When I was in college, I was in a sketch comedy show where we threw raw meat at the audience.
Fistfuls. Of raw meat. This seemed brilliant to us at the time.
Amazingly, we got one (ONE!?) complaint, ... and we totally made fun of her afterwards.
I'm going to the Chicago Sketchfest tonight to do a 5-minute bit that is not particularly hilarious but should be visually stunning and really delightful. I'm fairly sure that, at 28, I'll be among the older comics at the festival tonight.
I'm not entirely sure why sketch comedy is such a young thing.
I guess because there is NO money in it, ever; it's hard work and frankly, it ceases to be fun when you've sunk $300 into renting a theater that smells like cigarettes and pee on a Wednesday night at 10pm, the pre-show music is blasting, you've preset all your props, you got someone to run box office and you even found someone to run your lights, and you're going over your lines, and
to your show.
And 10:15, that is just a nasty lonely time. Because no one is there.
I have drank so many beers in an empty theater with my castmates and somebody's one loyal friend who actually made it out. It isn't a reflection on the quality of your show or even your friends; it's just that sketch is a pain in the ass. And it doesn't save the world or change lives, so around your late twenties you wise up and leave it to the 23 year olds who can't wait to take their pants off in the office sketch.
This is a long-winded way to get to a question I've been wondering a lot lately:
When is it wisely walking away, and when is it giving up?