Remembering Steve Shuster, a comic’s comic
Fellow Canadian funnymen can’t forget Toronto standup’s blend of absurdism, integrity
“Which came first, the chicken salad or the egg salad?” STEVE SHUSTER LATE COMIC WAS A MASTER OF BIZARRE ONE-LINERS
Recently Norm Macdonald, Brent Butt and other Canadian comedians mourned online over the loss of Toronto’s Steve Shuster, one of the first and best at the birth of the Canadian standup scene in the 1970s. Shuster, whose death at age 66 was announced on March 2, was not destined for TV or movie fame, but his friend Mark Breslin, founder of the Yuk Yuk’s chain, is among his many peers who will never forget him or his comic artistry.
A great Toronto comedian passed away last week. He was not a household name; in fact he’d hardly performed in the last 15 years. But in the nascent Toronto comedy scene of the ’70s and ’80s, Steve Shuster was the comic other comics never wanted to miss.
Born into comedy aristocracy — father Frank was one half of legendary comedy duo Wayne and Shuster; sister Rosie was a Saturday Night Live founding writer once married to creator Lorne Michaels — Steve carved out his own eccentric niche in the comedy world.
His bombed-out, glassy-eyed delivery coupled with his offbeat songs on his ever-present guitar made him unique, to say the least. While other stand-ups were struggling with making their acts as autobiographical as possible, Shuster was a staunch absurdist with an incredible ability to mimic and skewer pop culture.
“We asked Mrs. Johnson if she thought she could write a Tide commercial,” he said, mimicking the TV spot of the time. “She said she could, but only if she could also direct.”
Way before Steven Wright started throwing around his bizarre one-liners, Steve was a master of the genre:
“Which came first, the chicken salad or the egg salad?”
A lot of his bits revolved around food, because Shuster struggled with his ballooning weight. His guitar, resting on his ample frame, was suspended mid-belly. He was frequently unkempt, unshaven, and wild-eyed, but this only added to his mystique.
He was unwilling to compromise his look to satisfy public opinion or advance his career. “This is who I am,” he seemed to say, daring audiences to accept his Falstaffian demeanour, and thus endearing him to his fellow comics.
He was one of the funniest persons I’ve ever met. When he died, there was an outpouring on social media of his best bits from his fellow laughmeisters. One story, oft repeated: Steve was a kid and he and his dad were watching an Argos game on TV in their living room. It was still close in the fourth quarter but Steve got up and began to leave the room.
“Where are you going?” asked his father. “It’s not over yet.”
Steve replied, in complete deadpan, “I want to beat the traffic.”
Few comedians could come close to Steve’s legendary kindness. His soft, watery blue eyes sunk deep into his ravaged face revealed a gentleness that transcended his burdens. He had physical problems, emotional issues, career frustrations and an addiction problem which he finally overcame later in his life. At the time of his demise, he had been 15 years clean and sober, an achievement for which he was justifiably proud.
“No toasted club could ever taste like her mouth,” he warbled, a cracked troubadour. “She got off at Bloor Street; I got off . . . on her . . .”
No, not everybody got him, and he knew it, and he was fine with it. I once got an angry letter from a club patron incensed that I would allow such a messy, malodorous, unkempt person onstage. I showed the letter to Steve and we concocted a response.
“Dear Mrs. ------, regarding Steve Shuster, I’m afraid the joke is on you. Steve is a svelte, chic performance artist, who puts on a fat suit and rolls around in a dumpster for authenticity before each performance. I’m sorry you missed the joke, and Steve told me he’d be happy to meet you for smart cocktails at the 4 Seasons at your mutual convenience.” We never heard from her. Steve may have had stains on his shirt but he had only love in his heart.
He will be missed by all that were lucky enough to know him. Comedians and other friends of Steve Shuster will gather on March 13 at 7 p.m. at the Pilot, 22 Cumberland St., to remember him.