Paul Reiser: Being in front of a live Kansas City audience is going to feel like home

Wanna know what I love about doing stand-up?

Well … a lot of things, actually. But for starters, I love that there’s no cheating. There’s no way to get better at it quickly. There’s no app, no program, no shortcut. You just have to do it, night after night after night. Old school elbow grease.

Just you in front of a group of strangers saying things you found funny and hoping they do too. It’s that simple.

That’s “simple” as in “uncomplicated,” not “easy.” It’s certainly not easy. Maybe what was funny to you isn’t so funny to anyone else. But you won’t know that till you try it out.

Or maybe on this particular night, you forgot the key word that makes the whole thing work.

Or maybe this audience finds something funny but the fine people who show up the next night don’t, and you then find yourself spending weeks, months — sometimes years — trying to figure out why that is. A quest that never really ends.

Having started as a stand-up, that’s all I ever wanted to do. I just wanted to be a comedian. But — and I’m certainly not complaining here — I kinda got “sidetracked” when “Mad About You” came around. After seven wonderful seasons and some much needed downtime afterwards, what started as a brief “hiatus” from stand-up became, unintentionally, 20 years.

What finally pushed me back out there was my son. When my younger son was born, shortly after the conclusion of “Mad About You,” I decided to cut back on work and really experience the joys of day-to-day parenting … and for the longest time, I was under the impression that the kids were enjoying it as much as I was. “How great,” I’d proudly say to myself, “that the kids come home from school and their daddy’s here. How comforting and enriching it must be for them!”

Until one day my son (the one who may or may not be cut from will) who was probably 5 or 6 at the time, came home from school, walked into my office and asked, in all seriousness, “Dad … what is that you do? All the other kids’ dads do things … but I don’t see you doing anything.”

That was the first clue that perhaps it was time for me to get out of the house a bit more. And it’s when I decided it was time to drop by my favorite comedy club in Los Angeles and jump back into it.

And here’s what I immediately discovered: Having not been on stage for all those years, my “comedy muscle” had certainly atrophied. Imagine a basketball player getting on the court after a few years of not playing. They may still know how to shoot, but the machine ain’t firing like it used to. That takes a while.

But — and this is one more thing I really love about stand-up: All these years later, it was just as exciting as it was years ago, the first time I went up on audition night, a nervous and totally clueless college freshman. It felt just as thrilling (and challenging and frightening and confounding and rewarding) as it did back then. And, let’s be honest: How many things can you think of that feel exactly like they did when you were 18? Not many, I bet.

Talking to a live audience is a thrill

The thrill of having a brand new “bit” work on a live audience — or the challenge of figuring out why it didn’t work — has, if anything, only gotten more exciting over time. There’s just nothing like it.

And then there’s this — and this is not something I’d say out loud in Hollywood: As exciting and rewarding as it might be to be in a hit TV show or great film, it’s never ever as much fun. Doing live stand-up is actually fun while you’re doing it.

Plus, your reward is instantaneous. People laugh, and you’ve won. There’s no waiting for results, no test market research, no polling, no sitting by the phone to find out if your project is going forward. On stage, you know right then and there how you’re doing. Because the audience is never wrong — and they’re right there, in your face. Especially in intimate club settings.

While I have, over the last few years, been playing theaters and performing arts centers around the country, now, after another brief “hiatus” (This time not of my doing; there was a pandemic. Not sure if you heard.) I decided to once again reacquaint myself “back where I started” — comedy clubs.

I started years ago at the original Improv comedy club, in Hell’s Kitchen, New York City, where the now-standard comedy club brick wall was not some clever artistic choice — it was an actual, crappy-looking brick wall because … that’s what they had.

And next weekend, I’ll be doing three shows at Kansas City’s Improv club. I haven’t been there myself, but I’m willing to bet there’s a brick wall. Or at least a fake brick wall. Or a video screen image of a brick wall.

And I bet it’s gonna feel like home.