Stand-up comedians get no respect these days. After the early-80s boom of fresh
acts and fresh talent, the comedy circuit filled with bought material, tried
sets, and dozens of Richard Pryor and Robin Williams impersonators. Today, the
vast majority of comics rely on the cheap laugh from jokes about sex and politics,
and, even worse, many of them are telling the same exact jokes.
Any Grinnellian who has attended stand-up comedian routines on campus in the
last few years knows the truth in this. They joke about homosexuals and the
overweight, hippies and old people – they make fun of anything that they
are not. Audiences often leave unsatisfied, unentertained, and sometimes angry.
Mitch Hedberg is different, because Mitch Hedberg knows what’s funny.
As he performed in Harris last Friday night to a crowd of several hundred, most
of whom were laughing almost constantly, this much was clear. Hedberg has hit
on a wonderful combination of good material and good delivery that can give
audiences hope of a coming stand-up revival.
Physically, it looks like it’s his first time in the limelight. He stares
at the ground for most of the time, playing with the mic wire, toes hanging
off the edge of the stage. His long bangs cover his eyes Kurt-Cobain style hair
and a pair of large sunglasses add another barrier. When he does look up, he
eyes are closed. “My stage persona?” He asked, “It’s just
an amped up version of me.”
But what is mistaken as stage fright is actually just part of Hedberg’s
personal philosophy on comedy. “There’s no stage fright, it’s
just about connection,” he explains. “It’s about being in my
own world. If I connect with the audience, it will be verbally, not with physical
eye contact.” As he quips on his CD, Strategic Grill Locations, “
I like to close my eyes on stage because I have drawn a picture of an audience
enjoying the show more on the inside of my eyelids.”
It sounds awkward, but it works for the show. In fact, his material begs it.
He avoids subjects like sex and politics and minority groups, and instead makes
fun of the majority group, humans. And, in making fun of humans, Hedberg cannot
avoid making fun of himself. It is this point that makes Hedberg’s embarrassed
stance and mumbling sheepish voice work so well on stage.
“I miss the two dollar bill. I could break a two,” says Mitch, to
a scattering of laughter and applause, “Fives are too big.” Later
that night, backstage, He was trying to sell his CDs for eight dollars a piece,
and failing. About a dozen students were crowed around him, waving ten or twenty
dollar bills, and he couldn’t make change. He laughed, and so did they.
It’s simple, it’s true, and it’s funny.
And again: “I used to do drugs. I still do, but I used to too.”
And again: “If I had a friend who was a tight rope walker and we were
walking down the street and he tripped, that would be totally unacceptable.”
What makes these things funny? “When you look at something and take it
one step beyond,” Hedberg said, “when you stare at mundane things
for just one minute longer.” It’s this ability to observe that has
gotten Mitch from his small beginnings to the edge of fame.
Growing up in Minnesota, Hedberg always loved all comedy, no matter what it
was, though he sights Bill Murray and Steve Martin as “major influences.”
At 18 he left his childhood home in the Midwest to work in Florida. “We
were trying to drive to Texas,” he kids, “but the front-end alignment
was bad.” In Florida, at 21, he went to an open mic, beginning years of
playing small bars and clubs.
To be a comedian, Hedberg explained, “you must have the willingness to
not make money at first, you must not need a guarantee for money. You need to
trust the future. The present is for paying the dues and for trusting in the
unknown.” And this is exactly what Hedberg was and is doing. He went from
a small-time open-mic performer to be a regular on Letterman (not to mention
being one of Letterman’s favorite comics). He’s also written and directed
a movie that went to Sundance, acted in shows like Dr. Katz and That 70s Show
and even smoked fake pot with Peter Frampton for a scene in the movie Almost
Famous (“It’s better than smoking real pot with someone who looks
like Peter Frampton,” Hedberg commented.).
Although based in California, Hedberg spends most of the year traveling the
various comedy circuits in the country. “I like hotels and I love the impermanence
of being on the road. I like getting away from my phone and mailbox. They bring
bad news.” But although being on the road is freeing and exciting, there
is a downside to the life of the comedian. Hedberg explained his feelings about
one-night gigs. “I wish I could stay in places longer. I only ever get
the Cliff’s Notes version of the place I’m at.”
But although Hedberg has enjoyed his time, he hopes for a different future.
He brushed his hair from his face and said, “I want my own TV show. Anything
that will give me enough exposure to sell out big theaters. I want to sell out
big theaters.”
“I want to reach a level where I don’t have to feel embarrassed anymore,”
he finishes, and his hair falls in front of his eyes again.
But remembering the audience clutching their stomach from giggling and gasping for air earlier that night, and seeing them struggling to stop laughing in time to catch the next joke, and by recalling the solid hour-and-a-half of humor that he produced without telling an off joke, one can’t imagine what Mitch Hedberg could be embarrassed about, besides being human, that is.