A few weeks ago I got talking with an improv classmate of mine who used to do standup. Shop talk ensued, and at one point I presumptively inquired “you’ve seen the Jerry Seinfeld documentary Comedian, right?”
He had not. Worse, someone had bought it for him as a gift years ago, and it sat neglected on the shelf because he assumed it was a another concert dvd. I would have reached across the table and smacked him one if not for the 2 pints of valuable lager sitting between us.
I’ve been around comedy long enough that the inevitable has happened: my entire social circle — whether in Toronto, in New York, or back home in Winnipeg — is somehow involved in comedy. I have to think hard to come up with names of friends who aren’t standups, improvisers, writing classmates, producers, etc.
The only downside to this? Everyone is funny. Everyone in my world is just as quick, creative, and hilarious as I am. It can make you feel, well… average.
This week, I got a much-needed reminder that not every human wandering the Earth can write a joke.
Two shows sold out.
A third added, sold out.
A fourth easily would have, and a fifth and sixth *may* have given scalpers some inventory (the week leading up to the shows, the “wanted” listings on Craigslist vastly outnumbered the “for sale” posts).
It’s hard to pinpoint exactly when Louis C.K. became big in this country. My first time seeing him live was in Montreal at the 2007 edition of Just For Laughs, and I remember being startled by the audience’s (very vocal) devotion to the man during his set. I spoke to a few people at the show in Toronto who were also pleasantly stunned by the demand for tickets and the excitement among the crowd as showtime approached. Louis CK fans up here don’t realize how many of us there really are.
