Last Comic Complaining

I really can’t complain about my experience with "Last Comic Standing."

Um… let me re-phrase that.

I really shouldn’t complain about my experience with "Last Comic Standing." The experience was positive except for this one nasty, frustrating, insulting little bugaboo: the producers didn’t think I was right for their show. Now I get the “reality” part of reality TV. Television has always been a highly subjective field, where the money and power sits in the hands of a few people who can make or break a career, much less earn someone a living.

I was asked to audition. That’s not a cop out. Honestly I wouldn’t have known about the "Last Comic Standing" auditions if someone had not called and told me about it, with the caveat “the producers want to see you.”

The producers in question are Barry Katz and Peter Engel. Katz used to book me into a comedy club in Boston, called The Comedy Connection, which was a prime booking at one time, and headlining for him was a badge of honor. Mr. Engel is best known for his work with the 1990’s hit TV show "Saved By The Bell," which started a bunch of young folks on Hollywood careers, and the accompanying detritus that goes with it. I had worked for Mr. Engel on a couple of occasions, most recently during his short term as the dean at Regent University.

My audition went well. I stood in line with a thousand other wannabe’s at Zanies Comedy Club in Nashville one Monday morning in March, when someone from the club saw me and said, “You’re in the wrong place.” I was taken to the parking lot where the vibe was very different. Here were the hand-picked comics who have big agency representation, or who had “ins” with the network or “ins” with the club owner. We were the “chosen ones,” and we confidently filled out paper work, shot some B-roll (the stuff that they use during the episode that appears to be filmed off-hand) and waited. We auditioned for the first two on-site producers, a couple of women who were looking for specific things: NO wife jokes; NO marriage jokes; NO jokes about raising kids.

If you got through this round, you went up in front of the “celebrity judges,” in my case George Wendt and John Ratzenberger of "Cheers" fame. We all found out very quickly that Wendt and Ratzenberger were only there for show. Their opinions and their comments were cut off – an assistant producer went up to them at one point and said, “Uh…don’t say anything to the comics…we’ll decide who moves on and who doesn’t…just make a comment about their performance and we move on.”

For whatever reason, I was passed through these first two auditions quickly and easily.

The third audition of the day was the real deal. Live audience. Energy. The make-or-break vibe that comes with the all-or-nothing-at-all attempt we get every once in a while in our lives. Drama. Comedy. Dramedy?  Whatever, it’s fun.

I was very prepared for this. I have been a professional comedian for 25 years. I have had more auditions than most, which is not bragging, because what that really means is that I have had more failed auditions than anyone in the history of modern entertainment. It’s humbling to read that sentence back to myself, but it’s true. So my set was truly over before it began. The audience got the jokes, and I packed my 2-plus minutes with punchlines. It’s an old adage of my wife’s, who told me long ago: “Don’t have any gaps.” So I try for a punchline every 15 seconds. In less than 3 minutes of stage time, that equals 10-11 jokes. Even if the other comedians land 7 solid jokes in their sets, if I hit 8-of-11, I win by attrition.

The show came to a close. I saw two or three comics perform, and they looked very funny, very clever and very professional to me. I stood in the parking lot of the club with everyone else until they called us back inside and called out the names of the “winners” who would be going to the semi-finals.

Mine was the fourth name called. I got the red envelope, I did a short interview with the co-hosts of the show, and I went back out to the parking lot.

I was very aware of the immediate future: I was going to compete in the next round for the right to move on in the competition. I called my wife. I felt great.

My personal manager, who has been living through one failed big-time opportunity after another, sat down with me on the phone and cleared my schedule, planning the next step for "Last Comic Standing."  We signed contracts, picked up bookings in local clubs so that I could start running my jokes, etc, etc, etc. I was excited, but I knew things could blow up at any minute. I’ve been down this road many times.

My wife doesn’t want to hear about the major career moves that might or might not happen, because more often than not, NOTHING happens. Contracts are negated. Offers are rescinded. Promises are forgotten. I’ve chalked it up to “the business.” In the case of "Last Comic Standing," the production assistant told me (and this is a quote), “There is a chance that someone might be canceled before the next round…but I wouldn’t worry about it.” 

Worry, I did.

Five nights before the Las Vegas performance, my phone rang. It was midnight where I live on the east coast, but my youngest son was up working on a paper for school. He came into the bedroom and handed me the phone. I saw the Los Angeles area code on the caller I.D. and knew what was coming.

“You have been cut from the show,” came the NBC-production-assistant voice. “You’re an alternate.”

In other words, I was done.

Way back in another lifetime, just a couple of years after my marriage, I competed on one of the original reality shows: "Star Search."  It was 1991. The host was Ed McMahon, the long-time television co-host with Johnny Carson on the old "Tonight Show," and a well-known icon in pop culture. This was not my first brush with big-time television or success or career enhancement. But it was the first time I accomplished my goal: utilizing my wife’s “no gaps” concept, I won the grand prize, $100,000 in cash, and overnight I was headlining major comedy clubs and colleges all over the U.S.A.

I’ve done thousands of auditions since. You can count the successes on one hand.

I was pleasantly surprised on Thursday night, June 12, when I looked at my phone just before walking on stage at Lubbock Christian College. My wife had called. Her message: “Everyone is calling tonight!  You were on 'Last Comic Standing'.”

Sure enough, in the days to come, I received hundreds of emails and phone calls. Not only did they air my audition for "Last Comic Standing," but they used lots of other footage as well. I heard from old college friends and comedians I hadn’t seen or talked to in years. Moreover, on the "Last Comic Standing" website, my video took on a life of it’s own. As I write, I have had more comments than all the other comedians on this year’s show COMBINED. I have received more than 300 5-star “ratings” (which is the most anyone has ever received).

I’m embarrassed that I was cut. I’m humbled by the quality of the other comedians that are on the show.

But here is the bottom-line:

I lost.

The network did not throw me a bone by airing so much of my performance. I did a good job, and they used it. That’s business.
I don’t fit the demographic: look at the ads that run during "Last Comic Standing": beer (I don’t drink); fast food (I work out every day); gadgets and cars and electronics. I have the feeling the producers looked at my act, my age, my lifestyle and what I do (they know me) and realized: TAYLOR MASON DOESN’T FIT OUR TARGET MARKET.

Regardless. Someone must have enjoyed what I did. Look at the website. Read the comments.

I attribute it to this simple fact:

I stayed true to what I do, who I am, and what I believe. That doesn’t scale with the monster that is reality television, and more specifically, "Last Comic Standing."

It is only the latest of ten thousand rejections. It doesn’t really bother me. I have great faith in my faith. I’m not done. I really love my job.

God works through people. That includes me.

Thanks for reading.

--Taylor