Every final Wednesday of each month at The Make-Out Room, Paco Romane hosts a show called The Romane Event, which features up-and-coming stand-up comedians. I headed to The Romane Event prepared for an evening of laughter and lightness, forgetting that good comedy is often quite dark.
The Make-Out Room is a long, narrow space with a full bar along one side. Spots of light reflect from a disco ball, but The Make-Out’s interior is dark in more ways than one, its walls hung with antlers and the pelt of a very large bear. Behind the bar sits a well-lit aquarium filled with water, or perhaps formaldehyde. Submerged in its depths, a human head peers skeptically in the direction of the stage. On the night I attended the crowd seemed equally skeptical, and while Mr. Romane tried to warm us up we were slow to laugh, providing ragged applause.
As the evening progressed, I realized how difficult it is to make people laugh. Each comedian did his best to court the audience, to break down our reserves. I often found myself pitted between my desire (and need) to laugh and an odd resistance to doing so. If I’d met each of these comics at a party and they delivered their lines in casual conversation, I’d have been bowled over. But taking my cue from the crowd, I had a reaction more steeped in admiration than mirth. This because each performer bravely laid himself bare.
Most bare was Brent Duggan’s act, in which he relayed vivid stories about the cruel tricks his brother — and life — played on him as he was growing up. His delivery reminded me of De Niro’s character, Rupert Pupkin; NOT because Duggan is a Pupkinesque hack — Brent Duggan’s a talented and handsome man, a snappy dresser, and a riveting storyteller. It’s just that his jokes seem to be about subjects that are laughable only if the listener chooses to be as cruel as the stories themselves. While most comedy is rooted in suffering, perhaps today’s climate renders suffering a little too real, and the suffering Duggan refers to in his bit is not only psychological, but physical. Nevertheless, Duggan’s act was weirdly compelling, and though I didn’t find myself laughing, it certainly made me think.
During most of the evening, I found myself wondering about this brand of comedy. These days, it’s tough to root out laughter at its source. Anything too light-hearted leaves current audiences cold, but what’s real can be so shocking. Where’s the happy medium?