Five months deep into the COVID19 pandemic, I had a hankering for a night out. One of my favorite date nights with my husband is snuggling up at an intimate comedy club. I needed a date complete with watered down whiskey cocktails (2-drink minimum!), a dark corner table to avoid the limelight, and enough gut-busting humor to sustain me through another painful news cycle. Two outta three ain't bad.
Substituting whiskey for weed and a dark corner table for my living room couch, my husband and I nestled in for what I'd hoped would be an entertaining date-night at home. Our cats and dog surrounded us like it was any 'ole night. But this night was...different.
Substituting whiskey for weed and a dark corner table for my living room couch, my husband and I nestled in for what I'd hoped would be an entertaining date-night at home. Our cats and dog surrounded us like it was any 'ole night. But this night was...different.
The first couple of weeks into quarantine, I participated in my first virtual event while stuck at home - a Facebook live performance at the HaHa Cafe Comedy Club in North Hollywood. A few comedians tried to score laughs from the owner and her family - the only live guests permitted- while a few hundred Facebook followers watched on. Floating hearts and thumbs up icons were the only way to show approval of a funny joke. Instead of tickets, the club suggested donations. The laughter from the owners was the only feedback the comics received in real-time, as the social media shows of approval were only visible to them when they watched a recording of their time on stage.
Flash forward a few months and a stage performance in an empty club is probably prohibited and not deemed "essential", especially as California has over half a million known positive cases to date. Maybe that's why the Flappers Comedy Club hosted its Saturday night show live on Zoom - direct from the comedian's home to mine. It also gave the club access control to who can watch and the ability to sell tickets.
The Zoom administrator matched my screen name with the ticket receipt and we were "in". With my full legal name in public view, we were told via email to turn both our video AND audio on with the volume turned down low. Wait, wha...?
As you may have discovered during your Zoom hangouts, the video conference room doesn't typically allow the audio of more than one or two people at once, making it easy to talk over someone else. If a comic is telling jokes, how would they hear more than one person laugh? But if video is turned on, the comic could SEE people responding to their material - good or bad.
I did not sign up for a public viewing of randoms watching me shove popcorn in my face while vaping on the couch, bra-free in my pjs. (At least my house was clean.) And what about the laughing? Or more importantly, the NOT laughing? What if they weren't funny? I typically feel tremendous social pressure to laugh at unfunny jokes from the brave folks standing before me on stage. There would be no where to hide in this format.
After much consideration, we thought, "at least we'll have some Zoom anonymity to hide from the agony of a joke gone wrong." Therefore, using stoner judgement, we decided to go for it. Video and audio "on". (Also, as a purveyor of privacy, we also changed our screen name to something more anonymous.)
We were the second 'attendees' to show up, so we patiently waited for the numbers to increase, hopefully pushing our video to page three or four on Zoom. Attendees: 3. Attendees: 5. Attendees: 9. And there it stopped. With 5 of the attendees being the performers and event organizer themselves, we were one of FOUR groups of people watching this live performance! Worst. Nightmare. Ever.
But not for us, for the comedians! I felt really bad for them. Comedy is a numbers game, and hopefully you can get half the room to laugh if you're lucky. This was going to be an uphill battle. I then felt even MORE obligated to show my support by keeping our video and audio on. So must have our fellow attendees: Rochelle, couples PBJ, Stan and Liv all kept video and audio on.
The low attendance also surprised the hostess when she started the show, but she cleverly turned that fact into a joke itself. I found out about the event in an Instagram post as I follow many local comedy clubs to stay up to date on upcoming shows. Clearly, this strategy didn't work to garner more event participants. (They need marketing consultation!)
The all-female show was more like a "sit-up" vs. "stand-up" as each performer took a seat in front of the camera. Some had fake microphones, one used a Zoom background that comically erased much of her hair. One comedian kept dropping her video device and zooming in on her nose and mouth, which I know wasn't by design, but was hysterical nonetheless.
All the while, we were privy to watch the top of PBJ's head while he and his partner ate dinner on TV trays, see Stan and Liv sit completely motionless on their double-leather couch recliners and witness Rochelle almost knock herself unconscious with her hilarious, head-tossing laughter. (She made the night.) Me and my husband sat far enough away from the camera to avoid a close-up debut, but were visible enough to show any hand clapping, knee slapping response to humorous sets.
I needed not worry about their jokes being funny. The whole situation was freaking hilarious, and their jokes were icing on the cake. The event felt really intimate. I was reminded how the comedians could see each of us when they playfully remarked on wanting to see PBJ's dinner or laugh at Rochelle's epic response to every joke. Gratefully, we made it through the night without our presence making it into anyone's act. Bonus: the kids didn't even wake up from our laughter and applause.
Would I attend an event like this again? Absolutely. Is this event format for everyone? Absolutely not. But honestly, what do you have to lose? It's an inexpensive way to have a fun night at home. Shows at Flappers ranged from $5-$10 per household, based on experience and talent of the performers. It also provides unexpected fun at a time that feels like everyday is Groundhog's Day. Plus, the virtual nature of shows like this mean you can watch comedy anywhere in the country without getting on a plane!
Here are my 7 recommendations for enjoying a live, two-way comedy show:
- Drink or smoke - Most people have a difficult time watching live comedy while sober in a dark club, let alone one that showcases you in your home. There's a reason comedy clubs have a 2 drink minimum requirement.
- Get comfy - The best part about shows at home is NOT sitting in tight clothes trying to look hot for a night on the town. Get in your sleepy-time comfy comfs and snuggle into your couch. Note: pants are not optional; this isn't a virtual orgy.
- Zoom-clean room - You know the drill by now. Make sure the mess is hidden behind the view of the camera.
- Decrease the volume - Turn your device's volume down about a third of the way so your audio doesn't compete with the performer's.
- Snacks - Have them on-hand so you don't interrupt the show by getting up. People did this, and it was distracting. We were also guilty, as there were no intermissions. Be prepared.
- Potty Prep- Do your business before the show starts if you can. Same reasons as above. Alternatively, you can turn your camera off until you return.
- Companion - The shared experience is even funnier with a witness. If you're trapped at home alone, invite others to Zoom with you. Pets work, too.