Zoom Comedy, Laughing into the Abyss... by Cathy Boyd
Allow me to introduce myself. I am what has been referred to as a 60-something nascent stand-up. I’ll go with that. Before March of 2020 BC, before Covid, my comedy career (humour me) seemed to be taking off at least in the theatre of my own mind. I had just completed a week of hosting at the very popular Absolute Comedy Club in Toronto, where I also recorded a live album. I was to perform the entire week of March 17-22 at Ottawa Absolute. St. Patrick’s Day and the rest of the week in front of maybe one the best audiences around. And before I could say, I’m not your stereotypical comic. I have a car. The pandemic shut us down.
Initially, I thought this lockdown would be short-lived and that we would soon be back on stage with a live audience. It’s only two weeks, right? Fast forward to 2021 and still no end in sight. Sure, there’s a vaccine rollout now and maybe, just maybe, by September 2021, we can get back to some normalcy. But in the meantime, Covid has taken its toll on comedy. Clubs have closed all over Toronto. Festivals and Fringe shows alike go virtual. Streaming comedy has taken over. Now Zoom, Zoom is not only a catchphrase in a now antiquated Mazda commercial but the bane of my existence.
Performing on Zoom shows, you run the risk of screens freezing; connections being lost; and muting the audience. I did not go into comedy to get the silent treatment. I have kids for that. But even if the audience is mic’d, well then it becomes a combination comedy show and phone call. And on a personal note, when these Zoom glitches do happen, and they will, the host routinely points out, well, looks like we lost Cathy. That creeps me out especially during Covid. Rumours of my demise have now surpassed those of Gordon Lightfoot. (He’s still alive, right?)
There have been live shows during times when Covid numbers were in decline and the audience was reduced to a mere pittance, albeit, with a pulse. But the euphoria of having a real live audience, however small, superseded having to take on faith that people were actually listening, enjoying, hell, even laughing!
It’s not you. It’s me. I’ve never been a selfie person. I tend to come out looking like a Shar Pei. They’re adorable dogs. Just not a good look on people. Anyway, Zoom shows have you looking in a mirror. Asking the question, mirror, mirror on the wall, why am I doing this at all? There’s just no energy. It’s like the reverse of an atom bomb which releases large quantities of energy from relatively small amounts of matter. There is no energy and it doesn’t matter.
But that’s just me, maybe. I grew up one of the youngest of 10 siblings. I’ve always had an audience. Sure, my dad didn’t know who half of us were but he always found me funny. So, I come by this disdain of Zoom naturally. Not to mention, I am somewhat of a luddite. For example, I have no fewer than three remotes and one wrong move, I’ve got more snow than a Colorado ski slope.
Now I’ve been on a few Zoom shows. I stack books under my laptop to get just the right height. I recently purchased a ring light to get just the right illumination. I make my spouse leave our condo just because. I mean really, quarantining with him has been long. Don’t get me wrong. If he weren’t around so much I’m sure I would miss him but sometimes I kind of wish he were just missing.
Lucky for me, I did record an album in March of 2020, Wise Tracks, on all platforms and Sirius XM (shameless plug) but promoting it has not been easy. I haven’t run into so many hurdles since running track in high school. But that’s a whole other commentary.
Lots of comedians love Zoom and swear by it. I say kudos to them. I wish I felt the same way. After all, we’ve all got nothing but time right now. I did a really good Zoom show - the Palm Springs Comedy Festival competition and even made it to the finals only to be beaten out by some snot nosed nine year old. He was really good. I made up the snot nosed part. My point is, I am not totally opposed to this platform. I am just a people person. I need people. People who need people are the luckiest people in the world except during a Covid lockdown.
