We’re back. We’ve been… pre-occupied. The reason has been alluded to here and there– our attempt to prep for and successfully execute a five-night, five-show engagement aboard Carnival’s MS Fascination– and we got back late Thursday night. We cranked out the bulk of this in two sessions– one, in our cabin on the ship, the other in the airport in Jacksonville. 3,353 words later, we’ve summed up the craziness of the past four months. Enjoy!

That's the MS Imagination, docked in Nassau. We're pulling out of the harbor, Tuesday evening.

Four months ago was it? Five? Way back in the middle of the summer, we agreed to give this Carnival cruise thing a whirl. A while back, Carnival, it seems, had instituted a program whereby the performance space at the rear of one of their ships (or “aft,” as they like to call it) would be transformed into a Punchliner Comedy Club. And, the story goes, it was so popular among the passengers (and, no doubt, among the folks who call the shots at the cruise line) that they decide to make the transformation across the fleet– to each and every one of their 23 “Fun Ships.”

This necessarily means that they’ll need 23 X 2 (or 46) comedians per week… every week… for as long as the suits at Carnival believe that their customers are digging the funny.

Which means that every time we turned around in 2010, we heard of yet another comedian who was either departing for a cruise, returning from a cruise or asking us what we thought about the idea of giving it a go.

(We had prior knowledge of the entire scheme, as we had run into a comedian who was instrumental in pitching the idea, making a pilot program work, demonstrating the efficacy of the program fleet-wide and suggesting comedians for intake into the program. He insisted (to us) that we would be perfect for the Punchliners. We were skeptical.)

The Female Half had never done a cruise. The Male Half had done a grand total of two– for Royal Caribbean, both Christmas week excursions, in 2007 and 2008. Neither of us considered our acts ideal for cruise crowds. And the Male Half, in spite of his experience shoehorning his act into two generally positive seagoing weeks, didn’t think he was particularly well-suited to the gig… although he allowed that, with some tweaking, he might consider it at a later date.

We corresponded, via email, with a Carnival executive and drove her to our online promotional material. Initially, we heard nothing. Which is just as well, since we hadn’t done anything to prepare, outside of pumping this comedian or that for details about just what the Carnival experience might require.

We set about doing technical preparation– gathering up every scrap of paper, every Post-It Note, every cocktail napkin that had a joke, an idea, a funny phrase, and crashing it into a giant notepad file. Along the way, we re-wrote some bits, augmented others and tried to “clump” bits with others, hoping to find some sort of organizational framework amid the chaos.

We had a heads-up that a cruise engagement would typically be four or five days in length and would require a number of clean or “PG-rated” shows and a number of dirty or “R-rated” shows, each 30 minutes in length. And none of the material could overlap. To put it another way, comics would be require to present with two totally 30-minute different sets, one dirty, one clean.

Okay. An hour of material seems like not a lot to ask for a “Comic from the 80s.”

Finding the volume of material seemed like a formidable task. But, as we found out later, what confounded us was this idea that our material be split (evenly down the middle for practical purposes) into clean and dirty. Certain bits were half and half. The premise and the setup might be squeaky clean, but the punchline might be dirty… but not so dirty as to make it impossible to “clean up.” Others might have the opposite problem. Still other “chunks” might have elements that were mildly offensive and other elements that were perfectly acceptable for a crowd of youngsters.

Some chunks were half-dirty/half-clean. Do we clean up the dirty half? Or dirty up the clean half? Or– and this is the real mind-bender– do we whack it in half and do the clean half in the clean set and the dirty half in the dirty set? It bends the mind because, in some cases, the bit had been written and performed in such a way– and for such a long time– that splitting it up might make it devilishly hard to remember… or lessen the impact. It turns out that some jokes benefit from proximity to their neighbors. Chopping them loose from their siblings does harm… sometimes irreparable harm.

The net result was not unlike starting over… not from scratch, but from pretty close. Or so it seemed.

After some technical tinkering and organization and sweating over structure and subject matter and topics, we decided to get into the practical aspect of the project. This would mean trying out new material, new orders, new sets… at open mikes? We had nothing on the books for August, so we determined that we would try to get onstage as often as possible in non-paid spots in Philadelphia and surrounding area.

We had forgotten just how deflating, demoralizing and frustrating open mikes could be.

So our plunge back into the open mikes was awkward, painful and, at least initially, it bore little fruit.

We decided instead to do five- and ten-minute guest spots at local clubs. Occasionally, we’d arrange to do sets in the thirty-minute range.

The idea of doing two thirty-minute sets was initially overwhelming. It wasn’t until we started viewing thirty-minute sets as six five-minute sets (or three ten-minute sets) that it became imaginable… or do-able.

Armed with the knowledge gleaned from the open mikes and the guest sets, and each carrying a ring binder containing the master material notepad file mentioned above, we then set about analyzing the material while doing our regular sets at various paid engagements. All along, we used a Sony ICD PX-720 digital recorder to digitally record our sets. The PX-720 is ideal because, in addition to the great fidelity, it also has a USB port on it.

During a gig in Hilton Head, we took the recordings from our sets and offloaded them onto a laptop. Sony provides versatile editing software that allowed us to review the sets, to easily stop and start them and rewind them. We then fired up a Microsoft Excel spreadsheet and created a simple grid that contained one column for the title of the bit, a column for the beginning time and a column for the ending time. We then created a column which would automatically calculate the elapsed time of each bit. We also “spreadsheeted” a couple of sets that we had on the recorder from a date at the Comedy Castle in Detroit, back in September.

Knowing the exact length of each bit was invaluable. And it was fascinating to see just how consistent (or inconsistent!) our times were across several sets or across a few weeks. We were then able to construct sets (or “sub-sets”) knowing, with a fair amount of accuracy, just how long they might be. This use of technology saved us untold hours of sweating. Knowing– in the course of just a long weekend– eliminated the need to repeat the sets, reducing the number of times we had to do each set by perhaps a factor of four or five.

Once we thought we were close to identifying thirty minutes of clean material and thirty minutes of R-rated material, we then set about creating an order for each half-hour set. And we attempted to find a logical order for each.

That's the Imagination on the left and the Royal Caribbean Empress of the Seas on the right.

In a comedy club, one can start out slow and build. On a cruise, however, a comedian only has thirty minutes and a crowd that hasn’t paid to get in. And, at least in the case of the Carnival Punchliner scenario, a one-comic format. (The person who runs the room– usually an assistant cruise director or someone else in the entertainment department– will do some time, but often very little over and above welcoming the crowd and then bringing on the comedian.) So it’s a “cold” opening.

In such a situation, it’s important to start strong and end strong. Then the task is to find a place for material that’s new or not yet completely broken in.

In the weeks leading up to the cruise, we followed a familiar format when the situation would allow it: The Female Half would alternate doing thirty minute clean sets and thirty minute R-rated sets in the feature position. The Male Half, while doing headline sets, would open with thirty clean, then finish the rest of the set with portions of the prospective R-rated set.

At this point, it might be a fair question to ask, “Why don’t two comics who have been doing standup for more than 20 years have reams of material at their disposal?” Shouldn’t it be a fairly simple proposition to go over one’s notes and fashion two perfectly good and appropriate sets from the hours and hours of material they no doubt have created since they started?

To which we reply: “No.”

As we found out, by going over the notes and by watching old video tapes, we had in fact written gobs of material over the years… and the vast majority of it was effective. However, sizable chunks of it were topical and therefore no longer relevant. And other swaths of it had what we like to call a short cultural shelf life– we would no sooner do some of that material in the videos than wear some of the clothing we wore! It just wouldn’t work! Both Halves also soaked up good hunks of their acts (for a time, at least) using props. Props that are no longer around or available. And each Half began doing standup dressed in costume! (The Male Half was a giant, eight-foot crayon, the Female Half was a cheerleader!)

So when the Male Half embarked on a plot to digitize and subsequently review hours of early tapings of sets from 1984 through 1993 or so, the results were less than was hoped. It turned out to be more of a perservation project than a mining project. (One positive result, however, was that we were able to chuck boxes and boxes of the bulky VHS cassettes. As we’re now plotting a move cross-country and culling our belongings, this was a boon.)

As the cruise drew near, and as details of the engagement were obtained, we were thrown a curve– we would each be called upon to do a “Welcome Aboard” show consisting of five PG-rated minutes, none of which could be repeated in either of the other sets. So, for those of you keeping score, we were now on a quest to gather 35 minutes of material that was suitable for kids and old people. Some comics we polled told us that it would be sufficient to do maybe two jokes, pump the upcoming shows and wave bye-bye. But, as this week was our first one for this line, we thought it was better to be fully prepared.

Just prior to the cruise, which was to start in mid-December, we had a weekend booked at a club in which we were very comfortable, one that we had worked in several times before. But, in the last two weeks of November, we had nothing booked– a dead spot. We worried that such a period of inactivity would kill our momentum.

So… we flew to Vegas!

Our ten-day trip to Las Vegas, it was hoped, would afford us the opportunity to get valuable stage time at night while enabling us to investigate prospective neighborhoods and apartments by day.

Between Joe Lowers’ Las Vegas Comedy Show at the Alexis Park, Brad Garrett’s Comedy Club at the Tropicana and a two-day gig at the Casablanca Resort in Mesquite, NV, we managed to get onstage every night of our trip, including Thanksgiving!

Yet, even with all this preparation, we felt only about 80 per cent ready when we flew to Jacksonville to meet the MS Fascination and sail to Key West on Saturday afternoon.

Part of that feeling stemmed from the conflicting information that is circulating out there. At times we were told that certain cruise directors were demanding and additional R-rated show (making the total of material required 90 minutes… 95 if you’re counting the Welcome Aboard Show). We had heard from one comic that a wise tactic would be to befriend the cruise director… another advised us to be polite, but avoid the cruise director at all costs. One comic told us to complain as little as possible, as even the slightest bit of whining might be sufficient to disqualify us from further bookings. (“If you check into your cabin and there’s a turd in the middle of your bunk,” we were told, “Clean it up and don’t say a word.”)

Yikes!

Of course, some of this is hyteria, but there are elements of truth to all of it.

Cruises are fickle. Each cruise could be your last. And any comic who uses the cruise circuit as his sole source of income might be a fool. There are many cruise horror stories out there. We’ve heard many tales of comics who were “one and done.” We heard an equal number of stories of comics who subsisted quite well for years on nothing but cruise gigs, seemingly immune to the capricious nature of cruise directors or audience comment cards. But if you navigate the waters carefully, it can be a good way to augment the income. And the augmentation can be significant… which is one reason why we chose to work so hard on this project.

Aside from any potential bump in income, however, the benefits from this adventure are already evident. Regardless of how these shows might go (and regardless of how they’re evaluated by the Carnival personnel), we now have sixty-plus solid minutes of material, half of it clean and much of it new, and all of which we’re pretty familiar with in an order that works. And we’ve also developed a method for creating and developing new material that works for us. Along with that, we seem to have stumbled upon a decent system for organizing and concocting sets for use in a variety of venues or scenarios. We haven’t had this much confidence in our ability to take an idea from concept to an effective, stageworthy joke since our early years in standup.

Is there a downside? The isolation is a negative. Communication– by phone and internet– is expensive onboard the ship. To give you an idea of how isolated: We sailed from Jacksonville on Saturday afternoon and didn’t check our email again until Tuesday afternoon (at a Dunkin donuts in Nassau). We were scheduled to be in Key West the day before, but were turned away due to high seas. In a best case scenario, we would have been incommunicado only for about 48 hours or so– and we could have purchased minutes that would have enabled us to access the internet via the ship’s satellite web hookup– but we opted not to. The satellite internet is pokey and costly. Phone cards enable voice communication at a rate of $2.49 per minute. So, being on a ship is not for folks who are nervous about being out of touch for any length of time. (Conversely, some folks may actually like being out of the country, off the grid and unreachable!)

Other negatives? The cabins are less than deluxe. They are in the crew area (performers are considered part of, and treated as, crew), so they are nowhere near as civilized as those of the passengers’ accomodations. They’re adequate, but they’re spartan. (The Male Half had a porthole both times he sailed on Royal Caribbean. The Halves shared a cabin on this most recent Carnival excursion. It had bunk beds (!) and no porthole.

Seasickness is something to consider. The Male Half was unaffected. The Female Half felt queasy here and there, saved only by a pair of seasickness wristbands that ostensibly use principles of accupressure to head off the effects of the rolling ocean.

Performing in front of a crowd that might just be more ethnically and demographically diverse than any seen at a comedy club (ie., kids, oldsters, “foreigners,” etc.) might be daunting (and initially tricky) for some comedians.

Then there’s another drawback (which is largely imagined): People might think of a comedian who performs on a cruise as a “boat act.” That’s the pejorative term used to described a comic who plies his trade predominantly on the cruise lines and who (so the stereotype goes) gets by mainly by telling street jokes, “stock” cruise jokes and/or stolen material. There might have been some truth to this characterization in the past. However, we hasten to point out that it’s now 2010, and there are a lot more comics floating around (literally!) with original material and gobs of experience who can handle cruises and who do so quite well. The old version of events was that the so-called boat acts were pushed out of the clubs and sought a sort of refuge on the seas. The new version of events is that comedians on cruise ships are merely viewing their work on the ocean-going venues as a means of securing a supplemental revenue stream.

There are positives. The compensation is good to excellent, depending on the cruise line. The perks are numerous. There’s travel (to exotic and semi-exotic locales). Meals are taken care of. Booze is inexpensive (if you drink in the crew lounge), reasonable topside, if you’re given a crew discount.

Travel expenses are picked up. Air, ground transportation, parking– it’s nearly all expensible. Some meals in transit are taken care of as well. When was the last time a comedy club picked up any of that?

Our experience over the five-day gig taught us that everyone’s experience varies. We did a lot of asking around in the weeks/months prior to boarding, trying to figure out just how the week might shake out. We braced ourselves for a lot of things that didn’t happen. All that proves is that one comedian will experience things differently from another. Our experience over the past three or four years– performing in country clubs and casinos– seems to have prepared us for the conventions and quirks of the cruise ship gig. It was far less jarring than we had anticipated.

Someone coming directly from comedy clubs might find the cruise a bit intimidating or confounding.

We were told to expect at least one “bad” show– a show where the response would be less than sparkling, a show that might make us slink back to our cabin while avoiding eye contact. Fortunately, that didn’t happen.

We were conditioned to believe that cruise audiences are uptight, stuffy oldsters who flee at the mere hint of an off-color joke or a naughty allusion. Our experience was that the response to both the PG- and R-rated shows was great– moreover, the audience response to the R-rated shows rivaled that of any full-time, land-based comedy club.

Some folks told us that we were over-preparing– that we were putting far too much effort into thinking about it, writing and re-writing, breaking sets down and building them in different configurations. But midway through the process, we realized that, as stated earlier, even if we were to fail at the cruise ship thing, we would end up having gobs of new (or repurposed or “re-conditioned”) material and a new method for pushing further. And at that point, we also realized that we wouldn’t merely stop at the goal of being seaworthy, but continue on a path to puffing out the amount of both family- or corporate-friendly material (PG) and club-friendly (R) material. And that doing so might open up opportunities in corporates, casinos, television sets, etc.

We’ve never minded working for our money. Our goal these past few years has been, as the old saying goes, to “work smarter, not harder.” If doing a few corporates or cruises every year allows us to stay home and work on other projects– or gives us the flexibility to only do the comedy clubs that we really enjoy– that would be tremendous. It’s all about flexibility and autonomy.