“Improvision,” was scrawled on a large slab of cardboard that was taped to the door of a bar. The place was packed, I could see the actors doing their show through the window. A good scene, or so it seemed at the time. I walked in and grabbed a beer. It soon became apparent that “improve comedy” really just meant a few individuals standing in front of a room of people screaming loudly. For some reason, high vocal volume is oft associated with humor in much of the world, though I feel as if this should be in error. The actors were not terrible, but were in no way above the level of street performers. The entertainment sufficed for a single beer.
But as I finished up my bottle, the actors finished up on stage. Bravo. Passing the hat would have been standard practice here, but these actors did no such thing. Rather, they declared that they wanted 50 pesos from everyone in the bar.
What the . . .?
For scale, a full multi-course meal complete with a drink can be had in this city for 40 pesos, it only costs 30 pesos to go to the circus, and this mediocre acting troupe very astutely declared that they wanted 50 pesos per person for their barroom entertainment. The buying power equivalent of 50 pesos here is roughly $10 in the USA. I looked over the crowd, they sat rather nervously, balking at digging into their purses and wallets.
I found myself offended, perhaps for the first time in years. What a bunch of shits. I slammed my beer down and made for the door, crossing directly in front of the actors. A dick move, yes, but this was by design. One of the costumed screamers tried to call me out. F’ck it, I’m out of here.
Of all the traveling artisans and artists, actors are the only ones that I occassionally find myself at odds with. I admire their old time use of the power of the clown, I admire how they can get a crowd of people behind them for the point of making fun of individuals, but I want nothing to do with it. It is a high school bully tactic — you get a group of people to support you out of fear that you will turn on them and exploit their insecurity in the name of humor. I’ve watched street actors perform all over the world doing just this move:
They get a crowd around them watching — usually by juggling or doing something simple to spark their curiosity. Then they tell a few jokes, getting the crowd breathing, laughing on the same beat. Then they begin picking out individuals — people who would be regarded as tough or threatening on a one to one basis are often their prime targets — and they begin poking fun at them, making everyone else laugh at their expense. Eventually, the crowd ceases to laugh out of humor but out of fear that they will be the next called out on the comedy chopping block. The crowd, in this instance, becomes a single biological mass — laughing, jeering in unison, going zebra — praying silently that all aspect of their individuality is concealed and they will not be the next to receive the attention of the performer. The fear of standing out in a group is thus enacted, nobody talks or acts out of turn, nobody leaves — they stand still and follow their prompts until the performer takes his final bow — and then they fill his hat and applaud.
I admire the street performer because they can often transform a crowd of living, breathing individuals together into a lump entity. This is perhaps the same power enacted by totalitarian governments, as they stomp out individual thought, opinion, and control a mass of people too afraid to stand out in a crowd.
There is a reason why people often take action in groups that they would never take if acting alone — the group/ pack/ tribal mentality is still strong in the modern human. It it is, perhaps, among the most dangerous elements of our species. Street performers can often key into this tendency and use it to control a crowd — exploiting it magnificently for pocket change.