THAT’S A WRAP FOR CHRISTO PROJECT
DRAPING PARIS’ ARC DE TRIOMPHE WAS THE ARTIST’S FINAL CURTAIN CALL
audition.”
Such issues, Elson says, are a “microcosm of the entire entertainment industry,” but co-op members say they’re optimistic because diversity is ingrained into its mission statement. Zepeda, for instance, expresses pride when discussing the diversity showcase that they produced at UCB, but acknowledges there was awkwardness about it being segregated.
“It was always conflicting in our head, but when we got to the green room with only Black, Indigenous and people of color performers, it was like, ‘Holy s—, we’ve never been in this space,’ ” Zepeda says. “So there is that wrestling, that tokenization, but also the necessity to fight to create a space where you can be yourself. We acknowledged it wasn’t perfect, and my mentality is that reforms are not possible in systems built on capitalism and white supremacy.”
Another concern: ensuring comedians get paid for their work. The Comedy Co-op hopes to allow performers to set their own ticket prices and take a percentage of the door. While no one has the misconceptions that such monies will cover rent — or even a burger — members want to erase the idea that appearing on a stage is payment enough.
The Comedy Co-op, however, will forgo a key money-making initiative of other theaters: no training academy. Part of that is simply an acknowledgment that there’s a number of quality improv classes offered throughout L.A. by theaters and individual performers.
But part of that is existential. “What you find funny is what you find funny and you cannot be wrong,” Fernie says. “We want to be a place for you to pursue what you find funny. We don’t want to teach you what is funny. We want to go out of our way to reach out to schools and communities where people don’t feel welcome to check out shows.”
WILL IT WORK?
Building a better comedy scene isn’t easy, regardless of the performers’ idealism.
“What I’ve known is that every single improv venue that I’ve ever been a part of, I’ve seen the same problems,” says Theune, citing money struggles and fights for stage time. “But when James had this idea, it was different. We’ve tried it these ways — and some have been unbelievably successful — but let’s try it a different way.”
And sure, at the end of the day it’s just comedy, but it’s worth stressing that the power to laugh with others is important, no matter how weird the show.
Nicole Pasquale, for instance, dreams of an early-morning performance of improvised synchronized dancing. “It’s just a fun hour,” Pasquale says. “That’s all I want to do. I want a room for silliness.”
Leonard Smith Jr. can’t help but launch into a bit of his standup during a phone call, even trying out some new jokes he wrote during the pandemic. And while he’s very much into the ideals of the Comedy Co-op — he admits he “made some remarks” in his ultimately rejected application for a diversity scholarship at UCB — his work is far from politically minded (“I talk about butts and sex,” he says).
For Smith, the co-op has been eye-opening in breaking down barriers. “You find your circle. You find your clique and you navigate that area, but here there’s a lot of faces I had seen but never talked to,” Smith says.
The co-op has been a lifeline for actress and co-op member Taslimi, who is immunocompromised and is not yet able to return to performing.
“It’s cheesy to say this,” says Taslimi. “I’ve done a lot of therapy, but some of my best therapy happens in this work. Being fearless, and trusting your voice, and supporting other people makes you a better person. It gives you a new relationship to your brain.”
These are among the ideals leading the co-op’s members to believe that a worker-run space is the way forward. Will it be perfect? Nope. But will it work?
“I don’t see this failing,” Zepeda says. “I’m full of selfdoubt, but not with this. I see that people are working really hard, and I see everyone having to look at themselves in a different way. That’s what the past two years have been — sitting and looking at yourself. Unfortunately, it took us being robbed of our stages to value them and understand that there can be a better stage.”
Zepeda stops, takes a breath and sighs. “It’s going to work.”
PE R H A P S more than any other venerable cultural capital, Paris is really two cities — the one that meticulously preserves and proudly displays the splendid relics of its layered past (the city as museum) and the one that progressively nurtures its dynamic present. On Sept. 18, the two were merged when a team of rappelling workers dressed in bright orange jumpsuits executed the final major project of Christo and JeanneClaude’s decades-long career of wrapping things, writ large.
It was the posthumous culmination of an idea that Christo Vladimirov Javacheff conceived in 1962, and one that he would not live long enough to see realized; he died last year at age 84. JeanneClaude Denat de Guillebon, his wife and partner in art, died in 2009.
Christo and JeanneClaude’s complex brand of conceptual art — sculptural, grandiose, seductive, ghostly, ephemeral, audacious, bureaucratically demanding and landscapealtering — was brought to one of the most reverential monuments of Paris, the
Arc de Triomphe, a Neoclassical war memorial completed in 1836 (begun in
1806) to commemorate the French lives lost in battle. Sheathed in a shiny, woven, space-age fabric and tied fast with crimson rope, the Arc has been transformed from ornate must-see tourist icon to spectacular objet d’art.
Not everyone has been pleased, including the traditionalists aggrieved at what they perceive as either disrespectful or a traffic-snarling eyesore; but they’re a grumpy minority. By the time the massive cloak comes down on Sunday, thousands will have come out, even in the rain, to marvel at and interact with the soaring package, from its base or from up the 280 stairs to its crown — particularly mesmerizing at night when illuminated like a great mystical shrine. For 16 days, the bustling étoile of Place Charles de Gaulle will have been the buzzy focal point of Paris — as sublime in certain light as Stonehenge and as contemporary as today’s newspaper.