Pickle Barrel
THE RECENT SHOW that opened up at Second City is its usual fine blend of talented cast and gentle satire. Titled, with zeitgeist accuracy, Tip of the Melting Iceberg.
On opening night, the partisan crowd roared with laughter through mostly every sketch, although the critics’ reaction was more ambivalent. I found myself smiling through most of the show, but it really came alive at least six times for me, which is a real compliment from this jaded comedy lover.
In the second half of the show, there’s a sketch involving a girl, played beautifully by Lauren Ash, who is physically and emotionally challenged in a variety of ways, and her dream suitor, who turns out to be exactly that — imaginary. The piece is by turns, funny, sad, scary, and beautiful. For me, it was the high point of the show.
But on opening night, the actors had a tendency to race through the material, the musical numbers seemed amateurish, and the show, despite the inclusion of Anand Rajaram, still seems to reflect a white, middle-class vision of Toronto that seems too safe and out of date. That said, the cast is uniformly good. That uniformity got me thinking, though. At the party following the show, VIPs chatted about their favorite cast members. Mine was Lauren Ash, although Ajaram got a lot of kudos. But then I started to wonder — when was the last time someone had really broken out of Second City, or Saturday Night Live, or the Groundlings, to become a superstar?
It used to happen all the time. Think back to the mid-70s at Second City: John Candy, Joe Flaherty, Catherine O’Hara, Dave Thomas, Andrea Martin: all became stars.
Later, the pace slows. There’s Mike Myers, and then Nia Vardalos, but most graduates have had only a healthy career in commercials and episodic work.
I’m not picking on Second City. In the first Saturday Night Live cast, everyone — with the exception of Garret Morris — became superstars: Chevy Chase, Ackroyd, Belushi, Gilda Radner, even Jane Curtin, though it took her awhile. A second generation at SNL yielded Eddie Murphy, a third David Spade and the late Chris Farley. Will Ferrell brings us up to the present, but even that was a decade ago.
The others, like Molly Shannon, Chris Kattan, Julia Sweeney, or Jimmy Fallon have had lucrative supporting careers but cannot open a movie or star in a sitcom. The Groundlings (Second City’s Los Angeles twin), meanwhile, hasn’t produced a real star since Pee-Wee Herman and Will Ferrell.
What’s not happening here? A partial explanation was hinted at by a sketch veteran: “Scene stealing is out.”
Over the years, there seems to be a more evenly spread array in sketch comedy outfits. On TV, this can benefit producers, where stardom is doubleedged. A breakout star can get people to watch, but can become the 800-pound gorilla on set.
Maybe there’s a deeper explanation more in keeping with my colleague’s observation. Over the past decade, comedy’s become more corporate, and there’s been more of an emphasis on cooperation. Or perhaps in a YouTube world of media democracy, the notion of stardom has become a more ephemeral thing. It all seems pointless, to claw your way past your teammates when any bozo can become famous.
Maybe first casts just manage to strike some special magic.
My friends at Saturday Night Live
tell me it’s a pretty happy place
right now. Contrast this with the
stories told about the early years of
egos, drugs, and histrionics. It must
have been hell to work there then,
but, really, which show would you
rather watch? 
Post City Magazines’ humour columnist, Mark Breslin, is the founder and owner of the Canada-wide Yuk Yuk’s chain of comedy clubs. The former comedian and TV producer is also the author of several books, including Control Freaked.
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