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THE key to a successful comedy gig is for the performer to get the audience laughing early and laughing big. But equally, a failure to connect with the audience immediately can result in a cruel form of torture. Comedians call this "dying on their arse", and the collective rear-ends of Lewis Schaffer and his New York buddies must still be feeling a little bruised.
From the off something was wrong, and you could feel the crackle of antipathy as compere Schaffer went through his routine, which sounded something like Woody Allen doing Robert de Niro. So the audience was distinctly cool by the time Bert Kreischer arrived on stage. He insisted the volume on his mic be turned up to approximately the same level as his shirt, and proceeded to alienate the whole room with his loudmouthed Yank routine.
After heckling from the back, Patrice O'Neal invaded the stage before things got any worse. "I'm as nervous as a motherf*****," said this 300-pound African-American, who didn't look as if he was familiar with the experience. Through a superhuman effort, O'Neal eventually turned the gig round with some X-rated material of a crude sexual nature. But everyone knew they had just witnessed the only survivor of a comedy car crash.
So how is it that Adam Hills managed to storm his extra shows at the Gilded Balloon with material as stale as a British Rail sandwich? Actually his material was as stale as jokes about a British Rail sandwich. But did he die on his arse? No, he did not. Why? Because he can work a room into a frenzy so the audience gets into the habit of laughing right from the start. Demand for tickets meant he was temporarily moved into the main theatre with its pumping sound system and dry ice, which Hills used to pump up a level of...
