Someone told me that a good hypertext article is written to a formula. It has an introduction, a body of text containing a single well-planned and thought out thesis, and a buzzword with a link near the end to cap it off and chum the search engine water off the port side. Finally, the introduction itself needs an introduction, which is what you’re reading now, because as everyone knows: hypertext authors are boring, bitchy emo fags that couldn’t convince shit that it came out of someone’s ass to save their own life and therefore package main points into the introduction to save time. I’ve heard similar theories about how to create an improv sketch: It all begins with audience participation; a word, usually a catchy buzzword people are talking about, to set the obligatory “comedic” premise of the sketch. Then the players build towards what I call the Zinger, or the one funny joke made possible by filtering out as many totally obvious jokes as possible. This Zinger, the one “unexpected” joke, can be used night after night after night without anyone in the audience knowing it. If there is no Zinger, if there’s nothing left but obvious puns and shortcut jokes, the player can either hold their hands like a gun and shoot something, resort to homoeroticism or simply address the audience and pretend to be laughing uncontrollably until they think of something else to do.
A good hypertext article, much like the improv sketch, can be identified by the unprofessional, emotional nature of the editing, constantly making ample use of the word “tangent” to appear professional. The main point of this article is to bash and criticize Improv comedy, particularly one skilled bastard named Russ Peacock (SLC Punk, Not in This Town), not to tutor hypertext emo authors. But not least important among tangents is an overlooked idea that writers of the free newspaper: City Weekly, have been too busy smoking crack for 2 weeks to print anything more insightful than a splendid in-depth look into the leash laws at Tanner Park. Last week after reading through City Weekly’s “Best of” yearly edition. I noticed a few discrepencies well worth pointing out. Best Place for Dancing – Area 51, Best Hardcore Bike Trail – Slick Rock, Best place for Beer – The Bayou, Best place to Get away – Moab, Best CD release party – Death by Salt II. I’m not going win many popularity contests when I tell you these “best of” polls are nothing but a sure indicator of where not to go for beer, where not to go for dancing, what release parties not to go to. That is, unless you want to be smashed into a sardine can whilst people burn you with lit cigarettes. That is ;except for in the case of the SLUG DBSII release party, in which case: smashed into a beat up, empty sardine can, and burned with lit cigarettes. Or the Bayou: sat patiently outside an already packed sardine can, you get the idea. Yes, readers themselves elect the yearly “Best of” candidates, and City Weekly seems more than happy to let the readers write the commercials for a change.
Theres one sardine can downtown you may actually be surprised to hear me commend, but we’ll get to that in 4 sentences, count them with me if you get bored. A good hypertext article should always restate the main topic plenty of times for search bots to catch onto. Here’s a little secret: purposely misspell the main topic in as many ways as possible throughout the article. Chances are, there are plenty of stupid people searching for that topic, and only a small majority of them cant even spell Penut. Now onto the main point of the article: Imporv Comedy. Since we’ve established that so many obviously crappy places are complete crap, it may surprise theater goers to hear that the Off Broadway Theater, complete crappy place owned and operated by the infamous Eric and Sandy Jensen, actually managed to do something not so crappy last week. Let me explain: I called Eric at the theater Friday afternoon and let him know that I’d be submitting a review for City Weekly, “Abolutely NOT!” he said, followed by a long phone silence. “Oh…k” I said, and made a reservation. These theater owners are a bit eccentric to say the least, but perhaps I should start at the begginning: 15 years ago when I first saw Eric perform The Music Man or some lame crap at the Hale Center Theater. He was a cut up, and thats really saying something because I was not at all impressed with the 3Dimensional enterpretation at 10 years old. All I remember was laughing my ass off at the balding guy with glasses, or was I laughing with him? I dont remember.
Next thing he knew Eric was stuck in the AM radio circuit; his on air persona “Eric the Viking”, a likely homage to the ambiguous Mel Brooks, kept entertaining the little kids whilst his theatrical self stagnated. Regretably, Eric put the Hale gig on hold and got sucked into the corny world of melodrama. This period in his life seemed like a comedic experiment. How do I write jokes? How do I make them laugh? How do I make money? How do I make them laugh AND make money? How do I write jokes that make them laugh and make money doing it? Needless to say kids 10 and under listening to AM radio will laugh at just about anything, so he kept keepin’ on. The biggest baby step came when Eric finally quit the radio business and opened his own theater on the desolate strip of Main Street where someday a light rail would bring patrons by the trainload. Nobody there on opening night for Eric’s first stab at Improv comedy, Quick Wits with Bob Bedore, could have imagined the Off Broadway would still be there today. Surprisingly, 11 years later not only is it still there, its still selling out its impov shows week after week.
Since opening the theater Eric has spawned dozens of side projects to stay above water, some of which he’s probably not too fond of remembering, everything from a Saturday morning 4am fitness show on channel 5 called Fit Kids, to Utah Transit authority and RC Willey Commercials. How many of you can say you’ve done a square pumpkin commercial for Arctic Circle? Shawn Zumbrunnen can, one of the original Quick Wits and Laughing Stock Players: he’ll be forever known as the afromatic square pumpkin guy who got probed by aliens…and liked it. There’s another Arctic Circle guy you may not remember, the short bald one: Russ Peacock. But maybe you’d remember him better if he called himself Jones. Thats the screen name of his character in SLC Punk, a 1999 movie about anarchy is SLC, and a totally kickass movie I might add.
I arrived at the theater Friday night an hour before the Laughing Stock omprov show began and claimed my tickets, knowing that parking would be difficult to find and that the tickets for the show would be going fast. Off Broadway, get into it! After a nice meal at Su Casa (with no beans, mind you) I headed back to the theater, arriving a few minutes late. Su Casa, get into it! For those of you who don’t already know, arriving late to theater is extremely poor etiquette, but the Off Broadway is not your run-of-the-mill theater. Late-comers are often made the basis of ego bashing improv taking place on stage. I have always been careful not to become said victim.
From the lobby I could hear Eric, the MC of his own most recent improv show Laughing Stock, schticking things early on while the audience ate the whole thing up, I waited for a lulled point to make an obscure entrance, when suddenly Russ, sweating bullets, marching furiously out the side door passed me. “Hey Jones! What up?” I said, no response, his eyes were fixed and set to kill. In his fury, Russ marched past the ticket booth towards the front door pointing an eerie finger at Sandy, Eric’s wife, who laughed: but Russ wasn’t laughing whatsoever. Thing is: In imporv comedy, the players and MC work together at a somewhat predictable routine to allow a few recycled Zingers in just to keep the audience from becoming an angry mob. That night Eric decided to change up the routine in light of Russ’ late 10 year anniversary with the Theater, but didn’t bother to tell him or any of the other players until they made it on stage. I’m not a big fan of Improv, but I have to tell you that this premise of putting comfortably zinger flinger comedians in GENIUNELY random situations is actually really fucking funny. Just the look on the player’s faces when they realized they’d been had by the MC, and that the show must go on regardless, was absolutely priceless. The mess that ensued was worth every penny; the players bungling around trying desperately to maintain composure while the heckling MC threw new, untested elements into what should have been typical blah blah routines full of tested and proven Zingers. Not so.
Cody, a long time Laughing Stock player, tried to make the best of things. In one particular skit he was called upon by the crowd to play the part of Eric, while Russ was required, as part of the game, to guess which person Cody is trying to be. Cody cleverly tucked his arm into his shirt like a Tyrannosaurus and put tape across his face in the spirit of a rudimentary soul patch (somehow portraying Eric rather well) obviously hell-bent and determined for vengence. Russ caught on quickly when Cody said “I can’t pay you this week” but let the gag continue at Eric’s expense. Eric started to sweat majorly as the Mormon jokes were unleashed, and promptly ended the sketch before things got too out of hand. Tensions high: Eric clicked the microphone off and rushed onstage during the changeover, whispering something in Cody’s ear. From the front row I manage to make out “that’s not what its for” among other paternal scolding remarks. Cody threw his arms in the air and yelled rather off coloredly to the crowd “its my last show everybody!” Eric tried to smile but shook his plastic head and physically forced Cody back into his seat. Five seconds later Cody disappeared, and didn’t return for the rest first act. In the meantime I am on the front row trying not to piss my pants with laughter. (Eric, bless his heart: has one oddly short arm that he tries to keep in his pocket).
After the intermission, after I’d had my fill of tasty, delicious Red Vines and Root Beer from the lobby (aka “the bank”). I somehow managed to return to my seat: late once again, and this time Russ got me good. “You sir are my favorite late person!” he blurts out, interrupting the flow of the skit. The audience cracked up laughing but since I missed the premise of the skit, I just thought it stupid. Ignoring him altogether I shoved my way back to my seat, hoping the heckling would cease, but it didn’t. Even when I sat back in my seat the jabs kept coming “Oh you like Root Beer?” hahaha “Oh you like Red Vines eh?” hahaha. Yeah haha, shut the fuck up Russ. This is the same old shtick from the Desert Star that Eric and Gary Winterhauler invented, the one Scott Curren took to the next level by actually reaching down into the audience and stealing a piece of pizza. To the people who have season tickets, to the folks who frequent the theater, this stuff is just corny. But somehow the Friday night audience loved it like it was French bread, go figure. Red Vines, I mean Off Broadway, get into it!
Cody returned a few minutes into the second act, less energy than before, and it seemed as if the players had been again falling into the not so zinger flinger mprov format when I realized that the zingers weren’t dropping like usual. The players were tense and scrambling desperately for a laugh. Although the audience kept periodically busting with laughter, something was horribly wrong. Sometime into the dance game I realized that all of this had been one big, hurtful, inside joke after another. Cody strutted to center stage prepared to dance out a career he thought they’d rehearsed a dozen times, only to get hit with another of Eric’s zinger-destroying pranks “Astronaut!” he calls out. Cody, obviously stumped, smacks his ass a few times to the rhythm of “Mind Over Matter” and shakes his finger… but that would be charades for “ass-not”, very different from Astronaut. Eric somehow manages to keep a straight face as Cody shrinks into this little tiny speck on stage in front of an audience that doesn’t know whether to leave or throw tomatoes, but one thing they do know: not funny. I could’ve died laughing right then, again: score 1 for Eric. Not a single amused face in the entire theater: priceless. Zac Zumbrunnen never even took his turn, knowing Eric could and would at any moment destroy him for that earlier crack about Rogaine, smart move Zac.
It was back and fourth between Eric and the cast all night long, eventually Eric eliminated any possible chance of “zingers” by pulling ridiculously complex sketch premises from thin air. “Russ, who lived above the theater for a while (really didn’t), was once visited by 3 ghosts!” the cast is completely stumped. The result is a bunch of grown men running around on stage in a daze putting on whatever props happened to be handy, acting out any character they can think of that may evoke the slightest of genuine laughs. Eric let this continue for what seemed like forever until Jesse Parent broke the rules and implanted his own Zinger dressed as the blind Belgian man (who cameos in every written drama at the Off Broadway, sometimes blind, sometimes bald, sometimes cleptomaniacal etc.) end sketch. Throughout the rest of the evening the audience and I witnessed plenty of holding hands like a guns and shooting someone, homoeroticism and yup: cracking up out of character long enough to think of something else to do. Between sketches Eric yells to someone in the balcony “I’m never doing this again” chuckle, chuckle, hahaha. A female voice rang back angrily “It was your idea anyway!” after which Eric tries to smile and play it off as part of the show.
I have to hand it to Eric, this little joke on Russ couldn’t have seemed more genuine. But as I walked out the theater doors it occurred to me that perhaps all that stage awkwardness, the non-laughs, the inside stabs against former cast members and owners, all the genuine reckless lack of uniformity, may have all been just another big fat zinger done night after night after night. I wondered then if anyone else in the audience had this sort of frozen Columbo moments, where the eyes sortof uncross for a split second and things become clear. Was it really Cody’s last show? Had Russ really been there for 10 years (seems like a lot longer to me)? Does everyone on the staff want to kill Eric? Did Bob really make everyone sweep the carpet? Even on our way to the car I was struggling with the thought that these impron players may have had me fooled for 2 straight hours. Eric and Russ, you tricky motherfuckers, I’m going to have to buy another ticket to find out for real. Russ Peacock and Eric Jensen = Andy Kaufman and Jerry Lauler, it took me a few days but I finally get it, oh its a good one, and its on me.
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