Will Laugh for Food: Audience work at "Rules of Engagement"

When you are underemployed and broke in Hollywood, there are alternatives to prostitution.

One of those is audience work. This is basically where shows pay you *CASH* to come and laugh or clap while they tape sit-coms or game shows.

I got an email earlier in the day for a Rush call for "Rules of Engagement" audience participants. It promised $8/hour, cash paid at the end of the night. I owed my roommate money for the gas bills, so it was as if God said, I will give you that money, but you must laugh on-command for 5 straight hours in return. Not a bad deal if you ask me.

So, I headed down to Sony Studios where I met my point-person Pam, a sweet woman with a smoker's cough and a clipboard with a list of names scribbled in pen. Luckily, mine was on there. I got in line where I made fast friends with Trish, a Vietnamese financial planner turned traffic school teacher, who makes a regular second-income on the audience circuit.

At first we were hustled into the back right of the room, which would have made for a pretty painful night, but by the grace of God, or my guardian angel with a wicked sense of humor, I caught the eye of a page, who beckoned me into a seat dead center of the front row of the center section. I dragged my new friend Trish with me and we took our seats.

Pretty soon, the warm-up comedian took the mic and commenced the difficult task of keeping this particular cross-section of humanity at a level where we could produce manic laughter at every hint of a joke. He started right off singling all of the out of out-of-towners and making fun of them, nation by nation, starting with a tiny woman from England, the some flight attendants on layover from Australia, and a group of one Quebecoise girl and four french tourists. There were also Israeli military men, who happened to be the most adept at singing their own national anthem, another little gag that the emcee pulled on all the foreigners. He poked fun at all of their accents, much to the chagrin of one Frenchman named Frederic, who took a while to warm up to our dear maestro.

The most awkward moment of the evening was when the comedian prompted the winner of the YMCA dance contest to kiss him on the cheek to receive his prize t-shirt, and then very tattooed young man just could not compromise his manhood in that way. So, after the akwardest few minutes, the whole audience must have been secretly asking, "Dude, are you gay?" precisely the question he obviously did not want us asking. I almost ran up and kissed the guy for him, but the comedian pulled another man from the audience to show the stubborn winner how simple it was. Unfortunately for the willing party, the comedian turned his face toward the man's peck so the two engaged in a full lip lock. It was national 'Coming Out Day' after all...

Watching the scenes was a fantastic learning experience for me. There were four sets lined up next to each other: An office, a lobby, a diner, and a living room. Throughout the course of the evening, the three camera, or multi-cam set up would move to the different set, in the actual order of the scenes. Each scene was very short and ended on a nice "button". They would also play scenes they had shot earlier to get the audience laughter recorded.

The comedian put a lot of pressure on us about the laughing, and at first, the audience seemed to be hesitant to laugh--almost as if they were scared they weren't going to do it right. I laugh at almost everything, so it wasn't hard for me to do my job. I was a little disappointed I didn't win a t-shirt or a mug or an autographed script for laughing the loudest, but I think it had something to do with beating the emcee in a stare-down contest when he came up to me during a break, and then saying, "I win."

Depending on how much the audience responded, after each take, the writers would rush over to the actors and make some quick adjustments to the dialogue. It was amazing to watch the actors keep their energy high and their characters consistent. The subtlety and timing were also impeccable. There is a good reason that David Spade and Patrick Warburton, the stars, have had such successful comedic careers. They played the audience like fiddles....or me at least.

As it turns out, the woman sitting next to me and my new friend Trish was the wife of one of the main actors. It was awesome to hear her take on the whole thing. She seemed unimpressed by the whole ordeal, but sweet. Apparently, Sit-com has about the best schedule in the business. It's consistent. The hours aren't bad. It's a Wednesday table read to Tuesday live performance schedule with rehearsals and pre-shoots that last reasonable hours. Showday is about 11 hours, but the rest of the week is light.

What was also wonderful was hearing that she and her husband have been together for 30 years and have four kids and a relatively normal life. It gives me hope that you can make it in Hollywood and not be a total train-wreck with multiple marriages, divorces, and extra-marital affairs. Comedy is a double-edged sword, because we all know comedy is sublimated angst/depression rooted in an abusive or painful childhood, parents who don't understand feelings, and/or Roman Catholicism. But when it's done well, and cleanly, it's one of the purest, most beautiful gifts we humans have.

By the end of the night, we all were a little loopy, including the comedian. But, props to him, he was doing his best to keep it lively. Among his bag of tricks were impeccable German, French, and various British Commonwealth dialects; juggling many things including three ping-pong balls with only his mouth, as well as batons while balancing a chair and then a ladder, on his chin; playing a game called "Guess the Asian" with a group of UCLA students who were part of a community service fraternity, but could not come up with an actual charity that they were raising money for.

They took care of us, giving us half a subway sandwich, a tiny bottle of water, and a cookie. Lucky for me and Trish, the actor's wife gave us her half-sandwich, so we got to split it and each have an extra quarter sub. I was starving, so I felt so grateful, like one of the Orphans in Oliver, or the little girl that Apu reluctantly gives his piece of bread to in Aladdin.

The episode itself, Episode 7--my lucky number, incidentally--was near and dear to my heart. It was entitled "Missed Connections" and centered around one of the employees who saw his dream girl on the metro and decided to post a notice in the Missed Connections section of Craigslist. Right after the topic was raised, there was a scene break, and Cee Lo's "F-you" song played on the overhead.

As many people know, earlier this year, I was alerted to a Missed Connection that had been posted about Yours Truly. Apparently, I had caught the attention of a young man who I had sat next to at a UCB show where Robin Williams made a surprise appearance as an Improv player. The connection? The guy sitting next to me had snorted, and commented "I totally just snorted." I retorted, "yeah you did." I guess he liked my style. Long story short--or Long story, long, as one of the jokes in the show had gone--I went on a date with him where he happened to play the very same Cee Lo "F-you" song and announce it was the best new song ever. Needless to say, things went downhill from there, and he was not my soulmate as I had hoped.

I won't tell you how the episode went, but it was funny, so watch it.

At the end of the show, I reluctantly shuffled out with the rest of the public, feeling kind of energized, but kind of sad. I wanted so desperately to be a part of that operation, and not one of the masses. There's a magic in Sit-Com, mostly because it blends the live-energy of stage, and the finesse of film. And laughter is like really, really good drugs, and I didn't want my high to end.

In the end, I almost forgot to pick up my $42 cash, but Trish reminded me. We met a very dirty white van in the parking lot of a Starbuck's across the street. We all had to line up so Pam could cross us off the list. Then a little old black man handed us an envelope with cash money inside. I felt a little dirty, but also like I had just made the easiest money of my life.

I was reminded that Someday, once I can control my impulse to laugh at pretty much any kind of funny person, let alone prodigious comedians, I hope I will be down in that set, playing the straight person to some comedic genius. But for now, I don't mind just laughing.

It was a wonderful field trip in my own personal school of show-business that I have found myself in throughout the last few months since I graduated from AADA. It's nice because I am the principal and the director of instruction and I get to pick all of my guest instructors. It's nice to be in charge.

I've learned some pretty tough lessons lately, so it was nice to get a dose of the best medicine out there. My dad's a doctor and he's kind of celebrity in our area because he's taken care of pretty much everyone and their mother. I think his secret is that he's a bit of a comedian, and he doesn't just fix people, he makes them smile and feel good.

I want to be able to help people in the same way my dad has. I feel sad that I've missed the boat on Med School, even though the thought of having to go through 7 years of school makes my stomach feel like it needs medical attention. But if I'm lucky, someday, I'll be able to heal peoples' spirits by giving them some chuckles, or at least a smile or two.