Denver’s nationally renowned comedy scene has been eerily quiet since mid-March, but a number of live, in-person stand-up shows — some indoors — have begun making noise again.
Even with the promise of paying work, many Denver comics are wary of returning to the stage — particularly as new coronavirus cases rise to record levels in some states. It’s an experiment, they say, and experiments carry risks.
“I’ve gotten asked to do a couple of them,” said Louis Johnson, a veteran Denver stand-up. “I think it’s admirable, but I agree with Chris Rock that a lot of this stuff is not going to come back, strong, until another year or so.”
Once populated with multiple nightly showcases, open-mics and headlining sets at various clubs and theaters, Denver’s comedy scene suffered the same fate as other performing arts and entertainment after government mandates shut down public shows and stages.
Since then, it’s been tough to find live comedy of any kind. The shows that do exist have been sporadic, and regular shows have only picked up steam since mid-June, such as Denver Comedy Lounge’s outdoor, socially distanced alley performances in the River North Art District. Those can accommodate 32 people at separate tables in the patio space shared with Tracks nightclub and Exdo Event Center, said booker Ben Kronberg.
As boundary-pushing as the jokes can be, the act of seeing live comedy used to be about physical proximity — of performers, audiences, and especially venue staff. Low ceilings and tight quarters were typically preferred to encourage the spread of laughter, while open, airy spaces with potential distractions were not.
That raises a central question, Johnson said: Given the health risks, do audiences really need live comedy right now? Even if audiences appear healthy, are they not still potentially spreading coronavirus by getting together in the first place?
“I love the fact that these guys are doing these (smaller) shows,” Johnson reiterated after hearing a list of new, in-person showcases, such as the Mercury Cafe’s indoor weekend sets. “But it’s almost like an ego-stroke. Denver comedy doesn’t need to be revitalized. I travel all over the world every year and am adamant about how strong our scene is. That’s not going away.”
That may be true, but according to venue owners, the businesses that support Denver comedy could disappear unless they eke out some wins before the end of 2020.
Hermetic or hilarious?
“By the time we reopen later this month, I’ve sacrificed almost 4 ½ months of my year,” said Wende Curtis, owner of Denver’s Comedy Works clubs in Lower Downtown and Greenwood Village. “I will not do 20% of the receipts for the rest of the year that I did in the first two and a half months. I’ll be lucky to do 10%.”
Curtis and other venue owners and bookers interviewed for this story largely agreed that comedy will only return if audiences feel safe. That’s why Curtis is investing in minor but crucial improvements at her south club in Greenwood Village, which will reopen with weekend shows starting July 25.
“We’re never going to get through this being big, bad Americans and doing whatever the hell we want,” she said. “(I) listen to the scientists. And when the scientists change their mind about us being open, that’s the way we go.”
Curtis said she has been approved for up to 175 attendees per show at her south club. However, 130 to 150 people sounds more reasonable to her, given the precautions she’s taking.
“Initially I was told I could open up with 50 people, but it’s not even worth turning on the HVAC for that,” she said. “And by the time I reached out to agents about it, the rest of the country was doing 50% and 75% capacity, so comics weren’t interested in us.”
Without precautions, those bigger stand-up shows carry even more potential to spread the disease — as evidenced by a June 25-27 run at San Antonio’s Laugh Out Loud Comedy Club.
Stand-ups Bryan Callen and Brendan Schaub, who tested positive for coronavirus after those shows, last week apologized to fans who may have been infected at the indoor events, where social distancing was not practiced and comics shared the same microphone.
“We should probably let everybody know that Brendan and I did everything wrong in Texas,” Callen said on the pair’s The Fighter & the Kid podcast, according to the San Antonio Express-News. On Instagram, Callen also encouraged anyone who first-bumped or took a photo with him after the sold-out sets to get tested immediately.
“Safety first, even if that means losing money,” said Comedy Works’ Curtis. “We’ve closed our restaurant and can’t do events anymore, like the wedding we had planned for Aug. 1. … That hurts, but it’s the right thing to do.”
Curtis’ reopening protocols are a mix of city and state mandates, first and her own practices, second: socially distanced lines and seating; mandatory masks for customers (although they are permitted to take them off at their tables); face shields, masks and health checks for staff; one-direction entrances and exits; and no-touch hand sanitizer stations throughout the club. Buying tickets in advance will also be required, she said.
Curtis, whose venues are beloved by comics such as Dave Chappelle and George Lopez, is applying for a $20,000 grant from the city of Greenwood Village to convert her dozens of faucets and paper towel dispensers in the bathrooms to touchless devices.
She has also purchased electrostatic sanitizing devices (“Ghostbusters backpacks,” she called them) to use on seating areas before, between and after shows. But she must be careful how they’re used. One of the hospital-grade backpacks sprays a charged mist that could potentially disrupt a patron’s pacemaker, for example, if used too near showtime.
The Northfield Stapleton-based Denver Improv, Comedy Works’ No. 1 competitor in the market and one in a national chain, lists several shows on its website starting the weekend of Aug. 28. When reached for comment via email, an unnamed representative of the club said only that managers were “not sure yet” if the shows would happen.
The Mercury Cafe, which typically offers live jazz, poetry readings, dance lessons and Tibetan meditation sessions, is presenting indoor comedy shows whose proceeds will benefit the Black Lives Matter movement, said owner Marilyn Robinson.
Beginning in mid-June, the shows have taken advantage of the Merc’s spacious brick building, which occupies the corner of California and 22nd streets just east of downtown Denver. Tables are set eight feet apart, and windows are open throughout, with fresh air streaming in from outside thanks to the Merc’s swamp coolers, Robinson said.
“We are really blessed to be in a huge building,” she said. “I’m also lucky my father was a health inspector, so I grew up with good sanitation.”
Patrons have been understanding of the restrictions, Robinson said, and staff members have been handing out masks at the door to people who forget to bring one.
Still, all the precautions in the world are less important than the fact that there’s not yet a vaccine for the virus that causes COVID-19, some comics say.
“Personally, I’m not comfortable with indoor shows,” said Denver stand-up Allison Rose. “Research is still coming out on how this virus spreads and how long it lingers in the air. Plus, if people are laughing, which, you know, hopefully they are, that increases the spread of aerosolized particles in the air.”
Rose is fortunate that she doesn’t need to perform comedy to pay the bills, as many comics do, and that’s she’s been finding some money in online shows. She, too, has been asked to perform at some of the smaller showcases now restarting. She has turned most of them down.
“Every person who chooses to go out right now is taking their own personal health risks,” she said. “But ultimately, a gathering of people is a larger risk to the community, so it’s impossible for me to not be aware of that and have some level of anxiety.”
The great(er) outdoors
As with music, theater and other forms of art and entertainment hurting from a lack of stages, 2020 initially promised a record year of audience and revenue growth for live comedy in a city filled with young, moneyed stand-up fans. But coronavirus brought that to a grinding halt, cutting short plans for events like the High Plains Comedy Festival, which was set to return in September.
“I was still tentative on going back to doing shows,” said Denver comic and booker Kronberg, whose Denver Comedy Lounge had only debuted in October and was already seeing packed houses in its RiNo-area space behind Colorado Sake Co. “But I’m going to Safeway on a regular basis and practicing all of the things, so we thought, ‘Should we try it?’ “
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Key for Kronberg, as well as Denver Comedy Lounge founder Anthony Kapfer and Colorado Sake Co. owner William Stewart, was making the comics feel safe. The venue is known for being dog-friendly, for example, and balancing that sense of casual accessibility with strict health mandates has been tricky.
“It turns out we had enough microphones to be able to give every comic their own,” Kronberg said. “Some of these people being asked to do shows still live with their parents, and we didn’t want to put anyone at risk.”
Denver Comedy Lounge also put its usual practices — flying out-of-state comics to Denver and putting them up at downtown hotels — on hold in favor of metro-area headliners. Its past three weeks of shows since reopening have seen cordial, respectful audiences seated at two- and four-top tables that are socially distanced outside, Kronberg said. Most shows draw between 25 and 30 people. The venue is charging $17.50-$20 per person, a price that’s slightly higher than before the pandemic hit.
Live comedy has value, Kronberg said, and performers need to get paid.
“People have been willing to participate in Kickstarters that keep their favorite restaurants alive,” he said. “Why not comedy?”
The constantly changing nature of restrictions and lockdowns mean every showcase could get shut down again in a matter of hours, bookers and comics admitted. Some, such as Wide Right co-owner Meghan DePonceau, have taken to social media to explain their actions to the community they once courted.
“We bought & opened this bar for community, we doubled down on Denver and have put our blood, sweat & tears into it full force every day since we bought it October 7th and will continue to do so,” wrote DePonceau, who’s also a stand-up, on Facebook. “But we will not get the same community that we invested in sick as a result of our need for business.”
No matter the results of this current experiment, comics will continue to hone their skills on podcasts and livestreamed showcases until fully public shows can resume. But the culture of live comedy — as addictive to some audiences members as it is to the comics on stage — may never be the same.
“It’s not a substitute for the real thing,” Kronberg said of the Zoom shows and Instagram Live streams Denver Comedy Lounge has dipped into lately. “It’s methadone.”
Veteran Denver comic Johnson, who spends several months of his year performing lucrative gigs on cruise ships, is optimistic about the eventual return of live comedy. Many comedy shows used to be filled with birthday and bachelorette parties — or people who are more interested in getting drunk than listening to the performer on stage — he said. Coronavirus restrictions are weeding them out.
“I think this is going to be the return of real comedy fans,” he said. “There are a couple of (cruise) ships I work with that can hold 6,000 people, but the comedy clubs on them only have 120 seats. Every show is full. So these quarantine shows are kind of like that. And anyway, a lot of comics are used to performing for only a few dozen people.”
But Johnson won’t even consider returning to his open-water gigs until the fall, he said. In fact, he’s “happy to wait even longer — as long as they need.”
At least one Denver comic is finished for the year, regardless of the fact that it means turning down paying gigs.
“I actually have resigned myself to not performing until after the new year,” said Bridget Callahan, who moved to Denver from Wilmington, N.C., for the Mile High City’s comedy scene. “I’m older, in my forties, and I feel way more at risk. In the ‘before times,’ I used to catch every cold going around at open mics, and I think we’ve got a while to go before it’s safer. … I miss performing like crazy, but I keep reminding myself it’s not forever, it’s just a while. I’m pivoting, as the bros say.”
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