Martha O'Neill

I have no doubt that this subject been addressed on these pages in the past, but something happened this week to remind me how much it cacks my hackles™ when comics are unprofessional. Sometimes monumentally so.

It is so hard to do well in this industry, everyone knows that. It’s extremely difficult to write funny jokes. Stage presence takes years to get right. Getting paid gigs, festival spots, media recognition – all arduous to say the least. But the one not-hard thing to pull off is professionalism. In fact, all it requires (in my opinion) is punctuality, politeness, good hygiene, doing your best on stage, sticking to your time and consideration for the audience, the producer and your fellow performers. Oh yeah, and SHOWING UP when you are booked into a show.

The incident earlier this week didn’t happen to me, but a friend of mine who runs one of the many rooms in Toronto. He had booked up his show (usually upwards of 10 comics), and only ONE showed up. I don’t have all the details of what happened, but I do know that out of 10 booked comics only one bothered his ass to arrive at the venue. Luckily, my friend and the guy who showed up have enough good material to put on a decent show, but that’s not the point. If you are booked, you do the gig. If you have an emergency or get a paid spot, fine. Just let the producer know. How hard is that? In this day and age of cell phones, texting, email and good old-fashioned pay-phones, there is no reason to leave someone hanging.

I think the reason I’m steaming about this is that I’ve noticed that (almost without exception), every show I do has at least one no-show. For a time, I ran a weekly room and dealt with this constantly. Since my room closed, I haven’t given it too much thought – ‘til this week with my friend’s experience. When I was the producer, it really ticked me off. However it was so common-place, I thought perhaps I was just not laid back enough. But in retrospect, I think I was dead on the mark. The problem, I suspect is that many comics think “I’m an artist”, which they believe gives them license to be flaky and unreliable. This is hooey. Maybe they think that since they’re not being paid, they don’t owe the show/producer anything. Wrong again. The producer goes to a great deal of effort securing the venue, marketing the show, securing a sound system and booking the talent. If you don’t arrive like you said you would, you not only leave a hole in the show, you have effectively taken a spot away from someone who would have been there and acted professionally.

These folks also not thinking long-term. I, personally, don’t have much (okay, any) power in the industry, but perhaps someday I will. And guess what? I’ll remember if you jerked me around. I don’t care if you’re the next Bill Hicks or Sarah Silverman, this kind of behaviour is going to come back and bite you in the career. But maybe that’s also part of the problem. There are no ramifications for this lack of professionalism. It’s a small industry, most people are friends (at the very least friendly) with each other; no one wants to be the bad guy and call someone out. Truly, though, I think we’d be doing EVERYONE a favour if we did self-regulate more. If the comics who treated a spot on stage as something they can take-or-leave were to face some sort of consequence, maybe they’d realize just how privileged they are to be a comic in the first place.
Okay, rant over, I feel better.

Someone pass the chocolate. And Happy Easter everyone.

So, really, the question that has been on all of your minds has been “What has Martha been up to for the past three weeks?” Because, truly, what’s more interesting than the mundane goings-on of a stay-at-home mother of two and aspiring comic? Not much, I can assure you! At least that’s what I tell myself to help me make it through the day. If you happen to disagree, kindly indulge me and smugly know that your life is fantastic.

So, here’s a day-by-day (yes, DAY-BY-BLOODY-DAY) breakdown:

Feb 24th – probably slept in. That night performed at a new room – So Funny! With Richard Ryder @ Gladaman’s Den. First show I’ve done in a gay bar. Small audience due to the fact that it was Oscar night, but fun set.

Feb 25th – School run, tedious visit to the bank to re-negotiate mortgage, school run (henceforth to be referred to as SR, happens everyday, twice a day, three hours of running around collecting sprogs); swimming lesson. More than likely cooked dinner. Went to son’s “First Reconciliation” at church. Am glad he is now free of mortal sin, though can’t imagine his confession was much more than “farted a lot” and “called my sister poopy-face” – he’s seven, for godsake. Missed Mike Wilmot’s birthday party because my husband had a late meeting and I’m a loser.

Feb 26th – SR, haircut, SR, dinner, Idol.

Feb 27th – SR, ate bonbons and watched Oprah (more than likely), SR, dinner, registration for next round of swimming lessons, went to watch Pro-Am at Absolute Comedy. Got way too drunk. Had to play tooth fairy that night. Couldn’t find a loonie, lost son’s tooth. Husband saved the day.

Feb 28th – SR, SR (may have done something during the day, dunno); son’s art fair at CBC, Pizza Pizza.

Feb 29th – SR; SR; withheld both kids’ allowances, though can’t remember why now (but it’s on the calendar).

Mar 1st – Saturday, no SR (thank gawd). Beyond that, I’ve got nothing.

Mar 2nd – Visited parents. Woo-hoo!

Mar 3rd – SR; SR; swimming lesson; performed at another new room @ The Fox & Firkin. Small room, tiny stage, karaoke machine for sound system. Still fun.

Mar 4th – SR; registered kids for camp (yay! Two weeks to myself in July!); SR; drove to Mississauga in an ICE STORM to perform at the monthly Fox & Fiddle show. Amazingly, so did 5 other comics and a smattering of audience members. Such a stage ‘ho, me.

Mar 5th – battled HUGE snowstorm in valiant SR. Twice.
Mar 6th – SR; Drawing a blank, though the calendar indicates my son had a Hot Lunch at school – so boon day for him; SR.

Mar 7th – Partial SR, son off for March Break; parent-teacher interview for son (happily doing well, is spelling whiz, not eating glue, happy me); grown-up bedroom furniture finally arrives – made by wee Amish men* with real wood!
*I don’t know if the Amish men were, in fact, wee, but it gives me pleasure to think they were.

Mar 8th – First day of March Break for both kids. Hid under my duvet. That night hosted “Texas Comedy Massacre II”. Walked in over 1 foot of snow to get to subway. Once again impressed to see an audience. Fun show, with a 14-yr-old comic on the bill, who showed me that I’m an idiot to have waited as long as I did to start stand up.

Mar 9th – Did the “So Funny!” show again – this time, however, it’s been changed to a competition format (sheesh). Happily though, won the night. Was rather a hollow victory, however, because the host announced that “if those three women hadn’t left, Bobby would have won”. Shamelessly took the $50 prize money anyway and went drinking and dancing with another comic and two drag queens.

Mar 10th – Still March Break – oh how I long for the SR! Hosted Fox & Firkin. Small audience, but hey, that karaoke machine sure is fun!

Mar 11th – Still March Break…when will it end?

Mar 12th – Still March Break…invited girlfriend over for “coffee” – in reality broke out the beer, then the wine, then…well, you get the picture.

Mar 13th – Unbelievably, but March Break continues.

Mar 14th – Highlight of the day thus far – a trip to Costco. Bought a lantern for camping, a book, milk and shoes. Weird place. Am performing at Club 54 in Burlington tonight, and am hoping that a night with Ben Guyatt will make me appreciate my life more.

So, that brings us up to date.

See why I need comedy in my life?

There are so many wonderful things about comedy. The watching it, the performing, the writing, the joy and pain, the highs and lows associated with the whole shooting match. There are also many unexpected things about comedy (stand up in particular) – aspects of the art/business which I didn’t know, and certainly didn’t anticipate.

For one thing, I didn’t know that the world of stand up is rather a microcosm, with its own (unwritten) rules, codes of conduct and hierarchy (or pecking order, if you will).
As I’ve mentioned in this column before, I performed improv & sketch for many years before starting stand up, and I can tell you, this structural phenomenon is really unique to stand up. Sure, there’s some of it everywhere; in the workplace, in families, on the playground etc. – but the sheer breadth of it in stand up is remarkable.

Allow me to illustrate what I mean vis-à-vis, the pecking order. Very soon after starting to perform, one learns just how low on the pecking order one falls. I can’t even remember how I first found out about it, I think it was comments by other comics, which were mostly harmless, but usually sounded something like this: “Not too bad for your first/tenth/twentieth time…”; “Well, your improv background doesn’t count when you’re talking about stand up”; “It takes two years of solid performing just to find your voice!”. And while all these may be true or not, it surprised me just how many times I’d hear this same party line.

Then there’s your progression up the pecking order. I’ve never seen it spelt out, but everyone just seems to know how it goes. So I’m going to spell it out, the way I see it. I may well miss stages, and of course, there are always exceptions to the rule but here’s how I see the progression of a comic’s career:

Step 1 – The Wannabe – this is usually someone who finds out you’re a comic, or comes up to you after a show and says they want to try out stand up, because their friends/co-workers/parents think they’re hilarious or they wrote all this stuff in high school, but never had the chance to try it out. The only response I’ve been able to come up with for these folks is, well, do it then. Stop friggin’ talking about it.

Step 2 – The Newbie – self-explanatory, really – someone with only a couple of sets under their belt. But at least they’ve gotten up there.

Step 3 – The Dabbler – somewhat more experienced than a newbie, but only does a few sets here and there. Could remain in this slot forever, though would never be truly considered a comic.

Step 4 – The Open Mic-er – still unsure how long someone remains an open mic-er, usually 6 months to a year. But that is only after proving their commitment by performing on as many stages as possible and being seen everywhere. Usually the less-than-talented and the lunatics* stall at this level.

*I was shocked at how many delusional folks are out their performing regularly at open mics. Scary. Nothing to do with this particular column, but still…

Step 5 – The Producer – usually an open-mic-er eager to progress, get even more stage time, be taken more seriously and/or perhaps make some money. Producers will, either alone or with other Producer friends, book out space and put up their own shows. Or open a room of their own (guilty), or tour with other like-minded folks – i.e. create their own performance opportunities. Of course, many of the following categories can be Producers.

Step 6 – The Semi-Pro – this is someone who now has a good 10-20 mins, a fair few contacts and friends in the comedy community, who can, some of the time, be booked into paid gigs; though they’re still regularly working the open mic circuit. At this point, he/she is pretty much recognized as a (capital C) “Comic”. Usually an opener, then a middle.

Step 7 – The Pro – at last! You’ve reached the place where you get paid almost every time you get on stage. Except for working out new stuff at the open mics – that never stops, methinks.

Step 8 – The Headliner – I’ve put the Headliner after the Pro, though one has to go with the other. But I’m willing to bet there are a number Pros out there who don’t really have a headlining set yet. The Headliner, to me, is a Pro who is well enough established to carry a show on their own. They’re funny enough, well-liked enough, and perhaps canny enough to book a show. They have usually have done TV spots (or their own shows), have won awards (or at least received nominations), had decent press coverage, and if they’re very lucky, are earning enough to quit their day job. Sad statement, but that’s Canadian comedy for ya.

Step 9 – The Huge Success – of late, Russell Peters…and um, Russell Peters.

Step 10 – The Vet – a still working comic/headliner/pro, who has been doing it so long that they possess a certain celebrity amongst the less experienced comics. If not celebrity, then a level of respect for their talent and staying power. If not celebrity or respect, then they’re certainly older than the others. That’s something.

Well, now that I’ve opened this can of worms, find that I could go on and on. There are so many off-shoots of each category that this article could look like my own personal Joshua tree. So I’ll wrap it up here. But know that this is merely how I see things and the path that lies ahead (and behind). I’ll admit that stand up, for me, was originally just a fun endeavour, and am surprised that it has turned into such a complicated road, but those of us who do it, don’t really mind at all – because it’s not about the getting there, it’s the thrill of the journey. Of course, bags and bags of money would be nice, too.

It really did seem like a good idea at the time. Thought I’d audition for “Last Comic Standing” when they had an open audition here in Toronto on Thursday. Perhaps it’d be a bit of a laugh and maybe even a wee bit of network exposure. Oh yes, I was well aware that I would have to stand outside in the freezing cold for a long time. I also knew that the chances of progressing very far were small. But what I didn’t anticipate was how much of a clusterfuck it would actually be.

Now, bear in mind, these are just my observations of what happened to me. There could well be many people out there who thought theirs was a great experience. But I’d be surprised.

So here’s what I knew going in…

• There were a number of people who have savvy managers/agents who were able to secure an “invitation” to perform. They wouldn’t have to wait in line, would be seen quickly and taken seriously. Though it was worrying to hear from a friend of mine that he was asked to wear something wacky.
• LCS is a reality TV show – their agenda might not necessarily reflect what is best for stand up comedy (and stand up comedians).
• It’s flippin’ February and the coldest, snowiest one we’ve had for yonks.

… so really, I have only myself to blame for my subsequent frostbite, exhaustion and despair. Having said all that, here’s how it went down.

I arrived to the Yuk Yuks on Richmond around midnight, having just finished a show at Betty’s. Friends of mine were camping out all night and rumour had it that the producers “might” hand out numbers the night before, as they did in Montreal last year. There were only a dozen people in line at that point. I hung around for just over an hour and no one else joined the queue, so thought I’d head home, organize my stuff, sleep for a few hours and return first thing refreshed and energized. Got home around 2:15, went to bed around 2:45, woke up at 3:45 (way too hyper to sleep), headed back downtown. Arrived around 4:15. I was number 14 in the line! Surely I’d be seen by the powers that be. Was already questioning my sanity by 4:25.

Beyond the almost unbearable cold, there was the frustration that there was virtually no one else in the line. I think there were less than 20 of us ‘til 7am. By 9am the numbers had grown to an underwhelming 40. I think there were something like 125 people who eventually joined the queue. Most of whom had a good night’s sleep and enjoyed the lovely sunshine of the day.

The people with invitations started to arrive. I was jealous, sure, but most (if not all) were great comics who deserved to be there. The shocking thing was the number of extremely talented invitees who left their auditions with a “thanks but no thanks”. And they had only auditioned for a lone woman producer. No sign of celebrity judges Dave Foley & Richard Kind. This did not bode well.

At around 9am, the camera crews started shooting outside. They did a few passes of the line. When the camera was on me, I was so punchy from the freezing cold and exhaustion that my comments ranged from “please let me go inside” to “I’m funnier than a 5th Grader!”. Sad, I know. Then Bill Belamy spent ½ hour trotting past the line on a horse dressed as a Mountie ( I shit you not) shooting intros and tags. Though he & I did have a moment. I’m certain he lusts after my comedic ass.

Finally, at about 10:30am, after the form-filling out, picture taking was complete, myself and 5 other of my line-buddies were ushered upstairs in a building next to Yuks. There, literally at the top of the stairs, in the foyer we met with a harassed young producer who told us to stand in a semi-circle, he would point to us and we were to tell a joke. I thought this was some sort of pre-screening, so started to un-layer right there, fix my hair a bit, you know, get ready. We all did about three jokes (though how much the producer actually heard is hard to know, between his chats with other members of the crew and phone calls he received). He said if they wanted to see us again, they’d call us by 2pm, or 4pm or maybe tomorrow.

Next was to another building (still not Yuks) to do the “funny booth”, which was a photo-booth type set up where we were asked questions and were to provide witty responses. This part was actually a lot of fun. For the first time, the cameras were rolling and a little focus was being paid to me. After that, we wandered out into the street, unsure of what to do next.

At that point we ran into Debra DiGiovanni (a wonderful person and great comic), who was doing some reporting for E! (I think) and NBC. She interviewed me and another comic friend of mine about the whole process. It was so nice to vent. Doubt it’ll make it to air, anywhere, but it sure felt good.

You’ll be shocked to hear that I didn’t get a callback. In fact there was only ONE person who lined up who made it to the evening show. He’s a very funny guy (named Derek Forgie), who auditioned doing some character work. Ultimately, though, those who made it to L.A. are all deserving, talented folks for whom I wish nothing but the best. Who they are is supposed to be top secret, but word is out. I won’t list them here because I’m pretty sure I signed a confidentiality form, among other things…but I’m sure you’ll hear soon enough.

I’ll wrap this up with lessons learned (and things I actually knew in the first place):

• get myself an agent or manager, pronto
• Cougar boots aren’t as warm as advertised
• Never, I mean, never, attempt to do a show after such an ordeal. I performed in a competition at McVeigh’s that night, but was so tired/delirious that, while performing would drift off and stare at the table candles and imagine they were teeny tiny fairies.

Good times.

Without a doubt, this has been the most horrid week of my life. January has sucked for the most part, but this week has really been hard. I won’t go into the details, but it involves my family, serious illness and an emotional rollercoaster from hell. I was going to write to Andrew and beg off this week’s column, but decided not to in the end. And not because I’m “such a pro”, but more because I realized that this must happen in comedy all the time.

I think most people would agree that comedy is a complicated thing. Even those who aren’t involved in the creation of comedy can probably appreciate the skill, commitment and talent required to pull it off. But what this week has taught me is that beyond those things, sheer resolve is also key. No one is forcing me to perform comedy. In fact, many people wonder what would possess me to do it. Why would any of us do it? Frankly, I haven’t a clue. But I think that all comics share some intangible quality that propels us to write, to perform, to participate.

Although it must be commonplace, it never occurred to me that most comics must find themselves in the difficult position of having to entertain and be funny when things in their private lives are in the shitter. I’ve been very lucky, until now, the worst I’ve faced in my life are the day to day difficulties we all have; an argument with my husband, financial stress, the ups and downs of parenting and friendship etc. So getting on stage and doing my thing has never been hard. But I now wonder at the people before me who have carried on in the face of genuine stress.

Most days, performing is a joy and a privilege; but I think it can also be a salve. At least I hope so. I’m middling tonight (Friday) at Club 54. My plan right now is to carry on and try to put my stuff away and hopefully have a good set. Scratch that, I’m going to have a great set, get off stage, and then probably collapse in a heap. But I think that may be just what I need right now.