strong community around these hotbeds. “For me, the most vibrant and exciting part of the Toronto comedy scene centres around the people performing [at the comedian-run places],” he says. “It really feels like a community. There’s so many hilarious people, and they’re all very encouraging and non-competitive. A lot of the comedians performing at these places are starting to do really well in the industry, too.”
Toronto has independent gems—it’s just a matter of finding them. Norman Sousa summed up Toronto’s independent comedy landscape: “In transition. Needing attention. Over-populated. Underpaid. Overall some of the best comedy in the world…that very few people see or hear about.” There are discoveries well worth the effort. But you might have to hear the same 4:20 joke about a hundred times before you find them.
