Fully loaded with a licence to roast; Nothing and no one is safe from the barbs of the Roastmaster General (The Province)

Have you always wanted to feel like a celebrity? Jeffrey Ross is here to help. But be careful what you wish for.

Dubbed the Roastmaster General for his brilliantly scathing work aimed at the rich and famous on Comedy Central Roasts, Ross is now reaching out to the common herd. The author of I Only Roast the Ones I Love now sees potential subjects everywhere, from dudes in the airport to whole cities.

"Roasting for me has gone beyond celebrities and tuxedos," he said on the phone from the Jersey Shore, prior to heading west to host Just For Laughs' Nasty Show at the River Rock Casino Resort on June 10 and Red Robinson Show Theatre on June 11. "Now I can roast people, places and things, adapting it to the world. The world is my dais, if you will."

Ross will act as MC for the standup spectacle, introducing fellow comics Ari Shaffir, Thea Vidale and Big Jay Oakerson. But he'll also make time to put us in our place, both collectively and individually.

First off, the Lower Mainland is on notice. "Before I get to Vancouver I'll start writing jokes about the city. I'll do an opening monologue about Vancouver."

And then?

"I think I'll just start ripping into people just because it's the Nasty Show. I feel like this is a license to kill if there ever was one. It's finally a chance to break down my wholesome image."

That wholesome image has been slamming celebs since the mid-'90s but it was the Pamela Anderson roast in 2005 that sealed his reputation as one of his generation's top comedic feather rufflers. Who can forget his cringe-inducing zinger, "How is it possible that Courtney Love looks worse than Kurt Cobain?" directed at Cobain's widow sitting but a few feet away? And that's the only line that can be repeated in a family newspaper.

With jokes like that, you'd think he'd be making enemies all over Hollywood. But that's not the case. At least that he knows of.

"I feel like I haven't really hurt anybody," he insists. "But then again, the great Buddy Hackett once told me that if you hurt somebody's feelings, they'll probably never tell you about it."

So now's your chance to get that special warm feeling of being publicly humiliated by one of the industry's best.

"I'm going to try an experiment at the Nasty Show, which I don't think has ever been done before in Vancouver," he says. "I'm going to try speed roasting volunteers from the crowd, whoever wants to come on stage to get ripped on. Fifteen seconds of pain."

But fret not, Ross, at the age of 45, is a master craftsman. There is an art to a comedic undressing. Nothing is off-limits, he claims, if delivered right. But there must be genuine affection for the subject matter, too.

"You don't want to be a bully," he says. "You don't want to pick on people that aren't up for it. You want everyone to leave the show going,

'That was so much fun. I wish I'd been roasted.' To me, that's the key, is to have everybody think of it as a party and not as competitive or mean. You want everyone to feel like they're Frank Sinatra surrounded by the Rat Pack. You don't want them to feel like a deer about to get shot."

This isn't the first time Ross has taken roasting to new environments. He's lambasted the contestants and judges on Dancing With the Stars, where he himself was a contestant ("I danced so poorly people thought it was a telethon and sent in money"), recently did a part on Family Guy roasting one of the characters, and on Monday night gave a crash course to the men on The Bachelorette.

"It was really fun," he says. "I actually coached them beforehand on tips for making a woman laugh. If you can make a woman laugh at herself, you can virtually make her do anything."

And that's not the only practical reason for embracing the roast ethic in your everyday life. Ross has no option. It is his calling and everyone expects it from him. "Every guy in the airport wants me to rip into them," he says.

But we can learn from the art of dishing it out and taking it, too. "I feel like it's a good self-defence mechanism. If you read my book, chances are you're not going to get picked on. I recommend it as a textbook for children."

Note to parents: Not so much. He is the host of the Nasty Show, after all.

"I don't consider myself nasty; I consider myself classy," he says. "But maybe a little nasty."

Fleeing a Michigan nightmare; Popular Ottawa comic looks forward to Canada -- anywhere in Canada (The Province)

Since his series stopped production in 2008, Jon Dore has started making a name for himself south of the border. After starring for two seasons in one of the funniest Canadian series of all time, the aptly named The Jon Dore Television Show, which still airs on the Comedy Network, Dore uprooted himself and started anew in Hollywood.

But it's a slow process, he admits, even though his hilariously outrageous program is running on the IFC in the States and he had a guest-starring role as a mugger/ zookeeper on an episode of CBS's How I Met Your Mother. Touring comedy clubs across the U.S., he estimates that over the course of a typical weekend, eight to 10 people might have seen him on TV and come out to see him for that reason. The rest are just out for a night of anonymous comedy.

"It's kinda fun," the 11-year comedy vet says on the phone from his home in Los Angeles. "In a weird way it's kinda like headlining for the first time again."

It may be fun but it's not always easy. Last weekend in Michigan, for example, was the worst experience of his standup career.

"They were probably the most unruly crowds that I've ever performed in front of in my entire life," he says. "I almost hit my breaking point. Every show had a stagette that had something to yell out. They were texting, yelling, there was music blaring in. Michigan nearly broke me. It was a genuine nightmare. I just couldn't believe the disrespect these human beings had. Just unbelievable."

So you can bet Ottawa native is looking forward to coming home this weekend. To Canada, that is. It doesn't matter where. In a special Global ComedyFest Encore presentation, Dore plays the Cultch tonight then heads to New West for four shows over two nights at Lafflines on Friday and Saturday.

"There's good and bad with everything, but yeah, Canada's definitely a more comfortable place to perform," Dore says. "Don't get me wrong; I love performing in the States but it just feels like this is home. You go to Vancouver, it's a familiar scenario, you know anything you say isn't going to be misconstrued and fans of the TV show seem to want to come out."

Besides, he says, "I really like the venue. The Cultch? I mean, it's a cultural centre! People are coming because they want to see culture."

Not that he won't bring a certain class to the Cultch or Lafflines, but like his persona on stage, Dore is a master of the earnest poker-faced lie. In fact, he himself will admit to a crowd that the first lie he ever told was on board the Space Shuttle. Some of his jokes are harmless ditties like that one while he can also get quite dark ( "I treated my grandfather like royalty. Which means, yes, I killed him in a car crash"), but for him the joke, not the truth, is always king.

While a movement is afoot in comedy for personal, raw storytelling, Dore refreshingly keeps us at a distance. We never get to know the man behind the beard.

"My beard has nothing to do with comedy," he deadpans. "It has something to do with the fact that I'm hiding something. Oh yeah, there are secrets that I'll go to the grave with, for sure. Pardon me, I'm going to be cremated. Go to the urn with."

But, he isn't as cocky as he appears. He admits he's an over-thinker, constantly concerned about the expectations of the crowd.

"I want the show to go well," he says. "If they get unruly, I get worried. Then it's like, okay, how do I control this crowd? If the middle act does really well and they're in love with them, how do I change the pace a little bit?"

He might have reason to torment himself this week when his opener will be fellow Canadian and former Vancouverite Lynn Shawcroft, who, despite having done standup herself for over a decade is probably best known for being the widow of the legendary Mitch Hedberg.

Cook finds right recipe for success; Determined to succeed in a career of telling jokes, Dane is feeling fortunate (The Province)

Russell Peters' fans might disagree, but Dane Cook is arguably the biggest name in stand-up comedy. The 37-year-old Bostonian is a tireless workhorse whose skip-the-media approach to his fans has turned him into a megastar.

For years, Cook appealed to his fans directly via an impressive online presence on the social networking site MySpace (2,581,756 friends and counting!), allowing him to steer clear of the ink-stained wretches.

"I had this fan base that was so tenacious and so on the pulse of what I was doing that I didn't feel at that time that I really needed to do very much press," he said on the phone from his home in Los Angeles yesterday, one day ahead of his show at GM Place. "I could get on MySpace, I could put out one note and places would sell out."

Not that he needs help putting bums in seats these days. It's just that his plan backfired somewhat. While his legion of fans swear he's the best thing to ever happen to comedy, his success saw the inevitable backlash that comes with crazy fame.

"There was a lot of misunderstanding about me and who I was and my passion for stand-up comedy. The rumour mill and innuendo kind of became the truth on the bathroom wall," he says. "So I found it was a bit of a disservice to not get out there and talk to people like yourself and let them know what I'm really about."

He claims he expected the adverse reaction since it had been years since the likes of Steve Martin and Andrew "Dice" Clay were performing comedy on that kind of level.

"There's nowhere to go when you hit that upper echelon, especially when you're exposed to that many more people that truly just don't find you funny," he says. "The more people find you funny, the much more people that don't find you funny. So you just kind of roll with those punches."

Cook received an unexpected punch back in 2006 at Yuk Yuk's on Burrard Street. While in town shooting Good Luck Chuck, he dropped into the local comedy club to do a guest set -- a huge surprise for the crowd. As reported in The Province at the time, Cook performed for 35 minutes ahead of headliner Peter Kelamis before the club decided he needed to get off the stage. They cut his mic and blasted music from the speakers, a fine how-do-you-do for someone of his stature.

"What I thought was kind of a cool little pop-in, after the fact I learned it turned into a bit of a debacle locally," he says. "But I gotta tell you, from my perspective, I walked into the club and was welcomed with open arms. I had no clue at the time of performing that I was going to be ruffling any feathers. I just went in to give some comedy to that great club and learned after the fact that it was a bit of a fire storm once I left."

Cook says he was certainly "a little miffed," but it was just one of life's interesting moments.

"No harm, no foul. The fans got a cool show," he says. "And to the other comics that were talking smack, I can't tell you how many nights I got bumped in New York City by the Chris Rocks and the Ray Romanos. It goes with the territory. But, yeah, that was a bit of a strange night, but it would not deter me from wanting to come up and give a small show again for those great fans."

No small show this time around, though. His arena shows are an event. It's theatre in the round, and it works, he says, because of his amazing light, sound and camera crew.

"It's almost like going to a baseball game where you get to look at the field and see the game, but then you get to see perspective on a replay that you might not have seen before."

One of his openers, Al Delbene, has been a friend since the two were 14 years old and had stars in their eyes. "He was the first person I ever told outside of my family that I wanted to be a stand-up comedian. He actually said back to me, 'Wow, that's funny because I want to be a stand-up comedian.' Here we are now, gosh, 26-27 years later still performing together."

Cook has always been driven to succeed. He has set attendance records left and right, holds the endurance record at the Laugh Factory for performing seven straight hours, did the longest monologue in Saturday Night Live history, and sees his albums consistently on the Billboard charts. But, he says, he doesn't set out with records in mind.

"I'm not an outwardly competitive person. I really am not," he claims. "But I am very competitive with myself, which means pushing myself beyond being derivative of what I've done before and wanting to mail it in or repeat myself just to make a few dollars. So I guess by continuing to expand my repertoire, get better and continuing to push myself further, I've had some nice dalliances with some historic moments. And I attribute that to the fans. I really do. All of those successes come to great comedy fans who allow me to still come into their homes, into their lives, and they listen to my random thoughts and my point of view. It really is all about the fans. So those things say more about my fans than they do about me."

With his single-minded determination, it's really no surprise he's scaled the heights he has.

"I was pretty much driven from the beginning," he says. "I started stand-up when I was 19 and I told my folks, 'Listen, this is what I'm going to do. This is where I want to be.' My mom embraced it. My dad, it took him a little bit longer. What I told my folks was if you support me on this, I won't be just a kind of funny guy. If I'm going to do this, I'm going to take this to hopefully an upper echelon that you will be proud of and that I'll be proud of. So I didn't set out to do this just to sling a couple of funny jokes. I wanted to make a mark somewhere, and I feel very very fortunate that things worked out that way."

Snowy road to Kaml . . . oops!; Duo still sees funny side of missing out on gig (The Province)

Back in June, when comedians Dan Quinn, Ed Byrne, Craig Campbell and Glenn Wool met in Wool's North London home to discuss a January tour of B.C., they thought it would be funny to play up the cold Canadian winters angle.

Now not so much.

So it was that the Snowed In Comedy Tour was literally snowed in. At least on Day 1 for two of the comics. Calgary native, and former Vancouverite, Campbell was eager to play tour director for Irishman Byrne and his wife, along with Campbell's British partner and her son. Their mission: to get from Nelson to Kamloops. Easy enough for someone who's done many a drive between provinces in his 19 years on the road.

Mission impossible, it turns out.

Waking up in the little B&B on the shores of Kootenay Lake to no power and rainfall on top of gooey snow, the road warriors made a go of it anyway. They piled in to their rented 4x4 and set off on their journey. Showtime at Sun Peaks was at 9 pm. Lots of time.

"An incredibly picturesque dawdle is what I had in my head," says Campbell, who has carved out a very successful comedy career in Europe after playing second fiddle to a sock for seven seasons on Ed's Night Party in Toronto. "I was hoping to be pointing out bald eagles and talking about Kokanee salmon and their unique properties in our world. And we get onto the main road and it's very nearly carnage."

In Slocan, they were met with avalanche bars across the road. Thinking laterally, he thought of the Creston-Radium Hot Springs-Golden route on to Revelstoke, but Highway 1 was closed from Golden to Sicamous.

"I started to realize how really socked in we were," he says.

The only option was to cut down through the U.S., which is easier said than done with passengers holding three different passports. But where there's a will, there's either a dead person or a way. Thankfully, it was the latter.

"Luckily we get the nicest guy we could ever hope to meet at the American border. He's really quite charming to deal with. He sees the Conan O'Brien credit on the poster and asks Ed if he's met Conan O'Brien," Campbell laughs. "He's not sycophantic but he's really keen and interested. It wasn't a butter-up; it was a real wonderful, sincere conversation with the guy who really wanted to know stuff about the show. I felt there were all sorts of things he could have done to us but he just fast-tracked us."

Not fast enough, however. Despite only an hour's drive through the States, they didn't arrive to their 8 o'clock gig until 11:45, fifteen minutes after Quinn and Wool finished the show on their own.

"We just missed it. It just wasn't to be," he says philosophically. "It was frustrating but it couldn't have been funnier to be snowed in on the Snowed In Comedy Tour."

If there's anything to be gained from this experience it's that Campbell, who's known as one of the best storytellers in the business, will come away with tons of new material.

"It was actually on so many levels a great experience to have with people in the car that aren't from here because it underlines what's a pretty normal Canadian experience is quite abnormal in many parts of the globe," he says.

Byrne won't make the last leg of the journey, which stops in Vancouver at the Rio Theatre. But Campbell, Quinn and Wool, three headliners in their own right, can more than carry the load.

"I'm very, very happy to be playing Vancouver again. I've not been there for so long," says Campbell, who last was here about five years ago. The wild-haired 39-year-old has been living in England, as has Vancouverite Wool, for years and fits right in to the southern England rustic lifestyle. He's in no hurry to move back.

"I love Canada," he says. "It's my favourite holiday."

D-List helps put Kathy Griffin on A-List; Griffin now an Emmy winner and YouTube hit (The Province)

Kathy Griffin is on a roll. At least a Kathy Griffin kind of roll.

Last week, on a New Year's Eve telecast with Anderson Cooper on CNN, Griffin used a squelch made popular by nightclub comedians from time immemorial that features some salty language. Going to commercial, Griffin shouted good-naturedly to a bystander, "I don't go to your job and knock the d---s out of your mouth."

Perfectly acceptable in a comedy club. But on the venerable news station? Turns out that's OK, too.

Griffin, who performs two shows at the River Rock Show Theatre on Saturday, insists she thought the program had already gone to a break. When she found out otherwise, she immediately turned to her co-host and said, "Are you in trouble? Am I in trouble? Are we fired? Are you fired?" Cooper was nonplussed. "He acted like it was nothing," she says on the phone from her home in Los Angeles. "He said, 'No! It's cable. The FCC doesn't govern it.'"

Still, it got people talking. Which is something the self-proclaimed D-list celebrity covets. She also revelled in her 2007 Primetime Emmy win for her reality series Kathy Griffin: My Life on the D-List when she accepted the award saying, "Suck it, Jesus. This award is my god now." That bon mot got her condemned by the Catholic League. All well and good for the lapsed Catholic. But the joke on CNN has made her an instant splash on the Internet.

"You have no idea how excited I am at the age of 48 to be a YouTube sensation," she says. "I have never in my whole career had what they call the YouTube moment and now it's had something like a million views. I am absolutely in heaven. I live for this s--t."

With all this publicity, it's only fitting that in her fifth season, which airs on Bravo in the U.S. and the Comedy Network in Canada, the theme is that she's an A-lister in training. So she gets advice from the likes of Bette Midler, Rosie O'Donnell, Gloria Estefan and Lily Tomlin. In fact, Griffin is coming up a day early just to catch Tomlin, who's appearing at the same venue on Friday. (See story on opposite page.)

"When I talk to Lily Tomlin," Griffin says, "I'm sure that she will be one of many, many Oscar nominees and Grammy winners that will say, 'Maybe you shouldn't say things like that.' But I can't help myself!"

She dishes it out and her fans eat it up. Griffin draws from all quarters but is especially popular in the gay community.

"I call them the unshockable gays," she says. To her, they're the ideal audience because they're an oppressed minority who have real world problems they are confronted with daily.

"Who knows if somebody used a slur or if in any way they had to deal with any kind of anti-gay sentiment in their day," she says, "so by the time they come to a comedy show they're just willing to go there with me. They want to laugh. Gay audiences are the very least likely to walk out in shock at anything I say. I mean, what haven't they heard?"

If there happens to be a dissatisfied customer or two, though, she doesn't sweat it. On the contrary, she welcomes it.

"I like to think I haven't really done my job until at least one person's walked out," she says.

Finesse your way through comedy; Team of Just For Laughs packs theatres across Canada (The Province)

When Saturday Night Live alumnus Finesse Mitchell agreed to host the cross-Canada Just For Laughs comedy tour, he had no idea Barack Obama would be the Democratic nominee for president. So he jumped at the chance to perform standup in packed theatres from Hamilton to Victoria (the tour makes its Vancouver stop tomorrow at the Centre).

"Had I known he was going to win, I would have probably not done the tour because I wanted to be in the States," he says on the phone from a stop in sunny Saskatoon. "I thought Hillary was going to win. I'm like, 'I'm outta here. I'm going to Canada!' "

Obama's victory was an emotional time for the 36-year-old former University of Miami football player. "I cried and I cried watching other people cry," he says. "Every time I stopped crying, they showed somebody who was crying and then I started crying."

And then there were the missed social events. Mitchell was a frat guy in college and obviously still likes a good party. "Just the other day in Miami they had a Barack Obama bikini contest. It was like 80 degrees. So they gave me a call. They were like, 'Hey, Finesse, we want you to come down and be a judge. You in town?' I'm like, 'I'm in Saskatoon!' They're like, 'Where is that?' 'Somewhere very cold.'"

But Mitchell is having a blast criss-crossing his northern neighbour with a coterie of international comics featuring Canada's Pete Zedlacher, Ireland's David O'Doherty, Britain's Hal Cruttenden, with special guest Danny Bhoy from Scotland.

"We've become a small little family now," says Mitchell. "It's so funny because they're always talking about their history and who invaded who and who owes who what, who's in debt to who and all that type of stuff. Everywhere we go we're cracking jokes."

His three seasons on Saturday Night Live were two-thirds a joy. His last year was, he says, "a bit of a struggle and challenge. The cast was huge and it was hard getting my sketches on. I started losing confidence in what I thought my funny was."

After being let go, he suffered the usual actor's insecurities. "I thought the phone wasn't going to ring," he says. "You get terrified when you leave a show like SNL: 'Man, what's going to happen next?'"

Luckily, the phone kept ringing and he booked two movies, Who's Your Caddy? and The Comebacks, as well as signing a book deal, which became Your Girlfriends Only Know So Much, a dating advice book for African-American women. "I just basically took all my experiences and the experiences from my boys, who were thugs, professional athletes, doctors, lawyers, teachers and unemployed PlayStation dudes and put them out in one book and made a hit, man," he says.

On stage, Mitchell covers relationships, politics, pop culture and enjoys playing with the crowd.

"I'm always messing with the front row," he says. "So Vancouver, if you don't want to get messed with, don't sit in the front row. Especially with the wrong type of shirt on."

The show runs like clockwork, with Mitchell doing 10 minutes off the top and 10 more in the middle, but he freely admits he likes to talk.

"Sometimes I run long. It's hard for me to stick to my time. I've got a lot to say," he laughs.

Because, hey, sometimes you need a little Finesse; sometimes you need a lot.

Just letting the funny out; No parody of Match Game, more like the real thing (The Province)

Forget The French Connection, Farrah Fawcett-Majors or the Fonz, the real cultural icon of the 1970s was ________.

If you said, Match Game, ding-ding-ding! You win.

The game show featuring the blankety-blank questions has had several incarnations over the years, but the version hosted by Gene Rayburn from 1973 to 1982 was the perfect fusion of comedy and competition, becoming, for several of those years anyway, the highest-rated program in all of daytime TV.

Marcia Wallace, best known for her role as Bob's receptionist Carol in The Bob Newhart Show, was a regular panelist on many a game show back in the day. But her favourite remains Match Game, where fun was the order of the day.

"Are you kidding me?," she says on the phone from her home in L.A. "It was as close as you get for being paid for going to a party as you'll ever find. It was wonderful."

Party indeed. "People drank in those days," she says. As is the schedule with all game shows, numerous episodes are taped on a given day. The first two or three were fine. "Then we had some lunch where there was definitely a couple of drinks. Nobody was ever falling down but certainly things got looser. They absolutely got looser."

The camaraderie and looseness was a big part of its success. And it couldn't have worked without the right emcee to bring those personalities together.

"There was no better host in the world ever than Gene Rayburn," says Wallace. "He was funny, he was sassy, he was naughty, he kept the game going, he made the contestants feel good, he set up the celebrities. He was perfect."

Which is no knock on Jimmy Pardo, the L.A.-based comedian who has been hosting a live version of the game for three years. Pardo, who once hosted National Lampoon's Funny Money on the Game Show Network, brings the same dynamic to the live show, which will play the Firehall Arts Centre this weekend as part of the Global ComedyFest. Panelists like Wallace, Janeane Garofalo, Andy Richter and Brian Posehn will be on hand to supply answers for a lucky audience member.

Make no mistake, this is no ironic alternative comedy lampoon of the game show.

"I think the trick was not to do it as a parody," says Pardo, no relation to the occasional Match Game TV announcer, Don Pardo, although he gets asked that question about 500 times a day. "Just play the game and the funny will come out."

Getting his comedic peers to join in was half the battle, too.

"Every time they tried to bring Match Game back on TV," he says, "they put six people on the stage and then they tried to recreate or force this chemistry that doesn't exist. And it just doesn't work. Whereas the one that we bring up to Vancouver, we all know each other. And we're able to laugh at each other. If somebody tells you your answer sucks, you're able to laugh about it as opposed to going, 'Why is Jim J. Bullock telling me I'm not funny?'"

Even the 65-year-old Wallace is right at home. "Boy is she great," says Pardo. "She fits right in. She's sharp, she's funny and she brings a little bit of history to the game. And she's not afraid to go a little blue if she needs to. She's just a joy to be around."

With a renaissance in TV game shows hosted mainly by comics, is there a place for Pardo back on the tube?

"Sadly they're famous comics," says the self-deprecating Pardo. "They're taking my job and I'm going to have to whack Howie Mandel in the back of the head with a two-by-four."

***

Match Game isn't the only show in town. Other festival highlights include:

- Asssscat, Firehall Arts Centre, tonight at 9, tomorrow night at 7: New York's Upright Citizen's Brigade brings its acclaimed one-hour long-form improv show to Canada for the first time. One word from the audience sends a guest monologist (tonight it will be Andy Richter) off on an improvised monologue, which in turn sets in motion a series of scenes from the rest of the cast, including Saturday Night Live alumnus Tim Meadows.

- Charlie Murphy, Lafflines Comedy Club, tonight through Saturday: Murphy isn't just the older brother of superstar Eddie Murphy, he's a stand-up comedian in his own right, best known for his supporting role on Chappelle's Show. Depending on the night, you'll see a combination of Brent Weinbach, Ian Bagg, Ryan Belleville, Peter Kelamis and Jeffery Yu opening the show.

- Rockomedy, Firehall Arts Centre, tomorrow and Saturday, 11 p.m.: If music be your bag, this is the show for you. Brian Posehn of Just Shoot Me and The Sarah Silverman Program hosts. Guests include the Andy Kaufman Award winner Reggie Watts, the musical duo Hard 'n' Phirm, and Howard Kremer's rap alter ego Dragon Boy Suede.

- Best of the Fest, The Centre in Vancouver for Performing Arts, Saturday, 8 p.m.: If you can only get to one show, this one encapsulates the highlights of the past two weeks. Hosted by the hugely popular Ron James, it features a star-studded cast, including Janeane Garofalo, Todd Barry, Stewart Francis, and Jon Dore among others.

Do you know Who in the Hell is Todd Allen?; Comic wants it more up close and personal (The Province)

Pity the lot of the working stand-up comics. Out in the trenches killing people with laughter from town to town, working their way up to theatres and national television exposure. Do they get stopped on the street? Does anyone remember their name? Not so much.

Todd Allen knows this all too well. The 29-year-old comedian has played the prestigious Just For Laughs comedy festival in Montreal, had his own Comedy Now! TV special, and earlier this year became the first Vancouver-based comic to appear on a U.S. late night talk show when he guested on The Late Late Show with Craig Ferguson.

"I'm no different than any other comedian in Canada trying to carve out a career," he says. "Some of my credits are pretty fancy-dancy but nobody knows who the hell I am."

And that's the premise of his new one-man show, premiering at Studio 16 during the Fringe Fest. Who the Hell is Todd Allen? allows the Victoria native to tell stories about his life without the rat-a-tat delivery that is often expected in stand-up shows.

"It's still very funny but I don't feel the pressure right away to have to give a really quick dumb joke so that they know I'm funny. You have a little bit more leeway with a show like this. It's not so much, 'What have you done for me in the last four seconds?'"

Allen says that much of the show will be based on his stand-up act and characters he's developed over the years, admitting that the difference between his club act and the one-man show is maybe imperceptible.

"It may be more for the performer than the audience what the difference is. It's kind of self-indulgent doing a one-man show. Even stand-up itself is quite self-indulgent, I think. 'Who the hell is this guy to be doing this?'"

He got the idea when he started experimenting with using no microphone doing his act. As subtle as that may seem, he felt he was able to better communicate with the crowd. And the idea cemented when he saw Henry Rollins perform.

"I was blown away," he recalls. "His stories are very engaging and very funny. And he's obviously trying to communicate his thoughts and feelings to an audience as opposed to just trying to get a reaction out of them like stereotypical stand-up comedy does. I still like stand-up, obviously, but I find that there's some meaning in trying to communicate with people."

It's all part of his love-hate relationship with his chosen profession. In his eight years of stand-up, he says he's quit probably 17 times. What keeps him coming back?

"It's just better than everything else, you know?"

ON STAGE

Who the Hell is Todd Allen?

Where: Studio 16, 1565 W. 7th Ave.

When: Sept. 6-14

Bullard still at the mic (The Province)

Bullard still at the mic

Comedy Showdown: Former TV host hoping to wind up in radio

 

The Province, February 21, 2008

In the U.S., late-night talk-show hosts are a dime a dozen. The three major networks have six among them. But in Canada, there’s only been one of note. And he’s been gone since 2004.

Open Mike with Mike Bullard hit the air back in 1997 on CTV in front of a miniscule crowd of about 100 at the back of a Toronto restaurant. His round face shadowed by a day’s growth of whiskers, and quick put-downs of anyone in his sights, were an instant hit with Canadians.

The show moved to bigger digs, attracted bigger guests, and he was sitting pretty. By 2003 Bullard had done 1,100 shows and his contract was up. Foolishly, he left, signing up with the rival Global network. Six weeks later, buh-bye.

“I thought, ‘You know what? I’m going to try some place else and see what happens,’” he says now. “I could have gone back [to CTV]. Do I wish I had? Many times. But I don’t look back. I try to look forward.”

In this age where it seems anything that ever hit the airwaves is available on DVD, it’s surprising there’s no highlight package from Open Mike. Bullard gets asked that all the time but has no answer. It seems that maybe only a public clamouring for one might get it done. There’s certainly no shortage of memorable moments, like the time he asked Julian Lennon who his favourite Beatle was, or when the late Mitch Hedberg made one of his first TV appearances, or when the sitting prime minister paid a visit.

Bullard’s all-time favourite show was when Ricky Martin arrived at the height of his fame. The host was told that under no circumstances was he to ask him any questions about his sexual preference. Bullard being Bullard decided to have a little on-air fun. As he tells it, “We do the interview and it’s going really well and we’re almost at the end. And I go, ‘Listen, Ricky, I don’t want to pry but I gotta tell you I’d be remiss in my duties if I didn’t ask you this question.’ And you could just see the colour go right out of his face. I said, ‘But if I don’t ask you this question I really won’t be able to look in the mirror tomorrow morning.’ And he stutters and stammers and goes, ‘W-w-what is it?’ And I go, ‘Are you Spanish or Puerto Rican?’”

After his cancellation, Bullard started doing corporate gigs with his standup act before landing a gig as a morning guy on XM radio. The station ran out of money, as he puts it, but Bullard thinks he’s found his calling.

“That’s where I want to wind up,” he says, whether it’s satellite or terrestrial radio. “There’s none of this, ‘Hey, let’s write this, let’s go over it 25 times and put it on the show tomorrow.’ It’s right there and now.”

Bullard has always been about the here and now. Abandoning any prepared material early in his standup career, he started concentrating on crowd work. He’s one of the few comics working today who can go a whole hour just spritzing with folks. You can see him in action at Yuk Yuk’s tonight through Saturday hosting the Comedy Showdown competition.

His impressive memory doesn’t forget a name or relevant piece of information throughout the night. It’s not anything he works on; it just comes naturally.

“I don’t know what it is,” he says. “I guess I’ve never lost a brain cell through drugs or booze because I never drank or anything. On the down side, I’m up all night with sparks going off in my head. That makes me wish I had had a drink once in a while.”

The face that makes you laugh (The Province)

The face that makes you laugh

Jon Lovitz: Standup comedy saved star after close friend died

The Province, December 21, 2007

Jon Lovitz has a face made for comedy. Which made the former theatre student’s career choice that much easier.

When people ask him if he wants to delve into dramatic roles, Lovitz says he has. The only problem? “They laugh as soon as I come on the screen if they know me,” he said on the phone from his home in Los Angeles. “I don’t even say anything and they’re already laughing. It’s kind of funny. People go, ‘I just look at your face and I start laughing.’ I’m like, ‘Oh, great. Thanks.’ But I know what they mean. It’s a compliment.”

At least he got to play at serious acting during his five seasons on Saturday Night Live. His favourite character, he says, was The Master Thespian, based on cinema greats like John Barrymore (Drew’s grandfather). Lovitz, a fan of early show business, would watch old movies and think, “I wish I could play that part.” So he’d go into work and make up a character based on what he saw.

His Pathological Liar character, whose catchphrase (“Yeah, that’s the ticket!”) was on everyone’s lips a decade ago, was similarly inspired. “I saw part of The Thin Man recently,” he said, “and I forgot how much I was imitating it.

“I like old movies because they had a lot of energy. I like people that tend to be bigger than life. I was just watching this thing with W.C. Fields and he was doing this bit with a pool table. It’s just the funniest thing ever. If you want to know what comedy is, it’s that scene. He does everything. He’s amazing.”

Lovitz teaches an acting class at the Laugh Factory comedy club and says that too many actors and comedians don’t know their history, which he thinks is a shame. “I say, ‘It’s not old school, it’s correct school!’ There are certain basics in everything. Once you know all that, then you can add your own thing on top.”

His own thing these days is standup comedy. Lovitz started out in improv and sketch but turned to standup a few years ago in large part to break out of a funk brought on by the death of former SNL castmate Phil Hartman.

“Phil was like my older brother,” he says. “I idolized him. And he was murdered and it was horrible. Basically I was depressed for five years. I did stuff but I kind of withdrew socially. And then one day I remember standing in front of my garage and I said, ‘I’m still alive.’ That’s when I started doing standup, to be honest.”

Lovitz brings his act back to the River Rock Show Theatre tomorrow. He played there last year and had a ball, even recommending the venue to his good friend Dana Carvey. But above all, he just loves the art form. There are no directors or writers telling him what to do and say.

“I really enjoy it,” he says. “You get to be funny the way you’re funny. All the responsibility of the show is yours. That’s the thing that’s hard about it for me. If it succeeds, it’s you. And if it fails, it’s you. You can’t blame anyone else.”

Not to worry, Lovitz fans, he’s not forsaking acting.

“I still want to do television and movies. But the thing is, you just don’t know when the other stuff is going to come, at least in my case. But the standup is always there so it’s a great thing to have.”

You'll laugh your Yak-off (The Province)

You’ll laugh your Yak-off
 

Pre-Valentine’s Show: Comedian giving love seminar for singles
 

The Province, February 9, 2007

When Yakov Naumovich Pokhis emigrated with his parents to the U.S. from the Soviet Union in 1977, he knew two things. One, he’d have to learn to speak English if he wanted to make it as a comedian in his new country.

And, two, he’d need a new name.

He accomplished the former by locking himself in his room and watching TV for three months straight.

“Then I realized it was a Spanish station,” he jokes.

As for the name, while working as a bartender in New York, he tried to figure out what would be a name Americans would respond to.

“They knew Krushchev but that wasn’t a good association,” he says. “But they had a smile on their face when they heard Smirnoff.”

Yakov Smirnoff went on to become one of the hottest comedy stars of the 1980s, featured in movies, his own sitcom, and Miller Lite commercials. As kind of an early model Borat, his observations on life in America compared with his former home, usually followed by his catchphrase “What a country!” kept him in the limelight until the fall of the Soviet empire.

“I thought it was very inconsiderate of them to do this to me,” he says of the collapse. “Not even a phone call! I mean, at least they could have said, “OK, get ready. Your mortgage is gonna be the same and your income is going to plummet.’”

But the resourceful comic moved shop to Branson, Missouri, where he owns his own 2,000-seat theatre and plays approximately 200 shows a year there.

“It was actually one of the best things that happened to the world and to me, as well,” he says, “because I needed it. I was too comfortable. I was doing Vegas, Atlantic City and was living high on the hog. It helped me to reevaluate and see what is it I really want to do.”

With the dissolution of both the USSR and his marriage, Smirnoff turned his attention away from east-west relations and toward human relations.

Taking a hiatus from comedy to get his masters in applied positive psychology from the Ivy League University of Pennsylvania, he has now incorporated humour into the classroom, teaching a course entitled “Living Happily Ever Laughter.” He’s at Yuk Yuk’s Comedy Club on Burrard this Sunday from 6 to 9 p.m. with a pre-Valentine’s Day seminar for singles called “Let Laughter Lead You to Love.”

“The secret here is not that laughter creates love,” he says, “it’s that love creates laughter.”

He believes that cachinnation is the canary in the coal mine that monitors the health of a relationship.

Don’t expect a dull dissertation. He claims you’ll laugh your Yak-off.

“Laughter is a serious matter but it’s very much an entertaining workshop,” he says. “My goal is to pass on this information because I am personally so excited by this. My mission statement is ‘to experience happiness and teach it to the world with passion through comedy and sensitivity.’ So I’m making it very fun and interesting but mainly this information has to go out there because there are too many unhappy people.”

He could easily impart the same message within the framework of his standup comedy, but Smirnoff says people would just walk out laughing.

“What I want to give them is tools that they can take home and create laughter in their own homes. It’s kind of like the Home Depot of comedy.”

Conquering Canuck (The Globe and Mail)

Conquering Canuck

The Globe and Mail, January 5, 2007

Canada has produced its share of comedy superstars: Jim Carrey, Mike Myers and the casts of SCTV and Kids in the Hall, to name a few.

But in November, Vancouver comedian Damonde Tschritter did what no other Canadian has ever been able to do: The 36-year-old became the first standup from the Great White North to win the prestigious Seattle International Comedy Competition in its 27-year history.

This was no small feat. In fact, the first time Tschritter entered the three-week-long competition, in 1999, the event’s organizer, Ron Reid, told him that no Canuck would ever win it.

“He said it with a bit of sarcasm,” Tschritter remembers, “but I don’t know if he was joking or he was serious. It was a little of both.”

Tschritter’s style is that of a storyteller rather than a quick-hitter with one-liners. He eschews what he considers to be gimmicks, such as acting out routines or doing tried-and-true impressions, preferring to weave stories together from his life – about taking a Greyhound bus, wanting to be a firefighter and getting coerced into playing softball while stoned.

With only five minutes given to each performer in the first round, Tschritter ended up beating 31 comedians from throughout North America.

Although some Canadian comics shy away from any mention of their native country while working in the United States, Tschritter embraced his nationality during the competition.

“I decided I wanted to win it admitting I was from Canada,” he said. “I’d play the fish-out-of-water angle. I’m sure there are nights where the judges don’t pull for the Canadian, but what can you do?”

The 10-year standup veteran has done some big shows in his career, including the New Faces showcase at Just For Laughs in Montreal and his own Comedy Now! TV special. But Tschritter, an avid sports fan, says he loves the thrill of victory a competition provides.

Tschritter took home $5,000 (U.S.) “and a pretty good bundle of prestige,” he says, although he admits with a laugh, “It’s not like the phone’s been ringing off the hook.”

Perhaps the most beneficial byproduct of his first-place finish is being able to renew his U.S. work visa.

“You’ve always got to prove that you can do the job better than Americans and if you’re the champ, they can’t really deny that.”

Tschritter has done his share of touring stateside; already, he notices a difference in how he’s perceived.

“Down there, standup comics turn into TV stars, so [spectators] think this could be the next guy [to make it]. They give you that sort of respect. You’re living the American dream, whereas in Canada they just kind of look at you like you’re a garage band.”

If it’s true that you’re nobody until you’ve made it in the States, then Tschritter has taken one small step in that direction. But it’s a giant leap for Canadian standups.

A humble Harland Williams never wants for work (The Province)

A humble Harland Williams never wants for work

 

On a role: He’s played everything from a guy on Mars to a killer

 

The Province, November 23, 2006

When Harland Williams packed up and moved south in 1990, many in the entertainment industry predicted he’d be the next Jim Carrey, he was such a unique presence on the standup stages of his native Canada.

In fact, his first movie role was opposite his fellow countryman Carrey in Dumb & Dumber, where Williams played the first of seven law-enforcement characters he’d play to date in his career, albeit the only one who imbibed urine (his latest, Rosco P. Coltrane in The Dukes of Hazzard: The Beginning, will be released next year.)

Williams, admittedly, hasn’t had the kind of stratospheric success of Carrey, but the humble Canuck is never wanting for work.

“I feel – in terms of a really gratifying career in movies and standup and TV, I mean – I could have died eight years ago and I would have been happy,” he says on the phone from San Jose, where he was performing in advance of his three-night run at Vancouver’s Funny Bone. “I’m really happy. And what’s great about it is I still feel anything can happen. Right now I’m at a certain level, which I’m very happy with, but I always strive to move forward and, God willing, I move up the chain to something else. But if I don’t, I really don’t have any regrets…. I’ve pretty much done everything I wanted to do.”

One of his better known parts was as Kenny Davis in the cult hit Half Baked. But it was a role Williams was reluctant to take, given the film’s pro-drug stance. (“I just didn’t want to condone that type of thing,” he says.) In fact, he turned the movie down five times before his manager convinced him it would widen his fan base.

“I’ve played a guy on Mars; I’ve played a cop drinking pee; I’ve played a serial killer in There’s Something About Mary. They’re just roles. And so I kind of justified it that way,” he says.

Occasionally he’ll be approached by a young fan who credits him with turning him on to pot. “I don’t really like that,” he says. “So it was a bit of a mixed thing for me.”

No doubt it was also problematic for his father, a former Conservative Member of Provincial Parliament in Ontario and Solicitor-General.

“I think he gets a kick out of me playing all the cop roles because he was like the top cop there for a while,” says Williams. In fact, with all the time he’s spent in uniform, it’s surprising he hasn’t yet received recognition from the police.

“I’m hoping they give me something!” he laughs. “Like an honourable badge of merit or something. A diploma or an honorary degree or something. My own office, at least.”

The offstage Mr. Warmth is, well, really quite warm (Vancouver Sun)

The offstage Mr. Warmth is, well, really quite warm

Don Rickles, the bulldog of comedy, once studied dramatic arts in New York

The Vancouver Sun, October 14, 2006

Don Rickles isn’t called Mr. Warmth because of his cordial amiability. But after talking to the man on the phone, it’s clear his ironic nickname also works at face value.

The 80-year-old bulldog of comedy has made a name for himself throughout the years as a caustic, politically incorrect insult comic of the highest magnitude. But Rickles has long had the reputation, well-deserved by all appearances, of being a pussycat off-stage. You can’t help but wonder how he’s going to embarrass you (and secretly hoping he does), but it never comes.

Comedy historians trace his style back to Jack E. Leonard, but Rickles begs to differ. “Jack, rest his soul, was a friend of mine,” he says. “But he was so wrong, and so were a lot of other people. They compared me to him. Jack was a funny guy but Jack was the kind of guy that did put-down things in a set routine. Whereas I don’t tell jokes.”

An interesting distinction, to be sure, for anyone at the receiving end of either of these legends’ tongue-lashings. But Rickles, who plays the River Rock Show Theatre tonight, goes one step further, claiming not even to be an insult comic.

“Milton Berle gave me that many, many years ago and it always stuck with me,” he says. “But it’s not insult. Let me put it this way: I’m the guy that makes fun of the boss at the Christmas party on Friday night and Monday still has his job. It’s never mean-spirited. And it’s a matter of exaggerating people and things around us.”

It’s hard to imagine, but were it not for a few more inches and a lot more hair, Rickles might have had a different career path. Some fans and critics were blown away by his dramatic role in Martin Scorsese’s Casino, never realizing the clown had such depth of talent. But Rickles was a graduate of the esteemed American Academy of Dramatic Arts in New York, along with classmates such as Grace Kelly, Jason Robards, Tom Poston and Conrad Bain, before he ever took to the standup stage.

“I tried to get a job on Broadway and nothing really happened,” he says. “I got a couple of off-Broadway plays and that didn’t work out too well.”

So he started performing comedy, starting as an impressionist who did voices like Peter Lorre and Jimmy Cagney (“very badly,” he recalls with a laugh), before developing his current style by, in effect, heckling the hecklers.

“Without realizing it,” he says, “that’s how this performance developed… Thank God for standup, and of course doing odd jobs, otherwise I’d be selling apples today.”

But that very in-your-face approach to comedy also precluded much success in the movies.

“It did affect my movie career,” he says. “I was fortunate to do films, but to this day there are producers that hear my name and they go, ‘Ah, gee, what’s he gonna do to me?’”

Coincidentally, that’s precisely what his fans wonder, except in gleeful anticipation.

She still has something to say (The Province)

She still has something to say

Roseanne Barr: Stand-up lets her say what’s on her mind

The Province, September 21, 2006

For nine seasons, Roseanne Barr entertained us weekly with her ground-breaking sitcom Roseanne as the matriarch of the Conner household. In fact, it’s quite possible she went by Roseanne Conner longer than her various professional surnames (or lack thereof): Barr, Arnold, Thomas, nothing.

But if you can, try to suppress the urge to shout it out during her appearance at the Red Robinson Show Theatre in Coquitlam on Friday. Despite rumours to the contrary, Barr is a real person.

After a 14-year hiatus from stand-up comedy, Barr is back doing what propelled her to fame, fortune and infamy after her debut on The Tonight Show Starring Johnny Carson in 1985. What drove her away from her chosen art form was yahoos who couldn’t separate fantasy from reality. As her talent was eclipsed by her enormous celebrity, audience members would take to shouting out, “Hey, where’s Dan?” in reference to her TV husband, played by John Goodman.

“It made me so furious,” she says now with a laugh on the phone from her home near Los Angeles. “I’d get real angry and go on stage and tell people to [screw] theirselves and stuff.”

Don’t get her wrong. She’s not bitter; it just goes against the old comedy axiom about timing. “Sometimes I’d be like, it isn’t even worth trying to come back from that because first of all, it [the series] is the greatest thing that ever happened and I really don’t have to do anything after that. I proved everything I needed to prove. But I’m doing it because I’m a comic.

“That’s why I ever got into that television show. I was a comic first and, once you’re a comic, you gotta do it.”

Now that she’s come back to her showbiz roots, she’s having a grand old time spouting off on politics, feminism, class struggles, and being a grandma. “It’s awesome. I love it,” she says, but admits it wasn’t easy coming back. “It wasn’t like riding a bike at all. It was like, ‘Geez, I gotta start over.’ The writing drives you crazy.”

She hasn’t noticed a significant difference in the stand-up scene since she first started back in 1980.

“They wouldn’t let me on stage then because they said nobody wants to hear anything any woman says,” she recalls. “I proved that pretty much wrong. They still don’t want to hear it. Even worse than when they didn’t want to hear it the first time I had to cram it down their throats. But, you know, I’m still going to say it… I like being a woman with something say and I’ll always want to say it.”

The Smothers get the last laugh (The Globe and Mail)

The Smothers get the last laugh

The Globe and Mail, July 28, 2006 (unedited version)

The longest-running comedy team in the history of show business has made a living bickering on stage. And it wasn’t always an act.

Tommy Smothers, who plays the dim-witted, guitar-playing half of the Smothers Brothers, says their relationship got to the point where they needed couple’s counselling ten years ago. “They said we should just forget about being brothers and treat each other like professionals and stop bringing up old shit,” he says by phone from his home in Sonoma Valley, California, where he runs Remick Ridge Vineyards. “We love each other but we do have a lot of sincere differences.”

One bone of contention remains politics. Tom has always been a “screaming, left-wing liberal,” while Dick is the pragmatic conservative. The Museum of Broadcast Communications calls their Smothers Brothers Comedy Hour, which aired on CBS-TV from 1967 to 1969,  “one of the most controversial television shows in the medium's history.” The duo was fired after one too many run-ins with the censors.

“I think it was that we were just quite in tune with the consciousness of all the people thinking the Vietnam war was bad,” the 69-year-old comic says. “All these things were happening and all of the people on our show were young and we all started taking that position. It just slowly evolved until [the network] started saying, ‘You can’t say that.’ And of course that’s the worst thing you can tell a comedian: ‘Don’t say that.’ Well, they’re gonna say it!”

Dick didn’t care one way or another. “He said, ‘Just don’t make any mistakes,’” remembers older brother Tommy. “I said, ‘I won’t.’ Of course, I did and we were fired,” he laughs.

The brothers will be performing at the River Rock Show Theatre in Richmond tonight, one night before half of another famous comedy pair, Cheech Marin of Cheech & Chong, who couldn’t make it past the 15-year mark together. The Smothers are going into their 48th year as a team.

Smothers says their live show, while clean and light-hearted, canÌ still pack a political punch.

“When people leave the show, they know exactly where we stand,” he says. “We haven’t walked away from it. If we did the same show on television, we’d have all kinds of problems. ... Its not hard-hitting satire but it’s certainly strong social commentary about the condition of the world and the condition of the United States. But it’s not a preachy show, it’s a fun show. It’s a family show and it’s got the right amount of sarcasm and the right amount of laughter.”

The Smothers started out as a serious musical group before Tommy’s silly introductions got the better of them. Despite wanting to be a band leader growing up, he wouldn’t have it any other way.

“There’s something about comedy that if you have the ≥gift, you gravitate towards it because it is more unique than being a good musician,” he says. “If you get the comedy gift going, there’s a tendency to let the other stuff take a second position. I’m a pretty good guitar player and we sing very well... [But] there’s nothing better than getting a laugh. And there’s nothing worse than trying to get a laugh and missing.”

After 48 years in the business, they don’t miss too much now.

Dane Cook gets the hook at Yuk Yuk's (The Province)

Dane Cook gets the hook at Yuk Yuk's

Cut Short: Night's headliner, chain's CEO split over whether it was right call

The Province, July 25, 2006

One of, if not the, hottest names in show business right now is Dane Cook.

The 34-year-old standup comic was named one of Time magazine’s 100 most influential people in 2006, he sells out stadiums in the U.S. and is one of the few standups to have hosted Saturday Night Live without a series or movie to promote.

But all comics are created equal, it would see, to the Vancouver Yuk Yuk’s.

In town for six weeks filming a movie with Jessica Alba, Cook requested a guest spot at the Burrard St. comedy club on Saturday night.

Originally scheduled to go on for 45 minutes following an abbreviated set by scheduled headliner Peter Kelamis, Cook showed up and requested to go on early, before Kelamis. The club agreed, on condition that he shorten his set to 20 to 30 minutes.

After 33 minutes, and approximately five minutes of the warning light flashing him to wind up his act, Cook wasn’t appearing to slow down, so the club blared music from the speakers and cut his microphone in an effort to get him off the stage.

This action rarely happens, even on amateur nights.

Stunned, Cook appeared like he wasn’t sure if there was a technical glitch and, when the music stopped and his mic came back on, he continued his set. Five minutes later, the scene repeated itself. This time, Cook stuck his head behind the curtain, then turned back around to the audience, dropped the mic to the floor and walked off the stage.

The show then ended prematurely shortly after midnight and scheduled headliner Peter Kelamis, one of the top comics in the country but with nowhere near the star power of Cook, wasn’t able to perform.

Says Kelamis, “It was the most arrogant thing that I’ve ever seen in my life. Hands down. He knew a headliner was coming on after him… and he couldn’t have cared less about it. And throwing the mic down at the end was probably one of the most childish-looking things I’ve ever seen a performer do.

“In 18 years of comedy and my lifetime of witnessing comedy I’ve never seen a headliner get bumped time-wise from a show due to somebody doing what he did.”

Messages left with the local Yuk Yuk’s manager were not returned, but the comedy chain’s founder and CEO, Mark Breslin, sided with Cook.

“The tradition is stardom trumps everything,” said Breslin on the phone from his home in Toronto. “It’s the novelty factor and the fact that how often are these people even around? It’s too bad when somebody’s expecting to go on but you’ve got to be a big boy and suck it up.”

Breslin, who isn’t involved with the day-to-day running of individual clubs but still has his hand in booking the shows and oversees the local licencees (or franchises), sees no reason why the evening couldn’t have gone late since it was the last show of the night. When asked about the liquor laws, he replied that they still could have stayed until 2 a.m.

Breslin says he was doing damage control in Los Angeles all day Sunday with Cook’s manager.

“I’m on Dane’s side totally, 100 per cent,” said Breslin. “My guy screwed up. Period.

“I’m going to be spending a lot of time trying to mend this fence, both with Dane and with his manager…. Dane’s probably going to get the biggest fruit basket I can find.”

Cook’s publicity office said he was “unavailable for comment” yesterday. It’s safe to say, though, he hasn’t received that kind of treatment in a long time, if ever. Nor, it must be said, has Kelamis.

A Feel Good Groove (The Globe and Mail)

A Feel Good Groove

The Globe and Mail, February 24, 2006

When Monty Alexander sits down at the piano, you can’t help but smile. Go ahead, try not to. The jazzman plays with such delight and sense of humour that if your foot’s not tapping, chances are you might be dead.

“I enjoy [music] so much, I believe in it so much, that my natural being is to be as knocked out about it as the people seem to be,” the 61-year-old Jamaican American says on the phone from his home in New York. “I’m reacting to this experience just like the people in the audience. I’m one of the audience, if that makes any sense.”

Alexander, who has collaborated with everyone from Frank Sinatra to Dizzy Gillespie, performs all over the world. Last summer in Europe, he played concerts in front of 6,000 people, so his two appearances at Vancouver’s 85-seat Cellar jazz club this week will be a welcome respite for him.

“Sometimes it’s difficult to play in an auditorium when the lights are completely down and you don’t see anybody out there,” he says. “You still do your gig, but you miss knowing that the people are there, you know?”

Newcomers to jazz will appreciate the pianist’s repertoire. Along with standard tunes, Alexander is known for turning anything, be it a nursery rhyme, Bob Marley song or sappy seventies hit, into a gutsy and bluesy sound full of his dazzling keyboard technique.

“For me, it’s about being open to different things. To try not to be a snob,” he says. “More important than the songs we play is how we play them.”

The Monty Alexander Trio features Hassan Shakur on bass and Herlin Riley on drums, two musicians who share Alexander’s obvious love of jazz. “We’re all very serious about what we do,” Alexander says, “but we don’t take ourselves so seriously that we’re not smiling or laughing or having a good time with it.”

A keen sense of Pryor knowledge (The Globe and Mail)

A keen sense of Pryor knowledge

The Globe and Mail, February 24, 2006

What’s the first thing that comes to mind when you think of Lisa Marie Presley, Adam Cohen or Lucie Arnaz? You don’t think of them, you say? Well, that partly proves my point.

It can’t be easy foraging a career in showbiz when you’re the offspring of a name that will last through the ages. Sure, certain doors may open to you. But once in, you must constantly face unfair comparisons to the transcendent performer who is your parent. Rain Pryor, 36, knows all too well the benefits and pitfalls of being the daughter of arguably the greatest standup comic of all time, Richard Pryor.

“You grow up in the public eye and it’s hard to have any form of a private life,” she says on the phone from Maryland, where she is performing Fried Chicken and Latkes, the one-woman show she is bringing to the Chutzpah! Festival’s opening-night gala tomorrow.

One critic called her show “autobiographically naked,” which only makes sense, given that her father’s brand of comedy let everyone in on his (and therefore her) life. Much of the comedy in the show stems from characterizations of her mother and grandmothers. She’ll also adapt the lyrics of famous tunes like Cabaret to send up her life story in song.

While there’s lots of laughs and singing, her show has its share of poignancy and drama. But she insists she isn’t embarrassed about emotionally exposing herself. “My life has always been an open book,” she says. “One of my dad’s gifts was talking about his life and his truth. So for me it’s very normal.”

Richard Pryor was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis in 1986. Rain, now a national ambassador for the disease, still feels the pain of his passing in December. He never got to see his progeny’s production, which has been running – and evolving – for three years, although she did perform parts of it for him.

Fried Chicken and Latkes will continue to grow before its off-Broadway debut later this year as Pryor workships it for her uyltimate goal, a run on Broadway. The show, as the title suggests, is about growing up the daughter of an African-American father and Jewish mother. “I the seventies and eighties, being black and Jewish wasn’t typical,” she says. “My parents getting together was taboo back then. Here was this mixed child in the world living in Beverly Hills where there was mostly white.”

Dating was tough in high school because she was part black, yet today she is constantly asked about her ethnic background. “I get, ‘Are you Brazilian? Are you Latin?’”

Pryor visits Vancouver after four nights in London and before heading to Australia for most of March. Reactions are varied outside America because, as she says, other countries deal with discrimination differently. “Some places are in denial that they even have racism … In Scotland, there’s no black Jewish people there, period. There were some Jews there, but being black and Jewish was like going into a bar and ordering non-alcoholic beer – it just doesn’t exist,” she laughs.

Yet, as unique as her story is, you don’t need to be from a showbiz family to get it, she says. “I think everyone can identify with wanting to fit in and the growing pains that happen. And I think everyone can relate to the parent issues that I talk about. And talking about death, it’s a universal story, even though it’s my story.”

Stand-ups get smart when they roll into town (The Globe and Mail)

Stand-ups get smart when they roll into town

The Globe and Mail, January 6, 2006

In the comedy business, Vancouverites are known as a finicky audience, less willing than other Canadians to humour any old joke a comic throws our way. Is it the West Coast attitude? Politically correct sensibilities? The weather? No one really knows, but stand-up comics soon learn what works here and what doesn’t.

“You’d think Vancouver wouldn’t be that tough of a city because of all the rain,” says Ottawa-born comedian Jennifer Grant, who moved here 2½ years ago. “Everybody’s smoking pot and on antidepressants because of the weather, so you’d think they’d be a great crowd and ready to laugh.”

Vancouverites do appreciate comedy. In fact, open-mike nights are popping up all over the city to complement the area’s two dedicated comedy clubs, Yuk Yuk’s and Lafflines. It’s just that the crowds here are more sophisticated than elsewhere, notes Grant, who recently finished third out of 90 entrants in the Boston Comedy Competition. “The audiences [here] seem to appreciate originality and something a little bit more alternative,” she says. “They give you licence to be more creative.”

Chuck Byrn, a Toronto comic who got his start in Vancouver, finds that he doesn’t change his act so much when he comes home; rather, it’s the timing that is altered. And in comedy, timing is everything.

“You can tell the exact same joke, but sometimes you have to change how you’re telling it,” he says. “Vancouver’s a city that stresses how laid-back it is. But if you tell a joke that is politically incorrect in Vancouver, they’re much more likely to go, ‘That’s funny, but it’s not appropriate.’”

Byrn loves to throw out slightly arcane references, like the bit he does about watching Cool Hand Luke with a bowl of 50 hard-boiled eggs at his side. He figures usually 3 per cent of a given audience gets the reference (in the movie, Paul Newman eats 50 hard-boiled eggs in an hour), but the joke did much better than that last weekend, when he headlined at Yuk Yuk’s on Burrard.

“The people in Vancouver get all of the references,” he says. “You don’t have to worry about them getting it; you have to worry about whether or not they’re going to think it’s funny. In other parts of the country, you worry about whether or not they’re going to get it.”

John Beuhler, a local comic who spent 18 months in Montreal, agrees. “I think [Vancouverites] are a lot hipper than a lot of other places in the country,” he says. “They’re too cool for a lot of stuff, but they do get more as well.”

Beuhler had to make a conscious effort to slow down when he moved back to town. Audiences here prefer an entertainer who goes with the flow and really connects to them, he says. “I found that I was going a mile a minute when I came back from Montreal and I really didn’t fit in.”

Not every stand-up needs to be mellow, sensitive or suffering from seasonal affective disorder to relate to the comedy patrons here. It’s just that local crowds appreciate diversity in their humour professionals, and are less keen on cookie-cutter comics with interchangeable jokes.

Clowning Around

Here are five rooms that are bound to elicit a giggle or two:

Yuk Yuk’s Comedy Club. One of the best clubs in the country, on par with the chain’s Superclub in Toronto. Touring headliners play Wednesday through Saturday; Tuesday is amateur night. To avoid a drunken heckle-fest, take a pass on the Friday late show. Century Plaza Hotel & Spa, 1015 Burrard St., 604-696-9857.

The Urban Well (Kits location). The city’s hippest room offers stand-up on Tuesdays. You never know when you’ll catch a surprise appearance by Robin Williams or Brent Butt, the host here for six years before finding fame on Corner Gas. If you prefer improv, check out the Monday show. 1516 Yew St., 604-737-7770.

Balthazar’s House of Comedy. See top local talent and the occasional visiting pro on Monday nights in the West End. Run by failed NPA candidate (and potty mouth) Patrick Maliha. 1215 Bidwell St., 604-689-8822.

El Cocal. The Laugh Gallery on Wednesdays features the city’s best alternative acts – rough and unpolished, but often hilarious. 1037 Commercial Dr. Info at www.elcocalcomedy.com.

Lafflines Comedy Club. Sometimes you have to leave the city limits to see great Canadian comics who don’t play the Yuk’s circuit. #26-4th St. New Westminster, 604-525-2262.