Shelly Gossman, Michael Patrick O'Brien (Photo by Knuth)

The short version of this review: If you’re planning to see one show at Second City, bypass the mainstage.

In fact the two shows currently running at Second City—“America: All Better” on the mainstage and “Brother, Can You Spare Some Change?” on the e.t.c. stage (see my review here)—are a case study in comedy formatics. In other words, the format of each show is the same but the results lie on opposite ends of the spectrum.

Break down most sketch comedy at Second City and what you’ll find is an initial premise repeated over and over. The joke is not really advanced or deconstructed or developed. The trick is to keep the audience engaged anyway, and the folks over at e.t.c. do this with considerable ease. It takes inspired ideas to make such a gambit work.

Alas, the same cannot be said of the 96^th revue on the mainstage. Hell, just look at the title—call your show “America: All Better!” and you’re just advertising a lack of wit and better instincts.

Three new cast members join the ensemble, with Lauren Ash as the standout. She brings to mind the loud sarcastic girl at the pep rally, and she’s a natural fit here. Tellingly, she doesn’t have to fight (i.e. resort to overblown performances) to be noticed. (Veteran Emily Wilson, on the other hand, does an awful lot of screaming with very little payoff.) In a sketch where Ash could easily be the harpy—complaining about her boyfriend’s emotional reticence—she is funny, but she also taps into something authentic: frustration and hurt.

Anthony LeBlanc (also new) needs to create more of a defined presence for himself, though his song about interracial love (sung to a white women in the front row) contains priceless, tasteless lyrics, including: “I want to plow your snow.”  Clever raunch is a delicate thing, and LeBlanc has a knack for it.

Michael Patrick O’Brien is new to the mainstage, as well. Over the summer I went nuts for his Andy Kaufmanesque solo show called “Shatter” (when he was billed merely as “Pat O’Brien”). His strength as a performer is that you’re never sure if he’s fucking with you—this comes to the fore just once in the show, when his “love life” takes center stage.

It’s a good bit, and I wish there were more of them. The best sketch features Shelly Gossman as a Russian gymnast performing a balance beam routine on the rail separating the front of the house from the back. Stepping over drinks (and imbibing them at various points), she is accompanied by her effusively bearded coach (a very funny Brad Morris) and color commentary provided by O’Brien and Joe Canale. It’s the one bit that feels absolutely right. It’s a surprise and it manages to be both lightly transgressive (I’ve never seen any Second City cast member venture this deep into audience territory) and strangely hilarious.

Ultimately, though, there is something missing in the creative drive. (Matt Hovde is the show’s director). If “Impress These Apes” has shown us anything, it’s that funny people—given the right motivation and freedom to play—will generate unique and indelible material. Second City can’t accommodate the freeform structure of “Apes” (nor should it) but I think there’s a lesson in there somewhere. Second City has always had impeccable taste when it comes to hiring talent, but shows like this suggest there has to be a better way to take advantage of what these folks have to offer.

“America: All Better” certainly has enough good actors in it—I’ve come to really appreciate what Brad Morris is doing as a performer—and it’s not quite a colossal failure. Then again, it is so mediocre as to be insignificant. (Nina Metz)

At Second City Mainstage Theatre, 1616 N. Wells St., 312-337-3992 or www.secondcity.com. Tues-Thur 8p, Fri-Sat 8p & 11p, Sun 7p. $20-$25. Open run.

Tom Flanigan, Laura Grey, Amanda Blake Davis, Christina Anthony, Timothy Edward Mason (photo by Bob Knuth)

RECOMMENDED

We’re all breathing different air these days, what with a disastrous economy and all hopes pinned on a shiny new president who seems awfully close to perfect. The cast of Second City e.t.c.’s thirty-seceond revue is clobbering these sentiments for all they’re worth.

Something about the show’s vibe, though, feels especially fresh and full of momentum. You won’t find one “Hey, Grandma” bit, no cocktail party or barbecue sketches, no dad uncomfortably talking about the facts of life with his kids. Not everything here centers on current events (and a couple sketches miss their mark), but I’d say ninety percent of the material has an original spin to it—either due to its construction or the performances themselves. An image of Cloud Gate makes up the set design—the cast is literally performing on top of the Bean, and the height suits them.

“Brother, Can you Spare Some Change” (directed by Bruce Pirrie) features one new cast member, Christina Anthony, and she is a major talent. It can take newbies a few months to figure out how to be themselves within the parameters of a Second City show—everything is polished and lively and very mainstream—but Anthony is confident right from the start and she is probably the most exciting addition to the e.t.c. stage since the arrival of Keegan-Michael Key so many years back.

She sings a song about bad luck in love, backed up by cast members Amada Blake Davis, amusingly pert and neurotic, and Laura Grey, an imp with huge eyes and an energy that stands out from the pack. But watch as Anthony slinks into the crowd and attempts to pick up an audience member, her seduction red hot and hilarious.

Timothy Edward Mason—who joined the cast last year and was somewhat muted—displays more of his specific comedic personality. The guy has the biggest smile on that stage, and he and Anthony have real chemistry in their scenes together. Mason has a twisted side, seen in full effect as he devolves into a sputtering weirdo, ending the scene with his hand down his pants—looking startled at his bizarre behavior but unable to stop it. Later, Mason turns a bedtime song for his daughter into a very funny bit by virtue of his delivery—earnestly dirty, you might call it.

There’s also a surprisingly funny opera about Mayor Daley sung in Italian (Adam Sandler used to do something similar on “Saturday Night Live,” but the high quality of the show puts you in a forgiving mood). In one of the strongest bits, Andy St. Clair takes the stage all by his lonesome, playing a Southern-fried defense attorney in the William Jennings Bryant mold, dabbing a folded hanky to his upper lip as he improvises with an audience member. It’s a very good showcase of St. Clair’s talents and ability to charm an audience.

Tom Flanigan is perhaps the quietest cast member, but his understated boy-man persona works. He is frequently the perplexed guy—but it’s a layered performance, somewhat dim, but not quite dumb.

This is a factor too important to be dismissed—without good acting, sketch is just a collection of potentially funny ideas. I’d say that potential has been reached this time out. I’ve been critical of Second City’s show in the past; they can feel like regurgitated clichés of themselves. “Brother, Can You Spare Some Change?” is unquestionably a Second City show, but an extremely good one at that. (Nina Metz)

At Second City e.t.c., 1608 N. Wells (second floor of Piper’s Alley), (312)337-3992. Thur 8pm, Fri-Sat 8pm & 11pm, Sun 7pm. $20-$25. Open run.

RECOMMENDED

Back in town at the Royal George Theatre, “Forbidden Broadway Dances With the Stars” feels just like old times with this musical sketch comedy show that lampoons all things on the Great White Way. The show’s impressively current, even featuring a “Shrek the Musical” joke.  And while you may not get everything if you aren’t a tried and true aficionado of contemporary and historical Broadway, the show feels at home in the city that defines sketch comedy.  Some of the routines could use a little more edge though; there are only so many gags about loud divas and movies-turned-musicals I can stand.  That said, all four cast members have been with the show for some time and they feel at home with the material.  Of particular note, get a load of  Val Fagan.  She should be starring on Broadway, not just making fun of it. (William Scott)

At The Royal George Theater, 1641 North Halsted, (312)988-9000, through November 30.

RECOMMENDED

Two of my favorite sketch-comedy ensembles are joining forces to lampoon that topic at the forefront of so many minds, American politics—this is going to be good. Schadenfreude (pictured) and GayCo, along with different special guests each night, will storm the Lakeshore Theatre on October 18 and 25 to give their take on the current election season and the issues facing our great nation. The show, “This Country’s F$cked! or God Damn, America…,” promises to cover the entire hotbed of issues from filling potholes to the war. In their own words, “Be prepared for a variety of acts standing on a soapbox, cleverly disguising polemic in the form of jokes. Whether you are Democrat or Republican, liberal or conservative—we can all agree on one thing: This Country’s F$cked.” Conservative Republicans, I have a feeling this one is not for you. (William Scott)

At Lakeshore Theater,  3175 N. Broadway, (773)472-3492. October 18 & 25.

RECOMMENDED

In sketch and improv—especially among younger performers—you’ll often see an inability (or unwillingness) to move beyond the easy laugh. It takes real chops (and risk-taking abandon) to build a character beyond a series of punchlines. It’s the difference between someone like Ricky Gervais—whose public persona is wittily complex, both dark and light—and joke man Howie Mandel, who can get off a decent one-liner, but who cares?

“Hero” (the one-act improvised play running Wednesdays at i.O.) looks this challenge in the eye and mostly comes out on top. With a cast of veteran actors—Brian Boland and Claudia Wallace are former Second City mainstagers; Jet Eveleth and Holly Laurent are members of The Reckoning, an improv team with serious talent—the actors are relaxed enough to carefully build their characters. (Patrick McKenna rounds out the ensemble.) This is a group (directed by Sandy Marshall, of Schadenfreude) that understands how inhabit a manufactured world with total confidence.

Hero mythology is the underlying theme of each show, although the one I caught was hazy on this point. I don’t think it matters. Half the cast offered up performances that were modestly funny but limited (and limiting to the story). This was a problem for Wallace, especially, who seemed trapped within the two-dimensions of her a vapid character.

The stronger work came from Boland, something of straight man when he was at Second City, who uses his tall good looks to subvert expectations. His character insights are specific and detailed, and boy does this guy know how to play burning dissatisfaction.

The other standout is Eveleth, with her hair clipped Mia Farrow-style, circa “Rosemary’s Baby”—more than anyone, Eveleth showed genuine dramatic instincts, charging face-first into a portrayal of quiet desperation that was funny and unflinchingly honest. Also, quick on the uptake; on the night I attended, she turned a momentary speech impediment into a Porky Pig sign-off—an inspired way to acknowledge her verbal flubbing and tweak it at the same time. (Nina Metz)

At i.O. Theater, 3541 North Clark, (773)880-0199. Wednesdays at 8pm through October 29. $10. 

The dogma and traditions of the Catholic Church are a comic’s playground. Unfortunately, someone needs to give the cast of Illuminated Productions’ “Hopelessly Devoted” a big push on the swings to get the fun going.

The revue features Vincent Lacey and Natalie Sullivan in a series of sketches and one-liners that poke fun at Mother Church. Lacy and Sullivan have the energy, glib wit and polish that’s standard in their improv backgrounds, but the quick-cut style of the show keeps them from bringing any depth to the funny. Sullivan’s vignette about her breakup with a fiancé she sponsored in a religious conversion had a great deal of potential but stopped cold before it got started. Ditto for Lacey’s scene about his father’s detachment from his church. The performers’ pursuit of a frenetic ha-ha pace cheats them out of some amusing yet poignant moments. And that’s a God-damned shame. (Lisa Buscani)

At Apollo Theater Studio, 2540 North Lincoln, (773)935-6100, apollochicago.com, through October 30.

Regardless of form, good improv and sketch always comes down to the same thing: the ability to create believable characters worth caring about. A lot of that is missing in Theatre Momentum’s current effort at the Bailiwick Loft (where the A/C is nil, just so you know).

The double bill includes “Jigsaw,” essentially an improvised play where scenes jump around in time and it’s not always clear what’s happening when. I guess that’s the jigsaw part. The ensemble (directed by Rob Kozlowski) works well together and they don’t meander off into tangents that could throw the whole thing out of whack. But they have real trouble establishing their characters beyond clichés. They’re not playing people so much as types. Only Demian Krentz stands out as the kind of performer who is fully engaged with the idea of acting—portraying an actual human being—and he’s all the funnier for it.

“Mixtape” (directed by Amanda Rountree) rounds out the night, and it is brutal. Not sure I understand the concept. Performer Greg Guilliano steps in at various points to sing, and it’s like those awful auditions on “American Idol,” except I had no clue what song he was singing. A mixtape implies recognizable songs. Am I interpreting this too literally? As for the scenes in between, the set never clicks into gear—although Peter Athans and Peter Schell deserve credit for plowing forward to establish and build a story, despite a stage manager who left them out there to drown far past the natural blackout point—even when performer Dan Gordon offered not one but two jokes that would have been perfect closers. (Nina Metz)

At the Bailiwick Arts Center Loft, 1229 W. Belmont, 773-857-3858. Wed 8p. $12. Through October 8.

I like the idea behind this late-night show—a little of this, a little of that—but you’d think after a year of doing it, the folks of “O.I.N.K!” would actually understand how to put on a show. Each week the bulk of the night is given over to guest performers—sketch and stand-up acts from the local scene—with host Othy Schwering providing some sort of bridge between. It’s not that it’s sloppy—it is, but so what? The bigger problem is that, aside from the comedy generated by the guest acts, much of this show is intensely bad. Sometimes awful can reach its own peculiar heights of hilarity. In Schwering’s case, the schtick just sort of sits there, taking up time and space. (Schwering also performs a two-man improv set with Kannan Arumugam that is a case study of failure-to-listen.) Schwering may have offbeat comedic instincts (and he knows how to book a good lineup), but seems lost when sizing up a moment, let alone reading an impatient audience. My vote: Wait for the next Schadenfreude Rent Party instead. (Nina Metz)

At New Playground Theater, 3209 N. Halsted, (773)871-3793. Wed 10pm. $7. Open run.

RECOMMENDED
Don’t let her elfin appearance fool you—Susan Messing has no qualms about letting her id rip in the name of improv. If it’s dirty and profane, count on Messing to go there each week in her improv free-for-all at the Annoyance. (The late-night Thursday run hits its two-year mark on June 26, with the incomparable T.J. Jagodowski as Messing’s friend du jour.) Filthy mouth notwithstanding, Messing has reached the point, performance-wise, where she appears unfazed by the bit or scene that doesn’t work—and yes, sometimes the improv just sits there like cold piece of meat. She’s best when she spends the time investing in a fully realized character, allowing a scene develop into an actual story that is often as dark and upsetting as it is funny. That being said, no one comes up with better one-liners. At a recent show, she was a frat boy advising his pledges: “Remember, fuck ‘em in the face until they don’t remember it was you.” That’s genius stuff right there. (Nina Metz)

Annoyance Theatre, 4840 West Broadway, (773)561-4665, Thursdays at 10:30pm, $20. Open run.

RECOMMENDED
The first fifteen minutes of Pat O’Brien’s “Shatter” are improvised. Just O’Brien—low-key and deadpan—and a few props, awkwardly interacting with the audience. It’s pure genius. (The one-man show runs on a double bill Tuesday nights at the Second City e.t.c.) The opening bit involves the Guinness Book of World Records, exposed for the stupid collection of random anecdotes that it is, with O’Brien attempting to shatter various entries. In his sweater vest and tie, the guy is like an overgrown Catholic school boy, shy and yet unexpectedly subversive. There’s a lot of Andy Kaufman in his performance—a kind of agreeable hostility—and you’re never quite sure what’s going on or when it’s OK to laugh. You can’t ask for more in this particular genre—rare is the one-man show this good or this outrageously unexpected. O’Brien has a canny way of playing his intelligence and observational skills against his low-grade skittishness and apparent innocence. The result is an inspired sort of looniness. When playing himself, he is both uncomfortable in his skin and very much in command. In the scripted portions, his focus on the smallest details of character is like an Edward Hopper come to life: With Foghat’s “Slow Ride” blasting from the speakers, he is a pool shark nailing every shot in time with the music, a freaky look on his face—all crazy eyes and ego. The performance is scaled just right. He does a creepy-ingratiating turn as an instructor teaching a course on how to play the spoons, and gives a nice middle finger to bad stand-up routines—performed behind a giraffe mask. He also backs into an uproarious joke involving the insipid lyrics to Matchbox 20’s “3am”—the bit requires a long setup, but the payoff is worth it. See this show before it closes. Preceding O’Brien is Nicky Margolis, a former e.t.c. cast member whose one-woman show “Split!” follows the rhythms and beats of a standard Second City revue. She is chipper, if only mildly funny. But she is uncompromising when it comes to attacking the narcissistic underpinnings of a one-person show, and her final scene—which has her singing a power ballad duet about self-empowerment with a video of herself, like something out of a deranged “Wicked”—is one of the funniest things I’ve seen in a long time, pushing self-love to its obvious conclusion. It’s a hilarious conceit, and she pulls it off perfectly. Nina Metz)

“Split” and “Shatter” run at Second City e.t.c., 1608 North Wells, (312)642-8189, on Tuesdays through July 29.