Even the greatest working comedians (including the eight below) bomb every once in a while. It can be as unavoidable as it is uncomfortable. But as bad as a bomb can feel, time hardens the wound into a scar that comedians eventually regard with a morbid pride. They share survival stories, cringing and laughing about it at diners in wee hours of the morning. A few amazing comics have shared their best bombing stories with Paste, answering the questions “What’s the worst you’ve bombed and how did you handle it?” and “What do you think is the best way to handle bombing?” Whether you’re a comedian or you’ve received any kind of cold reception from a group, there is a lot to be learned here about how to survive in the event that your social parachute won’t open, and you plummet toward the earth like a torpedo, all on stage in front of a room full of angry, judgmental customers. As painful as that might sound, a lot of these stories are freaking hilarious—we’re talking to comedians, after all.
Kurt Braunohler
(The K Ohle with Kurt Braunohler podcast, Comedy Central’s The Half Hour)
My comedy partner Kristen Schaal and I were doing as corporate gig in New York years ago. We had asked the booker if we had any restrictions on content and they said no, which was good because a lot of our material was pretty blue back then. We get there and it turns out that the “show” will take place in a board room. We’ll be performing at the end of a table, and there are 12 executives there. That’s the “audience.”
10 minutes into our 30 minute set, one woman, who’s close to the front, just leans over to her co-worker and in a decidedly non-whisper just says “Oh no, this is terrible.” That was a tough 20 minutes to follow in such an intimate space.
I handle bombing by just trying to bomb as completely as possible. I will purposefully pick material that I think will alienate an audience. Because at a certain point it just becomes magical, how bad it is. And sometimes that works. Sometimes you can come out the other side of bombing by just committing to it. Other times, it just makes it worse. But at this point, who gives a shit? I’ve had real horrible things happen to me in my life. Bombing at a comedy show, as an Australian ex-girlfriend of mine used to say, “it doesn’t even touch the sides.”
Jimmy Pardo
(Conan warm-up comedian, Never Not Funny podcast)
In the early ‘90s, I did a show at a military base that I had performed at once before (and it had gone very well). This time the vibe seemed different even before I went on stage. The opening act KILLED! He worked a little dirty and the crowd ate it up. When I took the stage, things started out great… for about 6 minutes and then the crowd turned on me, and I really have no idea why. Maybe not dirty enough, maybe too “out there” for them, I really don’t know, but man, they hated me… and I still had to do another 39 minutes. That wasn’t going to happen: after 10 more minutes of battling people yelling out “You suck” and “Get off the stage,” I looked out and said, “That’s it for me. If you see a dick, suck it!” I then walked calmly off the stage, grabbed my coat and paycheck from the entertainment director (who told me “Run, they will kill you!) and then ran to my car as they chased me. Obviously, I got away… but that experience rattled me for a bunch of shows.
[On the best way to handle bombing] I think you have to comment on it. Others will completely disagree with that and say it’s not professional, but I think it’s ridiculous to keep talking and pretend like there is nothing wrong. The audience knows it’s not going well, I think it releases the pressure in the room if you acknowledge it. It may not help… but at least the crowd doesn’t think you’re a crazy person.
Rick Overton
(IFC’s Comedy Bang! Bang!, Groundhog Day)
It’s almost always a charity event or a fundraiser that you were giving your time to contribute to. It seems to instill the one watching the show with the sense that since they paid so much for the show, the comic should be superhuman. Hey, I remember there was one show where before I went on, the presenters showed a succession of people who have enjoyed horribly botched surgeries. One after the next, gasps from the crowd. “And now please welcome funnyman Rick Overton!” They literally hated me for trying to make them switch emotions so quickly. But the comedian’s obligation is to ride out the set, and I kept my end of the bargain. But in comedy terms, it was like the beach landing in the beginning of Saving Private Ryan.
