Mike Birbiglia swims for his life
The comedian is back with an existential stand-up set centered on a YMCA pool.
Birbiglia is the kind of stand-up comedian your mother would want you to settle down and marry, if there were no eligible doctors, lawyers or bankers with a reasonably good sense of humor available. While other comics overwhelm you with their wham-bamthank-you-ma’am wit, he tells mild-mannered jokes that promise to keep a roof over your head, even if leaks and black mold are inevitably part of the act.
Catastrophe has a way of sneaking up on Birbiglia, who has been invited back by Center Theatre Group for another amusing session of yarn-spinning from a worldclass worrywart who, like those paranoids with enemies, genuinely has things to worry about.
In “The Old Man and the Pool,” at the Mark Taper Forum through Aug. 28, he fills us in on the travails of his body — territory that anyone who saw “The New One,” his show that came to the Ahmanson Theatre in 2019, is already deeply versed in.
Not since Joan Rivers joked about her gynecological checkups has a comic shared so much medical history. On the ride to the Taper, I told my friend about Birbiglia’s history of diabetes, as though sharing essential background information. On the drive home, I provided further context on his dangerous sleepwalking condition, which he discussed more fully in previous shows.
“The Old Man and the Pool” zeroes in on his coronary health. Birbiglia recounts a visit to his doctor when he was asked to breathe into a device to test his lung capacity and was barely able to move the dial. His doctor, somewhat incredulous, can’t rule out the possibility that the man on his examining table is having a heart attack.
Having been dealt a royal flush of comorbidities, including a bout of cancer when he was in college, the 44-year-old Birbiglia is understandably alarmed. Both his father and grandfather had heart attacks at age 56. Naturally precocious, he already feels he’s on borrowed time.
Birbiglia objects to the term “preexisting condition.” “Condition” alone suffices, he points out with persnickety logic. When a cardiologist prescribes swimming five days a week, the phlegmatic Birbiglia argues that such a regimen would overwhelm even Michael Phelps.
Athletics obviously aren’t his strong suit. Birbiglia’s favorite parts of high school wrestling were those moments when he was resting face-down on the mat. No matter his weight advantage, he could be pinned by the thinnest of arms.
This kind of shtick is readily identifiable to anyMike one who sat in the bleachers in gym class with a doctor’s note. But the way Birbiglia portrays himself doesn’t always accord with his reasonably fit appearance.
I don’t want to rekindle an old social media feud between us but I still maintain that Paul Rudd — Hollywood’s handsome everyman — would be an ideal actor to play Birbiglia in a film adaptation of one of his shows. Yes, Birbiglia may wear looser-fitting clothes. And yes, he may have an unhealthful obsession with pizza (one of the foods, he jokes, that likes to party all night). But by wayward American standards, he could be a poster boy for normal body mass index.
That said, Birbiglia wears his neuroticism well. His childhood memories of indoor swimming pools are marred by the flagrant sight of adult genitalia. The overwhelming smell of chlorine reminds him only of the large quantity of urine in the water. “Fungus puddles” stand ready to splash between his toes.
His attempt to engage a swim instructor at his local YMCA gets off to a rough start. He has to borrow a swim cap, not being yet “completely” bald. His outing in the pool, which he compares to a blender dropped into the water, fails to impress. The teacher’s sudden scheduling difficulties lead him to believe he flunked the audition.
Hanging out with Birbiglia is an enjoyably relaxed affair, but the show sometimes feels underpowered. His stand-up style is the opposite of aggressive, but there are moments when his pacing seems not just slow but also stymied. Even his speech occasionally slurs to a halt, as if his mouth resents the climb of consonants. I found myself identifying with his physician who, during the ill-fated breathing test, exhorts him to blow harder.
This new act also leaves a feeling of déjà vu. In standup comedy, familiarity breeds content. But in the theatrical context of the Mark Taper Forum, more is required than fine-tuning old formulas.
“The Old Man and the Pool” could use a structural lift. The sleek production, directed by Seth Barrish and ensconced in an indoor pool environment created by scenic designer Beowulf Boritt, seems underemployed — a sports car confined to surface roads.
The title of the show harks back to a boyhood memory of an extremely old man powdering his privates for all the locker room to see. Modest Birbiglia isn’t in danger of becoming this guy anytime soon, but age is creeping up on him.
“The Old Man and the Pool” finds humor in physical ineptitude, but death lurks on the other side of laughter. Rich thematic material, refracted through a precise comic mind. All that’s needed is a little more imaginative exertion.