By Erik Dobko | SDUN ReporterIn a world where comedy clubs sell mandatory, overpriced drinks in order to deceptively inflate ticket prices, only one show has the audacity to charge nothing whatsoever.
Liposuctioning the formalities from the typical stand-up venue model, Comedy Heights hosts a weekly Saturday night comedy event with a refreshingly comfortable atmosphere. Located next door to Twiggs Coffeehouse in University Heights, the show features family-friendly material from a variety of headliners that, despite the filter on vulgarity, is pretty damn funny. The homely ambiance, combined with the ceasefire on your wallet, make for a satisfying sanctuary of side-splitting stand-up.
“This is one of the more enjoyable rooms because of the people that actually want to come out to comedy,” said comedian Adam Connie . “I do some shows where a comedy show is kind of sprung on them or sneaks up on them, and you end up talking to people who are trying to ignore you. But this is a great room in a pleasant, very friendly neighborhood.”
In addition to supplying the community with such a down-to-earth show, Comedy Heights producers Al Gavi and Maria Herman have created a place where comics can practice their material without the grueling hunt for stage time. In Los Angeles, the dog-eat-dog environment can make landing a gig nearly impossible for the majority of those trying to make it.
“There’s a huge difference between the dynamic between what’s happening here in San Diego with comedy and what’s happening in L.A.,” Herman said. “Our neighbors up there, they’re fighting for stage time. They’re willing to go out and get three minutes at 10 o’clock at night because that’s all they can get. You would never get into a club like this in Los Angeles and get this star quality of comics on one show, because it’s so cutthroat up there.”
Headliner Aaron Hughes expressed his deep appreciation for the valuable comedic exercise that the room provides.
“I get to perform at The Comedy Store, but they’re smaller sets,” Hughes said. “I think I just did about 30 minutes, so it’s an opportunity to really work on some stories, to pace yourself — you know, develop your material.”
Because the show is financed strictly by donations, it doesn’t come with the sense of entitlement that crowds often have. The incomparable therapy of laughter is often hindered by the unreasonable price tag that comes with a ticket and its two-drink minimum; people often have this detrimental mindset that are owed their laughs, and that they better get their money’s worth.
“If you Yelp some of the other clubs around here, you’ll find that that’s one of the big complaints: that they really shake you down for your two-drink minimum and your ticket and all that — the money,” Gavi said. “Because of our business model, we don’t have to shake down the customer, and we don’t have to put all these clamps down on our comedians. … We’d rather have people enjoy themselves and pay the value that they’re getting from the show.”
So what’s it all about? Why do all these strangers gather together in an intimate green room to file into rows and howl like dying hyenas? Are they all on drugs?
According to Gavi, they very well may be.
“It’s just that good-natured feeling you have when you have a good, hard laugh,” he said. “And to hear that from a crowd, it just energizes you. I want to have more of it — it’s an addiction, I would say.”
Without the judgmental herd of condescending yuppies, the comedians can be at ease, and as a result, so can the crowd. Swing by 4590 Park Avenue at 8 p.m. on Saturdays to visit these altruistic laugh addicts at Comedy Heights, and double check that there’s no check to check out before you’re about to check out.
