JGSS Episode 024 - You Suck
It was the final round of a stand-up comedy competition at the Columbus Funny Bone. I had not entered the contest; however, my friend was hosting the finals, so I decided to come out, see the show, and support.
It was a sold out show that night. The room was packed and teeming with an eclectic mix of energy. While it had the feverish potency of a great comedy audience, it was also filled primarily with the family and friends of competition contestants, so it also had the nervous, excited energy of a group anxious to see their loved ones perform.
After the comics who were competing finished their chunk of the show, it was time for the judges to meet, the scores to be tallied, and the winner to be decided. When that time comes, it's customary for the club to bring up a final comic to close out the show. They would do about 20 minutes of time while business is tended to (both the judging of the contest and the dropping of guest checks) and bring the show to a book-ended conclusion.
This is when things got interesting.
Now I want to start by prefacing this story the way I always do—this is a story about a situation. It's not about an audience. It's not about a comic.
I say that so I can set the atmosphere of the story without anyone thinking that I'm setting the intent of it.
By the end of the tournament portion of the night, the audience still had its vitality, but the eclectic energy had taken on a new mix. The juice was still there, but with their familiars' performances finished, the crowd grew chatty. I say they still had energy and excitement towards the show because it wasn't chattiness born of rudeness. It was a chattiness born from relief. The same way this audience carried the nervousness and trepidation of their soon-to-be-performing companions an hour ago, they now had the joy an elation of a job well done by those same cohorts. But again, this isn't a story about a bad crowd. Or even a good crowd, for that matter. It's a story about a situation.
The comic they had chosen to close out the show was a Columbus native who had been performing comedy, both stand-up and improv, for many years. He had been performing professionally for a solid portion of those years and enjoyed a fair amount of success. He had a very goofy, animated style. He began his act. A few minutes in, the audience still rumbled faintly with chatter. He grew more animated and goofy. Perhaps in an attempt to engage the audience more. Funny faces became more animated, gestures became grander, but the faint rumble failed to cease. But again, this isn't a story about a bad comic. Or even a good comic, for that matter. It's a story about a situation.
Around ten minutes in to the closing comic's set, the decibel level of the ubiquitous chitchat exceeded that of the laughter.
This is when things got complex.
Around this point in the closing comic's set, a lone voice broke free from the spattered chatter and bellowed, in a low but arresting tone, “YOU SUCK!”
The crowd, once alive, albeit with a distracting indifference, fell silent. The comic, who had been pursuing that feet for the last ten minutes, froze. The fact that the comic's face was once bustling with contortion now only emphasized the expressionless gaze that currently sat upon it.
I was seated in the extreme back of the room. At this moment, my physical position mirrored my mental position. I felt like an observer. My physical position let me survey the audience and the stage. Since I could see the whole scene, I felt like I was almost watching it on TV. I wasn't a member of an audience watching a comic anymore. I was a member of an audience watching an audience. A spectacle.
The comic stayed frozen for an hour long eight seconds. No attempt to rebuke the comment. No attempt to continue his act. Just solid, penetrating awkwardness. I felt it too. Probably the same feeling the audience had towards their brethren not long ago but without the positive payoff.
I was dumbfounded. I had no idea what was going to happen. What did happen was a man, a normal looking man with a baseball cap and glasses, stood up, looked in the vague direction of the disparaging remark, and shouted, “Hey, man, you don't know how hard this is!” Then looked back towards the stage and reassured, “You're doing fine, man.”
And, without even a beat, the crowd rips up into applause!
The chatter and the shouts of previous disruptions were dwarfed by the cheer and goodwill coming from the entire crowd in attendance. The everyday man turned savior continues staring towards the comic and before he retakes his seat says, “Go on, man. Do your thing.”
The comic launched back into his act more enthusiastic than ever. The crowd responded with laughter that rivaled any guffaws uttered that night.
It was amazing. Inspirational. But this story isn’t about the most inspirational thing that I've ever seen.
After about two minutes of some of the most roof raising laughter I had ever witnessed, the laughter, and in some ways the energy, started to slowly but steadily dwindle.
It was a strange shift. But a shift that I could see and feel. It was the audience realizing that they really didn't like this guy. Two short minutes ago, and for the ten minutes before that, they gave this guy a chance and they weren't buying in. Sure, that guy that rudely interrupted was a dick, but this was no good either. For the last five minutes of the comic's set, the audience let out forced, confused ha-has until the comic exited the stage.
It was confounding. Seeing an audience sit there during the second half of the performance like an idealistic independent on election day. Not wanting to support an abusive brute (who may have voiced a consensus opinion in an disagreeable manner), but not able to properly enjoy something after the hype had died down. It was truly, the most interestingly complex thing that I've ever seen.
