Stages & Pages

Headlining comedian Billy D. Washington said that missing Chinese people should go on the back of eggnog. The elderly get evaporated milk. Bisexuals? Half and half.

Washington, who has appeared on BET’s “Comic View” and HBO’s “Def Comedy Jam,” also has a joke about deaf people, another about rooting for the Ku Klux Klan over the Florida Gators, even though he is African American, and yet another about domestic violence.

Why then was he the best of four performers in the University of Georgia’s last installment of its Dawghouse Comedy Series on Nov. 5?

For one, his stand-up show was immersive. He spoke against the giant red curtain of the Tate Theater without seeming enveloped by it, and he was dynamic enough of an entertainer to occupy the space usually held by movie screenings.

Washington stood only a few feet from the front row and engaged the audience throughout his show, though not always nicely. A former police officer, he made specific guests the butt of jokes, including the bike cop in the back of the theater, a cameraperson and one of the only people who admitted to being a Republican. No subjects were taboo, and no people were exempt from criticism.

“Too small for me?” he said, holding one of University Union’s T-shirts and responding to a comment from a muscular man up front.

“Too small for your fat a–,” Washington said, before including this “titty boy” in other jokes. His material meshed, he used the same punch line in dramatically different jokes in ingenious ways and he incorporated reactions from the crowd seamlessly.

Most impressive of all was his absorption of the inferior comics preceding him into his own act. He reduced student Matt Slotten, for example, to a scatological, unfunny story, and that jab was fair.

Slotten, the second of four comics that night, bombed. He overstayed his welcome, and his timidity clashed with the tight deliveries of the more professional veterans. He said that working as a janitor would “be a sh– job,” crapping in the urinal was “funny as sh–” and “sh– goes down in the bathroom.”

One hand pushed deep into his sweatshirt pocket, Slotten said a hushed “damnit” into the microphone after every failed joke, and his discomfort filtered into the audience.

Opener Eric Slauson’s timing was better than Slotten’s—Slauson deferred his punch lines so that what initially sounded like a platitude or clichéd sentiment turned raunchy.

“I really just want someone to hold,” he said. “My penis in their vagina.”

Sex jokes, as a rule, are funnier than poop puns. Sex involves fumbling, naïveté, dialogue and nudity, and not having it can be just as humorous as having it. Everyone goes to the bathroom in a similar way, and hearing Slotten’s story about hiding in the shower while his father squatted on the toilet was traumatic for both him and his captive audience.

Mark LaMotte, the last man up before Washington, fell between these two supporting comedians. An advisor at the University of Georgia, he wore a red hat with the university logo and shared stories about children he has mentored. His bit was inoffensive, short and chuckle-worthy, about women being gobbling turkeys, men being gullible monkeys and kids just saying the darndest things. LaMotte was a good transition into the main act, in part because he had met Washington long before the show.

If the first part of Washington’s performance was a crude buildup, then his musical portion was the innocent comedown, allowing people to forget jokes that could have rubbed them the wrong way. He went to his keyboard and sang Soulja Boy’s “Crank Dat” as a slow jam, invented reggae nursery rhymes and pretended to be a stuttering classical pianist, extending the most recognizable part of Für Elise.

“I didn’t say take the spotlight off me,” Washington said when he returned to the microphone and invited LaMotte back down.

You really shouldn’t. He’s more intelligent than some of my favorite comedians (Patton Oswalt is awkward and unfunny on the fly, for example), and he’s obviously hungry. So shine that spotlight brighter.

Just hope he doesn’t point it at you.


Venue Web site: Tate Theater

*Editor's note: The following video contains offensive language and crude humor

Comedy and horror do not make a happy couple, but the actors at Relapse Comedy Theatre in Atlanta attempted to marry the two on Halloween night.

As I was ushered into a small, darkened room with what appeared to be old airplane seats, I was unsure of what I’d be seeing. The tiny theater fits about 20 people and on that night would only house six. But the small turnout did not seem to faze the three Cineprov! actors as they began their interpretation of a pitch meeting for a horror film.

“OK, picture this: We’re making Halloween III, only without Michael Myers,” said an actor clad in a Philadelphia Phillies baseball uniform.

“Ah, yes continue,” said the female actor dressed as Bristol Palin, baby bump unmistakably visible.

“That’s it. We’re just going to sell them on the ‘three’ alone. That’s all we need. It’s genius!” said the third actor, holding up three fingers and grinning like a mad man.

Then Halloween III: Season of the Witch began playing on the makeshift sheet screen. This was no ordinary movie viewing, though. As the actors said before the show, if you’d like to actually see the movie then you’ve come to the wrong place.

The actors at Relapse uniquely perform their improv comedy routines. In a Mystery Science Theater 3000 type of way, the actors mock what they consider to be awful movies. From beginning to end the three actors spoke over the movie, finding ways to make fun of the film.

The implausible plot line and awful script made this film an easy target for the improv actors.
The tiny theater created an intimate, though sometimes awkward, experience. Actors revealed crude humor with no limitations on subject matter.

Sexualized humor ran rampant during a provocative scene and any other time the actors could think to include it. But with only six in the audience, if a particular joke did not resonate, the silence was a little uncomfortable.

Before the show, the actors commented that they normally do not view the film beforehand, so they will rely purely on improvisation techniques. It was obvious many times throughout the film that some of the actors were a little squeamish, because there were never any jokes told during gruesome scenes.

Relapse has only been open for one year, but the actors all seemed to work well with one another. The six-member audience enjoyed many laughs, but some of the comedy seemed forced. For the $5 student rate, it was well worth the money and is worth checking out if you're in the Atlanta area.