Susan Rice
written by Kelly Mackin
Imagine an old bar in a sleepy part of town. The Leaky Roof Tavern. At one time it had a little stage where new comics eked out a five or ten minute set. The roof doesn’t leak anymore and the bar no longer serves comedy. The crowds that lined around the block in 1982 are gone. Susan Rice has stopped by to visit and reminisce about an era when comedy just exploded. She recalls how easy it was back then for a good comic to make a good living, even here in Portland, Oregon.
The Susan of 2009 looks around and becomes wistful as the stage here sports booths and tables now rather than a chair and a microphone. Back in the day at the Leaky Roof, Rice says some of the comics took to selling cushions or pillows to the people who couldn’t fit inside the tavern, just to earn a little extra. Listeners would poach from the sidewalk as the place roared during a good set.
It’s been said comics carry the world upon their shoulders. Susan Rice is no different. Rice is sensitive, alert, and intelligent. Like many comics, there is an air of vulnerability about her. “To be a comic,” she says, “something must have happened that’s very sad, or something is eating at you. Comics notice everything. Everything catches our attention.”
She does not mock herself when she’s on stage. It’s more like she includes you in the hilarity of her pain. The pinnacle of the comic art is the pain of life illuminated as its very peak. Susan brings her audience into her reality, paints a situation in front of their eyes, and then they laugh at their own mental images.
There is a set of dimensions that Rice plays to that revolve around the skillful jester, a cleverness from the Borscht belt comics of upstate New York. “Well someone was trying to help me because I locked my keys in the car,” she jokes. “He said, ‘You got a hanger, lady?’ So I started rolling my shoulders. ‘Geez, there was one here this morning? What happened to it?’”
“A lot of comics,” says Rice, “get ruined when they make it too fast. They don’t have enough material for an hour. They get put on TV and they are just not ready. So they try too hard and aren’t funny enough to make it there. You have to work your way through the ranks.”
It’s rare to see older comics who are women these days. There is a segment of the market for humor, women over 45, which is not being met by the broadcast industry very well. Remember the Carol Burnett Show back in the 1970’s? Or Roseanne in the 1980’s, with her ability to connect with middle Americans, or The Golden Girls, with its senior citizen hijinks? Today’s networks are obsessed with the people under 35. It would be great for some network somewhere to wake up and see that this market is still a market, and make room in sitcom land for a modern comic of Susan’s caliber who has proven her mettle through appearances on Comedy Central, Showtime, and A&E.
In 2008, the City of Portland - believe it or not - stepped up and created a non-profit comedy club in an urban redevelopment zone called “VanPort.” The club is called the Curious Comedy Club (curiouscomedy.org). It’s got a great stage, professional lighting, fresh air-conditioning, and a working bar staffed by an actual comedian. A week after meeting at the Leaky Roof, Rice is there for a 10 minute open mic slot she booked for herself on an off night.
Inside and milling about were a bevy of hungry comics craving attention and strengthening their egos for the 3 minute slots that the club gives them twice a month, like baby chicks feeding on corn seed. Susan wanders in, sauntering and chatting with the other comics.
After the two previous comics did their bits, Susan ascends to the stage. It is funny just watching her walk.
When Susan is introduced, she is described as an “institution in Portland.” Rice has earned the respect of other comics. She’s done the L.A. thing, toured extensively, and made her mark alongside the Jerry Seinfelds and Paula Poundstones of the world. In side conversations at the bar, or at our table, it’s joke after joke, sly comments, puns, and sardonic retorts emerging from some deep comic well. It’s an endless stream of comic energy. She’s not even trying to be funny. She just is.
She takes the microphone and starts in:
“What’s up with young men who wear those black hockey puck earrings?” she inquires. “What is up with that? What are they going to do with their ears years from now when they get old? Hang their IV bags from the holes?”
Her material ranges from everyday observations to the phenomenon of Victoria’s Secret to her father and her hometown, Longview, Washington.
“My hometown is special. When you are driving to it, there’s a sign on a building as you drive into town that says, ‘Taxidermy, Child Care’.” What the heck is that about? Who would take their children there? I’d be terrified that I’d show up late and my kids would be standing stiffly.”
Rice is single, lives alone though her friends are encouraging her to date. “Dating is so different now,” says Rice. “It’s all on the computer. I’ve found a lot of men on eHarmony.com, even young, good-looking men. I’m 57. I’ve found that older men really like me. Older men are easier. I think it’s because they like the fact I can still drive at night.”
After the open mic is over, she mentions that she doesn’t try to mentor younger comics, mostly because it’s excruciating. On this occasion, a young woman comes up on stage and does not get a single laugh. “That pained me,” she says. “It’s really hard to watch.”
However, there is also a notable exception at this show. A young comic named Virginia Jones catches Rice’s attention. Jones has a natural comfort level on stage, presence, and good material. Drawing on more than a quarter of a century in the business, Rice still finds excitement in seeing comedy done well, and perhaps harkening back to that stage at the Leaky Roof in another time, smiles as she singles her out, “She’s got what it takes.”
Kelly Mackin is a writer from Portland.
For more on Susan, visit SusanRiceComedy.com.