The Little Orange Comedy Club That Could
now Firmly in my mid-30s, I’m probably too old to have a clubhouse. But there’s something irresistible about a place where everybody knows your name.
I personally started showing up at Little Mountain Gallery, Main Street’s most seismically unsound performance venue, to timidly watch comedy shows back in 2013. Since then, I’ve gotten into comedy myself and have really made myself at home—yes, I know where the key to the dumpster is, brag. I’ve taken classes here, produced my own shows and festivals, totally bombed on other people’s experimental talk shows and been shushed for talking at the bar during a standup set. I’ve laughed until I cried (I’d need a whole other column to explain what “the Lotion Man” is), pushed myself to new creative highs (perhaps you’ve heard of my parody of “Born in the U.S.A.,” “Born in a Chipotle”) and fostered friendships with the city’s funniest, weirdest people.
The walls are plywood. The stage is too small. The bathroom doesn’t have hot water. It’s a rotten little hellhole, but it’s our rotten little hellhole, and it’s my favourite place in the city. And, naturally, after living on the brink of bankruptcy for two decades and squeaking through a pandemic, it’s about to be knocked down.
When we got the notice that the building would be turned into condos in late 2019, it felt inevitable. Why does the city coat of arms show a fisherman and a logger when it should just be a development permit?
Little Mountain Gallery has always been the antithesis to the more consumer standup clubs that used to be here in town. Nothing against YukYuks or
ComedyMix, but those were the places where road comics would draw in the suburban crowds for a night out. LMG offered (offers!) something different: a sandbox. Gatekeeping here is fairly minimal. If you’re not an asshole or conspiracy theorist and have $150 to risk on a booking, this little black box theatre can be yours for a few hours to do with as you wish. Sell some tickets, or perform for five of your friends, it’s up to you.
The low barrier to entry makes it a place for comic experimentation, for better or for worse. I’ve seen comics turn it into a standing-room-only comedy hiphop concert (shout out to Ese Atawo’s iconic “Lil Clitty” character), or into a high-concept variety show where comics compete to impress the host’s alien roommate. Even more pedestrian improv groups and sketch shows are a high-wire thrill for the audiences: Who are these people? Will they soar? Will they bomb?
These cultural spaces are what make cities matter. This is why we’re here: to make things, to see things, to find our people. Vancouver allegedly sees the importance of the cultural industries, but too often the emphasis is on “high art”: the ballet, the symphony. All noble causes, to be sure. But the scrappy, dirty, poorly air-conditioned spaces are where the most exciting art—and yes, my sketch show about a party bus was art, thank you—always happens.
I have hope that LMG will spring up again, better faster stronger, in an equally crummy-charming space where the landlord isn’t looking too closely. In the meantime, the show goes on—until January 1, at least.