Chicago Tribune (Sunday)

Much to lose with Second City for sale

The possible loss of local ownership for the famed comedy theater should set off alarm bells for many.

- Chris Jones

So Second City, Chicago’s beloved comedy theater in Old Town, is up for sale. This has happened once before. But the possible loss of local ownership, or any diminishme­nt of the institutio­n as a whole, should set off alarm bells within the business community, tourism agencies and the offices of both the governor and the mayor. Not to mention the hearts of ordinary Chicagoans.

In America, most entertainm­ent is developed, packaged and produced in either Los Angeles or NewYork City; the coastal elites designate the rest of the country merely as marketplac­es to sell

their stuff. Unless some TikTok kid smacks them in the face hard enough to merit a plane ticket to La La Land, or they can use a gritty city as a backdrop for pre

dictable procedural TV shows, they rarely look to the hinterland­s for talent, sophistica­ted ideas or content. Don’t kid yourself otherwise.

Second City has consistent­ly bucked that trend over its 60-year history. Its ability to propel young Chicagoans like the brothers Belushi, Keegan-MichaelKey, Tina Fey, Amber Ruffin, Stephen Colbert and countless others to internatio­nal stardom is both singular andwell-known. But, throughout that time, it also has operated as a crucial satirical safety valve in which a highpressu­red city can let off steam.

At least three generation­s of Chicagoans, fromthe city and suburbs, have brought their outof-town visitors to Old Town, and convention­eers have found their way there all on their own. Back when people of different political views could still sit and laugh together— remember?— Chicago came together at crowded tables to poke fun at mayors, aldermen, presidents, activists and cops.

At Rahm Emanuel, Richard J. Daley, HaroldWash­ington. At a

Chicagoan named Barack Obama. Immigrant cabdrivers­weren’t immune. Norwere Lincoln Park yippies turned yuppies. Nor redlining real estate agents. And lovable AleHouse prophets of all stripeswer­e the preferred philosophe­rs.

Laugh together at subjects such as policing strategies or redlined neighborho­ods? If you are thinking that is just not funny in America anymore, well, that’s part of the reason for the sale.

The pandemic that has closed its theaters— with no clear path to reopening— is a primary cause of trouble. But Second City is also suffering fromthe great American schism, the internal fury and polarizati­on that have festered over the last four years, with direct encouragem­ent fromthe top. Satire is on the ropes. A new owner can fix the internal

problems, but the American people will have to decide if they ever can laugh together again.

Most of the best content I’ve seen at Second City over the last 25 years, and I’ve never missed a new revue, has drawn fromour city’s deepest divisions, fears and insecuriti­es, worked though live and in real time. Second City has not only given Chicago a needed positive brand as a big-shouldered place that can laugh at itself, it has helped keep the city closer together. There have been blind spots and mistakes when it comes to racial equity, diversity and inclusion, and there is plenty of content made in the 1980s and 1990s by famous white alumni thatwould now make a reasonable person shudder. But that is also true of “SaturdayNi­ght Live” and most of the other comedy of that era. And it would be wrong see the sum history of Second City as anything but progressiv­e and positive for Chicago

and America.

In recent months, Second City has tried to cast itself as an institutio­n with a tortured racist past that nowneeds wholesale reinventio­n. There is truth in that, but it’s also an oversimpli­fication unfair to its often radical founders .

Young people, and those in the media, tend to forget that the Black Panthers hung out there in the

1960s, and thatHoward Alk, one of the co-founders with Bernie Sahlins, went on to become an important radical documentar­y cinematogr­apher whose first subjectwas FredHampto­n. Jewish intellectu­als with links to theUnivers­ity of Chicago dominated the first decades at Second City, but their links with the civil rightsmove­ment in Chicagower­e in excess of most any other arts organizati­on in Chicago. People forget howmuch Old Town has changed.

In recent years, asNew York andHollywo­od came calling, much of that Old Town spirit of radicalism was lost. With a pyramidlik­e training structure that guaranteed widespread disappoint­ment and resentment, Second City became a high-stakes place where the right nod could propel you to your own late-night show, or a lucrative writer’s room, or a spot in the “Saturday Light Live” cast. Through no fault of their own, producers (and, in full disclosure, critics) came to be perceived as gatekeeper­s in a zero-sum game. That changewas, in manyways, a tribute to the formative reinventio­n of American comedy that the brilliant Fey, Colbert and their friendswor­ked out during their eight shows aweek, a progressiv­e aesthetic that nowdominat­es late-night television. But it alsowas indicative of an environmen­t infused with, yes, white privilege.

Many at Second City were slowto see that danger, especially since the death of the nurturing, bighearted producer Joyce Sloane had meant that the performers, especially those of color, were left dangling in front of audiences whowere coarsening along with the rest of America. Great sketch comedy requires profound personal vulnerabil­ity. I, for one, was too slowto see howmuch that cost some of those performers.

Compared with its peers, Second Citywas relatively early to diversify its casts. But it did not offer sufficient support backstage to allowartis­ts of color to dedicate themselves to the demands of an art form inherently rooted in dealing with anything and everything in the moment.

And the moment had changed. Civilitywa­s decreasing. Overt racism from aminority of the audience had been emboldened. The list of things thatwere funny to allwas growing ever shorter. The willingnes­s to poke fun at your own political sidewas evaporatin­g. The libertaria­n center upon which American satire had dependedwa­s not holding. Second City ruptured in large part because America ruptured first.

So what happens next? Whowill buy Second City?

Perhaps amassive media company looking for a talent pipeline. Thatwould make sense, although control might pass away from Chicago and the product may growmore bland. Maybe some of the activists will find the funding and build a more radical and anti-capitalist Second City on the vanguard of new revolution­ary change. That would be interestin­g. If it is true to itself and can find an audience.

Second City does not own its own building. Ownership of the theater has come to mean trying to pay the rent.

That will end. Whatever happens, I hope for an owner as invested in Chicago as the industry and who understand­s howthis troubled but beautiful city is inextricab­ly linked with this one place to go, where you used to be able to laugh at everything.

 ?? TIMOTHY M. SCHMIDT/SECOND CITY ?? Adam Schreck, from left, Sarah Dell’Amico, Andrew Knox, Mary Catherine Curran, Asia Martin and Jordan Savusa in the Second City 108th Mainstage revue “Do You Believe in Madness?”
TIMOTHY M. SCHMIDT/SECOND CITY Adam Schreck, from left, Sarah Dell’Amico, Andrew Knox, Mary Catherine Curran, Asia Martin and Jordan Savusa in the Second City 108th Mainstage revue “Do You Believe in Madness?”
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 ?? SECOND CITY ARCHIVE ?? Scott Adsit, from left, Jenna Jolovitz, Tina Fey and Kevin Dorff in the 1997 Second City revue “Paradigm Lost.”
SECOND CITY ARCHIVE Scott Adsit, from left, Jenna Jolovitz, Tina Fey and Kevin Dorff in the 1997 Second City revue “Paradigm Lost.”

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