This is Drama Masks, a Bay Area performing arts column from a born San Franciscan and longtime theatre artist in an N95 mask. I talk venue safety and dramatic substance, or the lack thereof.
There’s a zig-zaggy history of SF theatre-goers finding post-show congregation spots. For much of the 20th century, Geary Boulevard offered no shortage of eateries: Tommy’s Joynt at one end of the district, Lefty O’Doul’s at the other, countless hole-in-the-wall spots that were only occasionally outnumbered by art galleries. There was even Original Joe’s on Taylor. Whether rehearsing a show, having missed a show, or just coming out of one, there were cheap and filling places to nosh and discuss what just happened.
Around 2010, the Café Royale on Post Street became a theatre social nexus. Directors, performers, and even an indie opera company flocked into its very-cramped, balcony-boasting walls to watch and put on shows. It was where local loons recited Shakespeare, read sarcastic Christmas anecdotes, and sang original Faustian musicals as they tried to squeeze past chairs and avoid pint glasses falling from the aforementioned balcony. I know this because I was one of those local loons.
The Royale was never really the same after the owner sold it to his son mid-decade. The younger guy wasn’t all that interested in a loyal band of creative kooks who were happy to bring new paying audiences with us.
Still, there were plenty of regular gathering spots for theatre-types. If you’d caught a show at EXIT Theatre, you could stick around in their cabaret space for a limited selection of drinks. Yet, you’d already have to have seen a show to get in. If your legs were game for a hike, you and your indie theatre compatriots could head up the hill to the Hotel Beresford’s White Horse Tavern–if you got there early enough, there was free popcorn (and hotdogs sometimes!).
The real treat was hanging out in the “quiet” sitting room where everyone could be laughably pretentious about the craft. If you fancied something more dingy, you could venture deeper into SoMA/Tenderloin and shout over the crowds at The Tempest on Natoma. Under the literal shadow of the soon to be former Chronicle building, The Tempest was a wonderful dive bar where theatre folk could get sloshed and heckle loudly the sub-par show they may have just seen.
Those places were great, but none really offered a true amalgamation of theatre folk and normies. It wasn’t until PianoFight took over Original Joe’s that the unwashed masses had a place to stumble upon goofy performers by pure accident. PianoFight was a proper bar that attracted all comers without alienating the theatre folk who created it. People showed up for Super Bowl broadcasts just as often as stand-up routines; they came to tie one off after work next to folks who just saw a show about the dark side of OCD. Then alas, that beloved and scruffy spot closed.
One can only wonder where theatre audiences–especially indie theatre audiences–go for their post-show fix now. Sure, more venues than ever have dedicated drink and snack areas, but one has to be there for the show to access those places. It’s as if more places have created their own gated communities rather than creating spaces that easily welcome all types. It certainly doesn’t help that SF City Hall has gone all-in on these “entertainment zones” that feel as artificial as Disney’s Main Street. A spoon-fed San Francisco that appeals to flyover states isn’t just bad, it’s offensive.
I’m self-aware enough to know that one can’t catch lightning in a bottle twice. I’m also aware that certain audiences have gotten older and aren’t as keen to stay out as late. And there are us few but resilient COVID-safe folks who just aren’t comfortable indoors around mouth-breathers anymore. I don’t have the solution, but I lament the loss of those kinds of theatre congregation spots.
Perhaps younger audiences do have places like that and folks my age just don’t know? If so, I hope they’re enjoying them. If there’s one thing I do know it’s how much they’ll miss those places and the times spent there when they’re gone.
KILLING MY LOBSTER’S HYSTERICAL HISTORIUM AT Z BELOW
Has it really been just over-a-year since KML’s last proper show? It seems like a lifetime since then. It felt as if the company was about to vanish forever before pulling off an unexpected comeback. Since then, most of their output has been their Sketch on Speed series coinciding their return to their old home beneath Z Space. Many of us had accepted that the odds of seeing another proper show were about the same as seeing kids in the audience of a KML show.
Wouldn’tcha know it? Their latest show, Hysterical Historium (through September 12 at Z Below, SF) is not only a welcome return to full-length sketch, but its opening night featured a considerable number of juvenile audience members. The latter was a surprise after years of KML shows full of obscenities and the occasional sex toy. But then, they’ve spent the last decade-plus teaching kids how to write sketch, so it’s probably not as odd as it seems.
The reason for all-ages audience is likely due to the shows collaborators, Red Barn. They’re the folks behind San Francisco Historium, a show that (like the SF Dungeon before it) shows tourists along the wharf a noticeably more irreverent view of our city’s dark history. I haven’t seen that show, but I imagine PG-style tone would be crucial to its success. As such, we have a KML show where the raunchiest thing is a joke about poop falling from the sky.
The overarching narrative is that the Gold Rush-era Vaudevillian troupe of 49ers and Repertory Theatres (FARTS) are taking some well-aimed jabs at this strange seaside town built on Ramaytush land and where divorce is totally legal. The sketches in question involve a rich man (Sam Bertken) pitching his new-fangled “cable car” as if he were some techie trying to sell people on self-driving taxis.
It’s a town where a sit-down interview with the real Captain Nemo (Tirumari Jothi) reveals secrets of the Nautilus left out of Verne’s text: “As soon as we painted [the ship] brown, it could withstand greater pressure.” It’s a show where two ladies (May Simon Ramos and director-subbing actor Nikki Meñez) who just want to take a quick ferry trip have to put up with an obnoxious man-spreader (Perry Fenton, who steals the whole show). Such is the material one expects from an SF sketch troupe of any era.
CO² levels weren’t the worst, with numbers on my Aranet4 peaking around 1,158ppm during the hourlong show. A few SNAFUs notwithstanding, it was nice to see KML shake off the cobwebs of putting on a show they hadn’t just written hours prior. It got awkward watching them trying to spin the simultaneous plates of period allusion, contemporary satire, and family-friendly entertainment, but a show that finds a way to take shots at SouthWest Airlines in a prospector setting is one you should give a watch.
KILLING MY LOBSTER’S HYSTERICAL HISTORIUM runs through September 12 at Z Below, SF. Tickets and further info here.
