When I wrote a brief history of The Practical Theatre Company for this blog some time ago, I finished by saying, “The Practical Theatre in Chicago in the 1980’s — that was Brigadoon: a magical place that existed for a brief time and vanished. And I got the girl.”
That was true. I did get the girl.
And because I emerged from that life-changing experience with Victoria Zielinski as my wife and collaborator, the Practical Theatre was ultimately due for a renaissance.
But, alas, the PTC revival would take more than two decades.
The PTC had to wait as Victoria and I tended to our three wonderful daughters. But by 2010, the year of our 20th wedding anniversary, with the girls old enough to spare their parents for a few hours a day, Vic and I began to wonder if we were still comedians with something to say.
We decided it was time to write and perform sketch comedy again — and bring back The Practical Theatre Co.
Thus, was born The Vic & Paul Show.
But that was a rebirth built on a comedic foundation 35 years in the making…
Note: The following autobiographical material is offered to those for whom it may be of interest. But even if you’ve just stumbled upon it — and don’t know anyone involved – you might learn, within this narrative, something about the art of improvisational comedy and the sketch revue format.
Or not.
I was born and raised in Cleveland, Ohio. A lot of funny folks came from there. My father always said that the reason “Cleveland” was so often a punch line in TV and film was because a lot of comedy writers moved to Hollywood from Cleveland. (I eventually proved Dad’s explanation true by doing that very thing.)
I owe my love of comedy and music to my father, who was born and raised in New Orleans. Dad was a jazz and vaudeville fan. He loved old movies, too – especially the comedies. He’d tell me all about how Bob Hope, Red Skelton, Jack Benny, and other comics worked in vaudeville before the movies started talking — and stage stars gravitated to Hollywood.
Dad also explained how some of the biggest comics in early TV were vaudeville stars: headliners like Milton Berle, George Burns, and Gracie Allen.
Dad was a big Sid Caesar fan and spoke with reverence about Your Show of Shows and Sid’s writers, among them Mel Brooks and a young Woody Allen.
Note: Victoria saw Sid and Imogene Coca (pictured left) perform in 1990 at the Briar Street Theatre in Chicago. 68-year old Sid was still doing his sketch comedy thing. Imogene Coca was 82. She wore a bow in her hair that she tossed to Victoria. I like to think Imogene was passing the comedic torch.
Later, when dad worked the night shift at Reliable Springs, my mom would stay up to write down all the best jokes on That Was The Week That Was so she could fill him in after work. I was only 5 or 6 at the time, but something about that show thrilled me: the sketches, the funny songs, the topical satire – most of which flew right over my head. I was lucky my mom let me stay up late to watch it. A few years later, Laugh In had the same effect on me. Only this time, I understood more of the jokes.
I owe my love of theatre to my mom. An elementary school teacher, she made sure her family were regulars at The Cleveland Playhouse, one of the oldest repertory theatres in America, founded in 1915.
She also made sure I saw my cousin star as Helen Keller in her high school production of The Miracle Worker, and my big brother play leads in our high school’s productions of Oliver! and Anastasia. Mom had a teaching colleague who made a keen impression on me as a leading man in summer playhouse productions of Man of La Mancha and The Fantasticks.
For me, live theatre was magical. And live comedy was even better. The give and take with the audience, the emotion, the surprise, the laughter. The stage was calling me – and I answered as best I could.
But my first sketch comedy revue was not a high school production.
Juggling high school football, wrestling, and the stage, I played roles in classic musicals like Finian’s Rainbow, Li’l Abner, The Music Man, and George M!
In the summer of my Junior year, I was lucky to have my drama teacher and our Li’l Abner musical director cast me in Good Times! — a cabaret comedy revue with original songs and sketches staged in a space at a local Catholic church as a benefit. Good Times! was my first sketch revue — with music! I would embrace that format for the rest of my life
Note: There I am, first row right, wearing the white tux jacket I’ll wear in comedy revues for the next five decades. (Though I can’t really button it now.)
I was the only teenager in a cast of talented and experienced adults. They were pros and I was honored to be among them: rehearsing, performing – and enjoying the laughs. It was an eye-opening experience. I loved it. It was the greatest experience of my life up to that moment.
But I didn’t yet see sketch comedy as my future. My plan was to be a serious actor on the regional theatre stage. To paraphrase John Lennon, “Life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans.”
Like many theatre hopefuls before me, I headed to Northwestern University to hone my acting chops. In my freshman year, I was fortunate to be cast in a musical, 110 In the Shade, a comedy, Catch-22 (pictured as Doc Daneeka, with Stew Figa as Yossarian), and a dramedy, Moonchildren.
That summer, buoyed by semi-success in my first year of college, I summoned the nerve (ignorance and/or naïveté) as a 19-year-old to audition at the Cleveland Playhouse. For some reason, the artistic director honored me with his presence at my tryout. At the time, I took it for granted. In retrospect, I’m shocked. Was it because I was a hometown boy?
I never considered how few parts there were for 19-year-olds in a Cleveland Playhouse season. Or how many 20-something actors fresh from Yale, Juilliard and The Actor’s Studio were up for those few roles. I knew nothing – and ignorance was my strength. I did my best and the Playhouse director let me down gently with a practiced, professional promise that my theatrical future was ahead of me.
But, within a year, I would find that my theatrical future was not as a “serious” dramatic actor. The comedy muse would soon be calling me.
In my sophomore year at Northwestern, I auditioned for the campus improvisational sketch comedy revue, The Mee-Ow Show. And serious regional theatre’s loss would be improvisational comedy’s gain.
How could The Cleveland Playhouse possibly compete with free beer and a one-hour slot on Thursday nights at Sylvester’s Comedy Club?
H.W.A.T (Humorous Weapons and Tactics). L to R: Jeff Lupetin, Me, Rush Pearson, Dana Olsen, Bill Wronski and Shelly Goldstein. Free beer and funny business in the early 1980’s Chicago comedy club scene.
To be continued…
And, in the meantime, skipping 5 decades ahead…
Paul's Voyage of Discovery & Etc. 