Displaying items by tag: hilarious

Sometimes the best way to find a comedian who’s new to you is by stumbling onto a clip that stops your scroll cold. That’s exactly how I first encountered Marcus Monroe: a burst of chaotic silliness on Instagram that made me immediately wonder what his full stand-up looked like beyond the quick-hit reels. As I have with both up-and-coming comedians, and even more established ones I haven’t really explored, I first discovered Monroe online by chance. Outside of a good handful of snippets - mostly from his Stand Up on the Subway series that I’ll get to shortly - I had very little to go on in terms of what his actual live stand-up would be like. In his case, I couldn’t stop watching the run of hilarious reels: quick, character-driven, highly silly bursts of comedy that immediately stood out for their timing and playful absurdity. Those clips ended up being a solid introduction to Monroe’s live show, which delivers a smart, engaging blend of his signature comedy. And yes - he’s genuinely funny.

I finally saw him live at The Comedy Bar in downtown Chicago, and it was the perfect venue to experience his style up close. The night was packed with laughs. Opener Brett Druck was outstanding, delivering sharp, tightly crafted jokes with a calm confidence that immediately locked the room in. His humor leans clever and observational, the kind of writing that sneaks up on you and lands with a clean, satisfying snap, perfectly setting the stage for headliner Marcus Monroe.

Monroe’s current tour highlights the style he’s become known for: sharp, in-your-face comedic banter paired with fast-paced variety performance. Born and raised in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, and now residing in New York City, Monroe brings a Midwest-friendly looseness to his delivery, even as he leans into the nonconformist energy that has defined his career. He’s a past recipient of the Andy Kaufman Award, given annually to a performer whose originality and creative spirit echo Kaufman’s own. His résumé spans television appearances, cruise line entertainment, and major comedy festivals, and he’s been seen by millions, including performances on The Late Show with David Letterman and America’s Got Talent.

Onstage, he delivers a tight, energetic set that mixes storytelling, improvisation, and physical comedy in a way that feels both polished and spontaneous. His crowd work delivers some of his best moments - he’s genuinely comfortable interacting with the audience, slipping into quick riffs and playful exchanges that feel effortless and keep the room locked in. His material ranges widely, from the chaos of travel and performing on the road, to the odd realities of being somewhat of a “variety act” in a stand-up world, to the strange encounters that come with doing comedy in unconventional spaces. He also dives into his relationship with his wife, who’s fifteen years older and has been with him for over a decade. They never signed a prenup, but he’s unfazed - as he jokes, everything’s hers anyway. In fact, most of her belongings came from a divorce settlement with her ex-husband, so should they ever split, Monroe figures he’d walk away with half of Steve’s stuff. And toward the end of the show, he folds in his juggling - often with sharp knives - not as a gimmick, but as a comedic tool he uses for timing, misdirection, and playful escalation, giving his set a physical dimension most stand-ups don’t attempt. And this is the same guy who has juggled flaming torches while riding a sky-high unicycle, so the physicality isn’t just a flourish - it’s part of his comedic DNA.

A major part of Monroe’s growing national profile comes from his Stand Up on the Subway series, the viral project that helped expand his audience far beyond traditional comedy venues. For more than two years, he’s been performing fully costumed bits on New York City trains, transforming everyday commutes into pop-up comedy sets. The punchlines in these subway bits, while some downright goofy, are often purposefully so bad in a brilliant way - beyond dad-joke territory and deep into gleeful absurdity - that they loop back around into being hilarious. It’s part of what makes the series addictive, and I’ve become hooked on watching each new character drop into a train car with that “what’s he going to do next?” unpredictability. His Stand Up on the Subway series has now surpassed 100 million views and even features cameos from Bowling for Soup, Train, Bobby Moynihan, BBMak, Ryan Cabrera, and more, adding an extra layer of delightful unpredictability to the chaos. His roster of subway personas is part of the fun: Michael Jackson, Marty McFly, Ozzy Osbourne, the Grinch, Ronald McDonald, Freddie Mercury, a watermelon, a foot, Uncle Sam, an emo kid, and an endless supply of other characters pulled from whatever corner of his imagination he’s exploring that day. He’s even created a Chicago version on the EL train, suiting up as a Bears player for a local twist. The reactions - amused, confused, delighted, or occasionally baffled - become part of the show, and the series has become a defining piece of his creative identity.

Taken together, the tour, the reels, and the Stand Up on the Subway series reveal a performer who thrives on unpredictability, connection, and inventive silliness. Monroe isn’t trying to reinvent comedy so much as he’s carving out his own lane within it, one built on enthusiasm, oddball charm, and a willingness to commit fully to the bit. It’s a combination that works, and his stand-up is highly recommended. For upcoming tour dates, videos, and more of his character work, visit www.marcusmonroe.com.

John Mulaney didn’t just perform at Wrigley Field. He made history there. In a venue synonymous with baseball legends, rock icons, and century-old Chicago lore, Mulaney became the first comedian ever to headline a full stand-up show at Wrigley Field, and, depending on which version of the truth you prefer, possibly the largest live audience for a comedian in history. Whether or not the record is airtight, the scale of the night was undeniable. Chicago turned out in force for one of its own.

A New Chapter: The Mister Whatever Tour

Mulaney’s Mister Whatever tour marks a tonal shift from the raw confessionals of Baby J. Where that show dissected his intervention, addiction, and the wreckage of his personal life, Mister Whatever leans into the absurdity of middle age, fatherhood, and domestic unpredictability. The storytelling remains fast, sharp, and unmistakably Mulaney, but now filtered through the lens of a man navigating toddlers, in-laws, and the strange mundanity of being a grown-up with a past.

Family Life and Fatherhood: Comedy in the Trenches

Mulaney’s material about family life is some of his richest yet, especially when he dives into the sprawling constellation of his new in-laws. Marrying into Olivia Munn’s Vietnamese-Chinese family gives him endless fodder, and he mines it with precision: overbearing relatives, cultural misunderstandings, and the kind of familial chaos that feels both universal and deeply specific. He even slips into a Vietnamese accent, a move he preemptively defends by insisting he has “earned the right” because they are his actual family now. It’s classic Mulaney: self-aware, slightly provocative, and delivered with a wink.

His bits about raising two toddlers are equally sharp. He compares dealing with a three-year-old to working in a toxic workplace, complete with unreasonable demands, emotional volatility, and a boss who has no concept of time. The late-night meltdowns, the negotiations over snacks, the existential exhaustion of parenting: he turns it all into a comedic autopsy of modern fatherhood.

And then there is the “wallet allowance,” a running gag about his post-rehab financial oversight. According to Mulaney, his wife and even bank cashiers treat him like a teenager with limited privileges. It’s a sly, self-deprecating way of acknowledging his past without dwelling in it.

Absurd Observations and Pop Culture: Mulaney’s Sweet Spot

Where Mulaney truly thrives is in the absurdity of everyday grievances, and his extended rant about modern $1,000 drying machines is a highlight of the night. He builds an entire comedic architecture around the decline of appliance quality: how dryers now seem designed to not dry clothes, how they beep like needy robots, how they offer dozens of settings but none that actually work. It’s the kind of bit only Mulaney can stretch into a full routine, turning a mundane annoyance into operatic frustration.

His pop culture and political impressions land just as hard. His RFK Jr. impression is a showstopper: wild, unhinged, and delivered with a kind of manic sincerity that had the stadium roaring. He skewers billionaires, public figures, and the bizarre circus of current events with the same blend of sharpness and silliness that has always defined his best work.

And then comes one of the night’s funniest detours. His bit about being possessed by Satan, specifically how Satan always does it the exact same way, with someone jolting upright in bed and unleashing a string of profanity, becomes one of the night’s sharpest and most ridiculous highlights. It’s pure Mulaney: theatrical, absurd, and delivered with the timing of a performer who knows exactly how long to let a joke breathe before landing it.

A Chicago Homecoming with Legendary Guests

What made the night feel truly monumental were the surprise guests, each adding their own flavor to the celebration.

Buddy Guy, Chicago blues royalty, took the stage and tore into a couple of songs, including a blistering rendition of “Sweet Home Chicago.” Seeing Buddy Guy at Wrigley Field would be a thrill on its own. Seeing him as part of a John Mulaney comedy show felt like a surreal Chicago fever dream.

Fred Armisen followed with a brilliantly odd set that blended music and comedy. Switching between guitar and drums, he delivered the kind of deadpan, musically infused humor that only Armisen can pull off. It was weird, delightful, and perfectly calibrated for a stadium crowd.

Richard Kind served as a sort of comedic emcee, popping in with jokes, introductions, and the warm, slightly bewildered charm that makes him such a beloved character actor. His presence added a theatrical looseness to the night.

And then, in a moment that felt like a benediction, David Letterman stepped out to introduce Mulaney. Letterman may be from Indiana, but in Chicago terms, that is close enough. His dry, understated introduction gave the night a sense of occasion, like a passing of the comedic torch from one generation to the next.

A Night That Felt Bigger Than Comedy

What made Mulaney’s Wrigley Field show remarkable wasn’t just the scale, or the guests, or the historic firsts. It was the sense of homecoming. Mulaney performed with the confidence of someone who knows the city in his bones: its rhythms, its humor, its contradictions. The stadium setting didn’t dilute his intimacy. It amplified it. His storytelling reached throughout the Friendly Confines without losing its specificity.

In a venue built for legends, Mulaney delivered a night worthy of the space.

Gary Gulman brings his new tour, 7th Hour: An All New Standup Show, to The Den Theatre, offering Chicago audiences a chance to see a comic who has spent decades refining the long-form, slow-burn style that has become unmistakably his. His five sold-out shows over the weekend are being recorded for an upcoming comedy special, giving each performance an added spark as he works through material with both confidence and care. Gulman’s comedy has always lived in the space between sharp observation and gentle self-reflection, and this latest set continues that progression with a mix of wry honesty and carefully shaped storytelling. His stop at The Den feels less like a routine tour date and more like a chance to watch a veteran performer stretch into new territory while still delivering the precision that has made him one of stand-up’s most quietly dependable voices.

The evening opened with Evanston’s own Sam Froum, whose set proved to be a sharp and genuinely funny warm-up for the night. He brought an easy confidence and a quick, clever rhythm to the stage, landing jokes with the kind of timing that immediately pulls a room in. It was a strong showing, and a fitting lead-in to Gulman’s tightly built headlining act.

Across 7th Hour, Gulman moves through a wide constellation of personal history, weaving together stories that span his depression, his admiration for his father’s unwavering integrity despite the loss of friends it may have cost him, and the realities of growing up with a single mother while navigating the rough edges of two bullying older brothers. His Jewish upbringing becomes a recurring thread, most notably in an extended, delightfully overthought retelling of the story of Moses - a bit that shifts from biblical epic to neurotic character study in a way only he can pull off. From there, he wonders aloud why Jewish people didn’t simply “like” Jesus so that Christianity might have evolved into an upbeat, colorful, pastel-tinted sect of Judaism, only to immediately challenge his own premise with the kind of self-correcting logic that fuels his best material. That exploration leads him into Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount, where he zeroes in on “do unto others as you would have them do unto you,” a phrase he deeply takes to heart, breaking it down with methodical curiosity as he imagines Jesus trying it out in front of smaller crowds at "open mounts" before delivering it on the big stage. Along the way, he has fun with the apostles - especially John and “Doubting” Thomas - treating them less as distant religious figures and more as characters he can analyze, tease, and reinterpret through his own gently overthinking lens. He even slips in a detour to Christian Bale’s Batman, acting out a hilarious gravel‑voiced exchange with Gary Oldman’s Commissioner Gordon that fits seamlessly into his stream of overthought observations.

He also devotes time to the values and education he drew from PBS, especially the steady presence of Mr. Rogers, whom he references with undeniable affection. Gulman lights up when recalling – and briefly singing – the closing song, “It’s Such a Good Feeling,” along with the simple but radical reassurance Mr. Rogers offered at the end of each episode: “I like you just the way you are.” He treats that sentiment with an earnest respect that shows how deeply it shaped him, even as he wonders aloud how anyone can truly live as their full, unfiltered self outside of a very small circle of people. He folds in humorous family stories tied to pledge drives, broadening the emotional palette of 7th Hour and grounding the comedy in the cultural touchstones that helped him make sense of the world long before he ever stepped onstage.

Gulman’s humor is a distinct blend of long-form storytelling, analytical overthinking, gentle self-examination, and slow-burn observational detail. He builds jokes the way essayists build arguments - layering premises, revisiting ideas, correcting himself mid thought, and letting the comedy emerge from the precision of his logic as much as from the punchline. His style is warm, meticulous, literary, and deeply human, often turning small moments from childhood, religion, or pop culture into sprawling, carefully engineered comedic set pieces.

And in 7th Hour, he brings that entire toolkit with him - sharper, fuller, and more emotionally grounded than ever. The show feels like Gulman operating at the height of his powers, shaping personal history into comedy with a confidence that suggests he knows he’s building material worthy of an upcoming special. What stands out most is how fully he leans into that mastery; 7th Hour plays like a comic working with total clarity of purpose and delivering exactly the kind of work only he can create.

Gulman’s career has been shaped by a steady run of smart, carefully built specials that highlight his gift for long-form comedy. From Boyish Man and In This Economy? to the critically praised It’s About Time and The Great Depresh, he has assembled a body of work defined by warmth, clarity, and an almost literary sense of structure. His stand-up has also been a reliable presence on late-night television, with memorable sets on Conan, The Late Show with Stephen Colbert, Jimmy Kimmel Live, and The Tonight Show, each showcasing his ability to turn everyday frustrations and cultural quirks into slow-building, sharply observed stories. Together, these appearances have cemented him as one of the most consistent and quietly influential voices in contemporary stand-up.

If you get the chance to see Gulman live, take it. 7th Hour shows a comedian in full command of his craft, delivering work that is thoughtful, funny, and unmistakably his. It’s the kind of performance that reminds you why stand-up, at its best, feels both intimate and expansive at the same time.

Spamalot rides into the Windy City courtesy of Broadway In Chicago, inviting theatergoers to join King Arthur’s quest now through May 31 at the CIBC Theatre. Fans of Monty Python and the Holy Grail - the 1975 cult classic - will find plenty to adore in this musical, which, as its subtitle proudly declares, is “lovingly ripped off” from the film.

Written by Python member Eric Idle, with music co-written by John Du Prez, Spamalot follows King Arthur as he assembles his “very round table” and sets off in search of the Holy Grail. Along the way, we meet a parade of quirky knights: the brash, homicidal Sir Lancelot; the argumentative, hair-flipping Sir Galahad; the cowardly, weak-bowelled Sir Robin; and even Sir Not Appearing in This Show. Arthur’s greatest ally is the Lady of the Lake, a glittering, full-throttle diva armed with riffs and costume changes for days. After a bit of plot and a bounty of silly songs, the hapless heroes finally secure their grail and send audiences out humming the show’s signature tune, “Always Look on the Bright Side of Life.”

Interestingly, Spamalot had its world premiere in Chicago back in 2004 before heading to Broadway the following year, where it earned fourteen Tony nominations and won three, including Best Musical. This touring revival, directed and choreographed by Josh Rhodes, stays true to the original while injecting the production with fresh energy and a steady stream of contemporary pop-culture nods.

Spamalot’s target audience is, unsurprisingly, die-hard Python fans. Several scenes are lifted almost verbatim from the film, so expect the Black Knight losing limb after limb, the Knights Who Say “Ni,” the cow catapult, a hilarious - and genuinely ferocious - killer rabbit puppet, and more. For those less steeped in the British comedy canon, a few gags linger a beat too long, stretching to honor the movie’s rhythms even when the stage version might benefit from a quicker pivot.

Still, there is no end of splashy musical numbers, big set pieces, and dynamic, eye-catching projections. The cast pulls out all the stops as they don flashy costumes, dance their hearts out, and throw friendly meta-jabs at other Broadway musicals like Wicked and Fiddler on the Roof.

(L-R) Leo Roberts and Amanda Robles in the North American Tour of SPAMALOT.

Leading the charge as King Arthur is Major Attaway, who wears the crown well. Attaway is best known for his time on Broadway playing the Genie in Aladdin and his off-Broadway stint voicing Audrey II in Little Shop of Horrors - two roles that showcase his vocal dexterity, a talent he uses to full effect in this production. Along with golden pipes, Attaway voices Arthur with a stoic authority or a comedic twist, whichever the moment calls for. He is the perfect straight man for the zaniness that surrounds him - and there’s a lot.

Another standout is Amanda Robles, making her national tour debut as the Lady of the Lake. Robles tears into the role with gleeful abandon, spoofing Liza Minnelli and other prima donnas with razor-sharp precision. Numbers like “Diva’s Lament” and “The Song That Goes Like This” - both affectionate send-ups of classic Broadway tropes, from the obligatory second-act solo to the formulaic love ballad - are lifted even higher by her vocal prowess, impeccable comedic timing, and undeniable glamour.

Spamalot also boasts a vibrant ensemble, with actors juggling wildly different roles and giving each character distinct voices and mannerisms. Sean Bell steals multiple scenes - both as Sir Robin, a knight who has no idea what knighthood entails, and as an oddball priest with sharp, staccato delivery. From line readings to goofy facial expressions, it’s clear every performer is having an absolute blast, and that infectious joy radiates through the entire production.

As riotously funny as Spamalot is, parents should know that it isn’t especially kid-friendly. Younger audiences may laugh at the fart jokes and bits of bathroom humor, but the show also leans into cruder gags, sexual innuendo, and one very random - and entirely unnecessary - bare backside. It’s probably best suited to teens and adults rather than little ones, landing somewhere in that PG-13 neighborhood.

Spamalot, in a word, is silly - and proudly so. If you’re up for a night of unabashed absurdity, it’s an irresistibly fun choice. It has no interest in plumbing the depths of plot; its mission is pure fan delight. And judging by the uproarious laughter from the audience around me, the cult film’s devotees were more than satisfied. Others who aren’t as familiar with Monty Python or don’t favor dry or crude British humor might choose to seek to find their holy grail elsewhere.

This review is proudly shared with our friends at www.TheatreInChicago.com. 

Get ready - those phones are about to explode, and Sam is already spinning like a top trying to catch every single one. It’s a full‑blown ring‑storm, and he’s diving into it with the hectic energy of someone who knows the chaos is coming and still can’t outrun it.

A brisk, razor‑funny powder keg of a play, Fully Committed tracks a single frantic day in the life of Sam, the lone reservationist at one of Manhattan’s most elite - and most impossible - restaurant. Becky Mode’s script is a full‑tilt high‑wire act, and Mike Newquist tears across nearly forty characters with the kind of breakneck precision that makes your head spin. As Sam, he’s already a live wire - but then he’s also snapping into entitled celebrities, neurotic assistants, tyrannical chefs, and every flavor of fine‑dining madness that dares to ring his desk. It’s dazzling, anxious, and wildly fun to watch him juggle it all without ever dropping the thread. The comedy snaps because each character is so sharply etched, and Newquist seamlessly shifts among them with the kind of finesse that turns mayhem into art.

At its heart, the nearly 90-minute play gleefully skewers the rituals of status and the agitated, almost feral hunger for exclusivity, exposing just how ridiculous people become when a reservation turns into a badge of power. Sam becomes the unseen fulcrum of that world, and his day unravels from merely hectic to outright surreal as he absorbs tantrums, negotiates impossible demands, and fights to keep a grip on his own sense of worth. Watching Newquist as Sam behind that reservation desk in a constant tinderbox had me instantly aware that I wouldn’t survive two hours in his shoes. His frantic charm and barely contained panic sells the chaos and sparks a whole new respect for the people who actually thrive in that kind of daily combustion.

Fully Committed lands as hard as it does because it’s rooted in real industry absurdity. Mode shaped these characters straight out of real restaurant‑world encounters, giving the show a mix of satirical whirlwind and a bite of truth that feels both sharply recognizable and wickedly real.

Throughout the play, I loved how Sam’s dad kept slipping into the heavy commotion with that gentle, grounding voice - just long enough to let the whole room exhale. Each time he called, Sam’s entire demeanor flipped in an instant; you could watch him go from frazzled to peaceful like someone had hit a reset switch. Those brief check-ins made it clear how a few steady words from a gentle, supportive father (or friend/family member) can cut straight through the noise, offering a tiny pocket of calm even when everything else is burning down around him.

Mike Newquist is pure kinetic joy onstage, delivering a commanding turn in Fully Committed. The Chicago‑based actor and improviser thrives in the city’s storefront trenches, bouncing between sharp‑edged comedy, character chameleon work, and the kind of ensemble disorder where anything can - and usually does - happen. He’s popped up with PrideArts, AstonRep, and The Comrades, tackling everything from contemporary drama to high-velocity comic mayhem. In Fully Committed, it’s his quick‑switch agility that makes him a blast to watch.

Directed by Derek Bertelsen, this Chicago staging arrives with a jolt of fresh energy and real immediacy. Newquist’s performance becomes the engine that drives the whole night, while Bertelsen keeps the momentum razor‑sharp, the pacing tight, and every character shift snapping cleanly into place.

The Den Theatre hosts the run March 13–28, 2026, with performances on Friday and Saturday nights at 7:30 p.m. Tickets for Fully Committed at The Den Theatre are just $26. For tickets and/or any more show information, click here.

Recommended.

This review is proudly shared with our friends at www.TheatreInChicago.com.