A few comedians are sifting through their notebooks in the greenroom of the little basement comedy show. Two are muttering untested or revamped material to themselves. Another paces back and forth, slightly, rolling his left hand as if he’s addressing a crowd. The remaining comedian is jawing with the host about how he should have done this joke or that joke.
I’ve been in this room many times in my 14 years as a comedian. This is where comedy happens in America. Thing is, this isn’t America. This is Prague, in The Czech Republic.
Being 4,500 miles from where I cut my teeth on stage doesn’t seem to make a difference. Comedians are comedians. They do comedian things. They’re made of the same clay.
And these aren’t Americans telling jokes abroad, either. One Girl is Slovak, another guy is from The Balkans, and the host is native Czech. They are all, however, speaking and performing in English.
All the seating in the venue has been made to look like a train station—which is completely unrelated to the name of the venue: Ježkovy Voči (Hedgehog Eyes). Hedgehog eyes is an expression of surprise in Czech, but hedgehog was probably used to replace the term “Jesus Eyes” as the pronunciation of the two are similar, and the Czech Republic is decidedly secular.
David Svetlik, the Czech host, says “Czech doesn’t translate the same way. I’m not taking away from [Czech-speaking comedians]. Now I’m thinking of jokes in English. I get to the point quicker.”
Svetlík has been an English-speaking comedian for two years. He began as a Czech-speaking comedian in a group of friends. He tells me a lot of his influences are English-speaking comedians. I can tell. He and the rest frequently employ English turns of phrase. I even heard one “what’s the deal with ________” joke.
The sets are well-constructed. The jokes are a blend of personal and general observation. The rule of three is used. They’re mindful of delivery and stage presence. Each comedian delivers their material well.
The small audience laughs, which in this man’s opinion has always been an undeniable benchmark of success. Making a theater laugh is a lesser accomplishment—like trying to set off a roomful of mousetraps.
If they’re more numerous and densely packed, the task is easier.
It’s comforting to see. On the other side of the world, there are comedians who I just met, but who I know pretty well without talking to them long. It’s all assembled on a similar foundation. Using comedy as a self-defense mechanism. Leveraging humor to make friends. A slight proclivity toward self-depreciation.
“You’ve got to make fun of yourself,” says Svetlík. “If you’re offending others and can’t joke about yourself, you’re just a dick.”
After the show, everyone hangs outside drinking, smoking, and scrutinizing their performances. Jokes and barbs are thrown around. Chuckles are had. Accents aside, if I saw this on video, there’d be little reason for me to believe I wasn’t in Columbus.
Comedy shows have always been a familiar place for me. I’m glad to see that, at least in Czech Republic, this holds true.