Meet the Isthmians Of Comedy (before two of them move away)

Stefan Davis is the one with the mohawk and the kid and Ryan Casey is the teddy bear with a drinking problem. Nick Hart is the paranoid pothead who ran for mayor and David Leon is just a figment of your imagination. Dave Pickett is the big scary guy with all the drug stories. Kevin Kunkel is the one with all the infomercials and Nate Bjork is a lot smarter than he looks. They are the Isthmians Of Comedy and on May 26, sadly, they’ll be saying goodbye to two of their own.

The Isthmians host a comedy open mic Monday night at the Argus Bar & Grille. It is an opportunity for any local comic to try out new material or to get behind the microphone for the first time before facing, or possibly being cut from, Wednesday’s Big Deuce Open Mic at the Comedy Club On State. The event is attended almost exclusively by comedians, with an occasional sprinkling of the supportive friends of the newest performers.

Monday night open mics at the Argus have the vibe of hanging out with friends in some dude’s basement. Between 10 and 20 guys and one or two females gather in the basement of this off-the-Square bar, drink beers and whiskey, tell stories and jokes, and subtly jab at each other’s egos. The ceilings are low, the rooms are small, the lighting is low, and the walls are covered in stonework and wood paneling. A pool table at the back of the room is used as seating, and a bar in the corner sits dark and untended. Everyone there knows everyone else, and when a new face appears in the crowd, it is immediately conspicuous, though welcomed with excitement.

“We don’t get a lot of girls here,” says Pickett. “Girls that stick around. And laugh.”

It’s possible not a lot of girls would laugh at the jokes told by 20- to 30-something-year-old men to a drunken audience of the same. Few punches are pulled, and audiences will occasionally flinch at the mention of the C-word or abortion. At a recent open mic performance at the Comedy Club On State to a crowd filled with an unusual proportion of college students—a large group of out-of-towners chatting amongst themselves up front throughout the show—Davis ended his set with a joke he had vowed never to do on stage.

“How do I know when my girlfriend is pregnant? When I am writing the check to Planned Parenthood.” Then he swigs his whiskey, says, “Thank you, I’m Stefan Davis, everybody,” and ducks offstage with a wave of his hand at the low moan of the abashed audience.

Knowing how offensive and, frankly, unfunny it would be, Davis reveals why he told the joke anyway.

“Because I hated them, and I wanted them to feel as uncomfortable as I was.”

“[It’s like] therapy,” Casey says of getting on stage. “Like, ‘I know you weren’t prepared for that, guys. I know you just wanted some laughs.’”

While Davis’s cynical onstage stories guarantee that he will remain, as he hopes, slightly hated by his audience, Casey’s jovial venting—combined with that teddy bear belly—makes him impossible not to love regardless of the content.

“I hug Ryan Casey probably more than I should hug another man,” Davis admits.

On sight, one’s immediate urge is to be thrown into an exaggerated bear hug with Casey. At the age of 30, he already has the inviting friendliness of a favorite uncle, a lovable demeanor that, to his good fortune, follows him to the bars and on the stage. Each of Madison’s comics adopts a stage persona that hyperbolizes his offstage personality.

“My delusions of grandeur are way too big for me to bomb,” Hart says, referring at the moment to his performance onstage. But these dozen words could be easily applied to anything he does. Hart is unapologetic as a comedian, using his stage time to say what he planned to say, following a joke with a comical, “Fuck you guys; that’s a funny joke,” when the audience doesn’t laugh, and he parallels this attitude in the rest of his life. Hart decided to run for mayor of Madison for 2011 after following the local news convinced him of the simplicity of the task.

As Pickett settled onto the stage one Monday night, former Madison comic JoAnne Poniatowski scooted across a booth up front, a few extra inches away from the stage.

“I’m moving this way so he can’t... tell a joke at me.”

And she is right to be weary of a Pickett joke being told “at” her. When he looks you in the eye, you can either show your weakness and shrink away in discomfort, or you can meet his gaze and live with what’s behind it. Pickett can easily hold a table of newcomers in the audience hostage with a joke for what feels like an eternity, describing with gruesome detail the effects of too much heroin use on the human body as the rest of the crowd watches with pity.

“David Leon puts on a show that demands intensity and imagination from his audience,” explains Leon’s Comedy Club profile in a severe understatement. Leon is engaging and hilarious each moment that he is onstage, putting his heart and his imagination into creating a performance for his audience. He has a high-pitched voice and mustache that intensify his creepiness, but his relaxed stare suggests he could be stoned and softens his image.

The Isthmians’ newest members, Bjork and Kunkel, are already making waves in Madison’s comedy scene. Kunkel took 2nd place of over 60 comics in Madison’s Funniest Comic 2011, and Bjork joined all of his fellow Isthmians in the Top 15. Each adds yet another distinct persona to the fascinating dynamic of the group.

Onstage, Bjork carries the audience through a series of revelations that arouse a combination of interest and pity that ultimately slides into a comforting punchline letting the audience know it’s alright to laugh at his misfortunes.

Kunkel’s onstage persona is one-of-a-kind in the scene. He explodes with unmatched fervor into his set, generally comprised of well-rehearsed, superbly written, rapid-fire satire. He’ll launch without explanation into a faux infomercial or PSA that keeps the audience rolling with laughter throughout and cheering at its finish for the sheer verbal skill displayed in the act.

On May 26 at the Argus, the Isthmians will perform their final show with all seven members. Four days later, Davis heads west to San Francisco; and in August, Pickett is moving with his family to Stavanger, Norway. Both will continue to perform and keep in touch with their roots in Madison. Though both comedians will be sorely missed, the speed at which comedy in Madison is progressing ensures that the scene will continue to grow and more stand-ups will emerge to take up the mic.

“How quickly in one year we went from basement shows and driving 24 hours to do 3 minutes at ACME open mic to running for mayor, opening for [Marc] Maron, and going to Laughing Skull [Comedy Festival],” Hart says.