My favorite joke:
Two penguins were walking down the street. One said to the other, “You look like you’re wearing a tuxedo.” The other said, “Who says I’m not.”
AHAHAHAHA! Slays me every time.
If that feathery tale didn’t tickle your funny-bone, try Denver Underground Comedy, a showcase of local and national comics, some featured on Netflix and Comedy Central. Ben Bryant is producer, coordinator, and MC. He’s thrilled with DUC’s new venue: the non-denominational Althea Center for Engaged Spirituality at 14th and Williams Streets.
Bryant ascribes an unusual word to comedy: precious. From him, I sense that during this Age of American Anger, comedy and laughter are valuable expressions, healthy release valves rather than, say, pumping an AK47 into a grocery store.
“We’re doing a really good thing,” he says, in public service ambassador mode.
Bryant also performs because he likes to make people laugh, and because Denver has become a national destination for comics, he imports others who can as well. “Comedy is a very big and very small world,” Bryant says, “so when word gets out about an especially good show, anyone coming through Denver contacts me.”
He has hosted Todd Glass (HBO, opening for Jim Gaffigan); Andrew Orvedahl (Tonight Show, Those Who Can’t); out, queer comic Chris Bryant (no relation). And a note to Ellen/David Sedaris wannabes: According to this producer/performer, there’s a demand for queer humor, so polish those hysterical quips and coming out stories and make your stand-up comedy dream come true.
“We have a high standard,” Bryant says. “We respect the asks of our audience.” I’m guessing their ask is: Make me laugh. And on the night I attended, one local and five out-of-state comics succeeded.
A lack of physical prowess drew Bryant to comedy. He says, “I found an open mic night, ‘Said let’s go for it,’ and the rest is history.”
Bryant’s last three years have included performing and producing his show at bars and on the street, where once, a homeless man yelled, “That joke was funnier last week!” (Everyone’s a critic.) He’s thrilled with Althea, an upgraded venue with its five raked rows of cushioned seats, spotlights, and Cap Hill location.
DUC has an underground feel to it, not because it performs in Althea’s basement, but because it’s also got a Lenny Bruce vibe, dark with a merciless spotlight sizzling its victims: Be funny or fry. All that’s missing is the blue haze of cigarette smoke and Mrs. Maisel.
“Check out what comedy looks like in 2021,” Bryant says, “truly good comedy.” The theater holds about 70 and often sells out. Reserve your seats at denvercomedyunderground.com. And heed DUC’s website requirement in bold caps: PROOF OF VACCINATION OR NEGATIVE COVID TEST WILL BE REQUIRED AT THE SHOW.
Luckily, the night I attended, I had a picture of my card on my phone. People, masked or not, chuckled, chortled, guffawed, and gasped during the six acts.
“We want everyone to be safe,” Bryant says, “our audience, talent, staff.”
There’s a $10 cover charge, and drinks can be bought as a donation. Shows are on Fridays and Saturdays, 7 and 9:30 p.m. Then, check out a Sunday service at Althea. If laughter is music to God’s ears, then laughing your way to heaven for $10 is a cheap toll to open the pearly gates. Imagine the Pope, rabbis, Taliban tyrants, and the Archbishop of Canterbury telling their minions a few jokes, and how the world would be less on the verge of a nervous breakdown.
But be vaxxed and/or tested. This pandemic is no laughing matter … unless you’re a comedian. Above all, with Colfax just a block away, watch out for a penguin in a tux.
