Just for Laughs, Stand-Up Comics Grin and Bear It for Record Time

It was shortly after 11:30 a.m. Sunday when Sam Kawasman took the stage at a tiny West Los Angeles nightclub.

The 33-year-old comedian knew he was in trouble when he peered through the glare of the single white spotlight at the audience. There were seven people--six live bodies and a woman stretched out across four chairs at the foot of the stage, sleeping off the effects of the night before. She hadn’t moved in two hours.

Despite the odds, Kawasman--wearing an argyle sweater and a cherubic grin--pitched his best punch lines to produce a laugh or two.

“Hey, did you hear how rich kids break dance?” he asked, his voice echoing in the club. “They use a lazy susan.”

Two claps, then silence.

“O-o-o-o-o-okay,” he said, slowing and switching gears. “Did you hear that the Hare Krishna’s had a float in the Rose Parade? Yep, it was designed after the inside of an airport terminal.”

No claps. Two grunts, and a bit of unsolicited advice from a fellow comic seated in the shadows near the bar, “Next, please. “

And so went the “Great L.A. Comedy Marathon,” 54 straight hours of punch lines, some funny, and some, well, “Next, please. “

By the time it ended, sometime before 2 o’clock this morning, 108 comedians, including renowned funnyman Robin Williams, who stepped on stage before about 45 hearty patrons at 4 a.m. Saturday, each had taken a 30-minute turn at spinning yarns or roasting anybody or anything, from singles bars to President Reagan to sex aids.

The laugh marathon was staged at Igby’s Comedy Cabaret as a publicity stunt concocted by the club’s owner, Jan Smith, and a group of comedic friends. Smith called the marathon an unofficial world record that he said will be submitted to the Guinness Book of World Records.

Although the book lists no record for continuous comedy by more than two comedians, Smith said the “unofficial” record was 30 straight hours set several years by dozens of comics at the now-defunct Comedy Cave in Los Angeles.

“We’ve blistered the record,” said Smith, a partner in the Ice House nightclub in Pasadena before selling his share and opening Igby’s six months ago.

Business Not Brisk

Smith admitted Sunday that business at Igby’s hasn’t been all that brisk of late, so he called a few friends in the comedy world, who in turn called their friends, who in turn . . . and Friday night--six weeks later--the marathon was off and laughing.

While big crowds turned out for the prime-time hours each night, most comics were unknowns and labored before a near-empty house--it can hold 180 patrons--during the marathon’s off hours.

It was that way Sunday morning when screenwriter Dottie Archibald stepped to the microphone amid light applause. The woman in the front row didn’t move.

Archibald’s favorite target was her ex-husband. In a matter of minutes, she reeled off a series of one-liners that quickly explained why her marriage had derailed.

‘Stare and Compare’

“Listen, my husband’s favorite beach game was stare and compare. He loved those string bikini’s. I can’t stand them. You know, they look like two dots and a dash. . . . We used to go skiing in Mammoth every winter. He’d spend 50% of his time on top of the mountain with Suzi Chapstick. I always prayed she’d get chapped over 50% of her body. And the worse thing is, I knew he spent all of his time at the top of that . . . mountain telling my jokes.”

As she performed, other comedians drifted in for their stint on stage. Each agreed that it is tough to perform to empty chairs and tables.

“It’s very difficult to stand up in front of an empty room,” said Sherrie Netherland, who has tried to make a go of comedy full time for about a year. “So much of your timing comes from an audience’s response. You feed off the laughs. . . . But when it’s empty, it’s like performing in a coffin.”

Kawasman, who has appeared on “The Bob Newhart Show” and “Family Ties,” agreed:

“A big crowd gets you pumped up. It’s like a jolt of electricity. It’s real tough to get many laughs from an ashtray.”