NaNoWriMo - Day 23

The best comedy show on the Upper West Side.

On 75th and Amsterdam there’s a Mexicali restaurant called Playa Betty’s. In Playa Betty’s basement is the West Side Comedy Club, a cool, dark, intimate space with small tables gathered around a low stage. The Comedy Club has stellar weekend shows, but I’m a fan of their Tuesday night shows. These shows are free — and for a reason.

The Tuesday show is called Not Ripe Bananas, where the performers are all working comics trying out new material. These jokes are raw and unworkshopped. The whole affair is simultaneously cringey and hilarious, mortifying and gratifying. All comics, from newbies to veterans, constantly need new material. This show is a nuclear test ground for newborn jokes, fine-tuning, and pushing the envelope.

Some of these shows are well attended, I think usually by visitors. Sometimes they’re sparse, which I think makes the stakes higher. It’s easier to fixate on single people, as there aren’t enough to create an amorphous conglomeration of strangers.

In these unpolished acts, the audience sees a side of comedy that no HBO special would ever showcase. Comedians bring up notebooks, printed sheets of paper, phones, and tablets. They seem to toggle between their onstage persona and their writer selves. Talking to oneself is common (“I thought that bit would go better,” “Okay, I’ll work on that.”). Commenting on the audience’s demeanor and how they’ll receive certain jokes or topics comes up, too (“Oof, you guys did not like that.”). Others might workshop jokes in real-time, opening a bit up like a Swiss watch and tinkering with its parts. I heard a comedian once refer to this show as The Unraveling, because over the course of each performer’s 5-minute set they come undone.

This show has help me come to most appreciate comedy’s contract between the performer and the audience. A performance is a conversation. The comic wants feedback — ideally laughter, but even groans give information. Above all, these reactions must be genuine. Host DJ Collins starts every show by telling the audience to laugh if they think something is funny, but stay mum if not.

I’ve become a fan of a few comics through this show, most notably the hilarious Zarna Garg and Brian Scott McFadden. Once, Gary Gulman came through to try out some material. (He went last, and when his name was announced I exclaimed, “WHAT THE FUCK?!” in sheer disbelief.)

But I think what I most enjoy about this show is its reassurance that it’s okay — even encouraged, perhaps inevitable — to suck, to be vulnerable, to write and rewrite. Sometimes the material itself needs work; other times, it’s the delivery. Sometimes the material is tight and flawlessly executed, but it’s the wrong audience. It also reminds me that there can be joy in improvement, and sometimes the first step to writing something good is writing something bad.

Not Ripe Bananas also reminds me that my neuroticism isn’t unique. Seeing others’ on full display helps me get a handle on mine. Nor is neuroticism a reason not to do something. I’ve seen Tuesday night comedians bomb before, but they pick themselves up and prepare to do it all over again.