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Vogl's long-term goal is for the group to own its own performance space for live shows and the hi/lo (that is, high concept/ low budget) film festival, which the Lobsters organize. To make this happen, they are relying on a disciplined work ethic and business model emphasized since the inception of the troupe.
"A lot of people we work with aren't comedians at all," says Vogl. "Some of our friends are MBAs, they sit down with us once in a while and say, 'If you want to do all this, this is what you have to do.'" The Lobster Theatre Project is now a nonprofit arts organization, of which the Killing My Lobster sketch comedy group is the "comedy subsidiary." The Lobsters receive foundation grants, and in 2003 are, for the first time, able to pay members a stipend.
Vogl takes as a model the Second City troupe in Chicago, which was founded by University of Chicago students but now has franchises all over the country. In the short term, however, Vogl would just like to quit his day job. "Nobody can survive in San Francisco doing Lobster stuff," he says. "But that's the goal."
They aren't Second City yet, but the Lobsters now have their own office space, complete with a scanner, copier, computer, television, VCR, and some floor area in which to practice. The performance venues have expanded over time, too. The group's 19th full-length show begins this week at the Brava Theater, a one-time Mission District movie house with approximately 370 seats.
The humor has grown up, as well. One of the group's signature sketches, performed recently at S.F. Sketchfest, is called "Sunday Afternoon." Starring Charney and Lee, it focuses on the breakup of a gay couple who do not speak actual dialogue. Instead, the characters mouth semantic descriptions of platitudes:
Man 1: Awkward greeting.
Man 2: Nervous greeting.
Man 1: Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit ...
Man 2: Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit ...
Man 1: Awkward pause.
Man 2: Filler, filler, filler ...
Man 1: Obligatory comment about the weather, obligatory comment about the weather.
Man 2: Insincere laughter.
Man 1: Probing question.
Man 2: Evasive remark.
Man 1: Confusion ... slightly suspicious.
Man 2: Blatant lie.
Man 1: Acceptance. Second thought, probing question.
Man 2: Restructuring blatant lie.
Man 1: Recognition of blatant lie ... expressing doubt.
Man 2: Defensive remark.
Man 1: Accusation.
Man 2: Irrelevant counteraccusation.
Man 1: Shock. Thoughtless remark.
Man 2: Sigh of utter disgust.
Man 1: Fake apology, fake apology, bullshit, bullshit, bullshit ...
Man 2: Serious remark.
Man 1: Shifting into serious tone ...
Man 2 eventually breaks up with Man 1, who slaps him, and who then is given an "obligatory offering of continuing friendship," which he refuses.
In late January, the group takes a night off from rehearsals to work on a side project. The Killing My Lobster Cabaret is a variety show put on the last Wednesday of every month at the Make-Out Room, a Mission District bar. It is a benefit for the Coalition on Homelessness and features local sketch comedy groups, stand-up acts, short films, bands, and, sometimes, yodeling.
Though many of the Cabaret's performers are Lobsters, its spontaneity and anything-goes mantra are a big departure from the carefully crafted sketches of the group's stage performances.
January's show is hosted by Bewley, in character as his alter ego, Dale, a parody of a host you might see as a comedy act in a second-rate Reno casino. Dale wears oversize, tinted sunglasses and a cheap suit, and spouts the type of one-liners that are normally heard with a drum tap afterward.
"I've had a few drinks," he says lazily, climbing onto the Make-Out Room's elevated stage with exaggerated difficulty. It is the first Cabaret since its venue changed from Cafe Du Nord, and about 30 people are in the audience.
The crowd is never quite sure when Bewley is being serious and when he isn't. He says he does caricatures, and calls up a young woman who sits patiently while he draws a figure that looks nothing like her and is wearing pirate garb. "I only know how to draw pirates," Dale/Bewley finally admits.
He calls up Wolanske twice to perform, first as the character Alden Mount, a soft-spoken gentleman who recites terrible puns from his "pocket book of boners." Wolanske's enthusiasm never flags, even when a flutter of boos hangs in the air. His second character is an inept impressionist who attempts to portray Eleanor Roosevelt and Beverly D'Angelo, but can't even do Jack Nicholson right.
This goes over fabulously, but not every part of the Cabaret is received as well. A duo calling itself "The Doctor and Captain Show" organizes a laborious multimedia game involving members of the audience playing a variation of Scrabble. The video screen is blurry, and the game drags out for more than 15 minutes.
Comedy perfection is not the Cabaret's aim, says Gabe Weisert, an admirer of the variety show before he joined the Lobsters. "They take risks; they're not afraid to go out there and bomb in search of something different. They're not afraid to die for their cause."
Bewley gathers much of the talent for the Cabaret through connections made from his day job as program director at New Langton Arts, an art gallery and performance space South of Market. Other Lobsters work as waitresses, freelance writers, film and video teachers, and in public relations for the American Conservatory Theater, among other professions. Although none of them has been able to quit a day job, almost all the Lobsters have been able to avoid desk work of the downtown, mind-numbing variety.
Instead, they satirize it.
Their short film 8+4, which aired on Comedy Central's Web site, recalls the movie Office Space in its "Why are we here?" ponderings of corporate life. But the Lobster critique is more ruthless.
