Creating a Comic

(NOTE: In yesterday’s post, I talked about an entry level job I once had at UPS, and how the outrageously high employee turnover kept employees from being accepted, among their co-workers, until they had been around for a while. The situation with stand-up comedians is much the same. This is part two; here’s part one.)

The best social advice I can offer to a new comedian is to just accept that you’re going to be ignored for a while. A new comic is like the kid who transfers, mid-year, to a new high school across the country. You’re walking into a situation with an established social hierarchy, strangers who have all known each other for years, and cutthroat competition for, well, everything.

Understand that for the time being, nobody is going to pay attention to you, nobody cares what you have to say, and nobody is going to remark upon your unparalleled comedic genius.¹ It’s not fair, but at least it’s not personal — so try not to take it that way! It’s not even hazing, exactly. It’s just that veteran comedians have seen hundreds of aspiring comics walk through the same front doors — just once, or a few times, or a dozen times — only to disappear and never be seen again.

During those initial months at open mic, patience is your best friend. Bide your time for a while and I promise that you’ll start to make real friends, and eventually become a welcomed part of the community.

Like monkeys grooming each other

The scene offstage at a comedy club resembles nothing more than a bunch of monkeys grooming each other in accordance to a strict social hierarchy.

Here’s a typical scene from last week that illustrates the goofiness I’m talking about. Before open mic there was a group of comics standing around and talking, a group that included the club’s top-seniority professional comedian, several medium-seniority comics, and one or two relative newcomers to the group of regulars (like me).

Backstage at open mic

A young but veteran comic enters. He’s been doing comedy for about three years, and is just below the very top rung of seniority at this particular club. He’s friends with some of the other medium-seniority guys, with whom he went to school, but that doesn’t matter; he walks right past all of them until he’s standing directly in front of the high-seniority pro. He then started making very generic chit-chat with the pro about the Conan/Leno late night situation. They joked about it back and forth, with the rest of us occasionally pitching in with little conversational assists.

Now, the young veteran could have talked about the Leno/Conan situation with any of us — including the comics he was friends with from college. So why did he go out of his way to specifically address just the pro? Because the latter was the Alpha of the group, and the topic of conversation itself was just a pretext.²

While all this was happening, a new kid who just started coming to open mic was on the periphery of the conversation circle. He’s a nice guy, pretty funny, lots of potential, etc. He kept trying to jump in and offer his comments — and for the most part, his contributions were ignored.

It’s not like the new guy’s comments were stupid or anything. No, his basic mistake was in thinking that the topic of conversation actually mattered. But what we were talking about really couldn’t have mattered less. The point was simply the face time with each other, reinforcing our respective places in the pecking order through the social conventions of small talk and teasing. The new guy was going to be ignored no matter what, even if he came up with an earth-shatteringly funny new joke about the situation. If everyone’s mouths had been tied shut with duct tape, we probably would have gone through the same social rituals by sniffing each others’ balls or something.

Remember, it’s not personal

Put in the time, treat open mic with respect, and others will eventually take notice. Be patient. Don’t try too hard to be the center of attention. And most importantly, keep showing up.

1. Of course, very little of this applies if you’re a female who is even slightly attractive. Male comedians are just as hilariously pathetic as every other type of male — arguably moreso, in fact — and because cute girls are such a demographic rarity among comics, they are slathered with attention, advice, and opportunities. I’m sure this raises its own unique set of problems — problems which I am spectacularly unqualified to address. [↩]
2. Later on that same evening, I found myself doing something similar. The group was a little smaller now, and the aforementioned second banana was now the top dog. Before I realized what I was doing, I found myself looking right at him and starting another generic conversation about something I knew he was interested in. [↩]

 — Posted by CJ under Creating a Comic. Please comment or trackback!