Patton Oswalt at the Pabst Theater
It’s a good time to be Patton Oswalt. With lead roles in beloved Disney-Pixar movie Ratatouille and cult comedy hit Big Fan, a wife and 2-year-old daughter at home, a well-deserved status as one of alternative comedy’s most prominent and respected names, and a steady stream of The King Of Queens royalty checks to begrudgingly cash, you’d think the opinionated comedian would have little left to complain about. But if Oswalt’s appearance at the Pabst Theater last Friday was any indication, success, family, and career longevity have little impact on his ranting and politically charged, angry, and self-effacing humor.
Playing to a well-attended—but not sold-out—theater a short walk from where fellow comedy heavyweight Lewis Black was performing, Oswalt went on an hour and a half-long tirade of commentary covering a wide-range of topics, including fatherhood, Sarah Palin, auditioning for the part of “gay best friend” in a Kate Hudson movie, and his “sweatpants adventures,” with a generous smattering of comic book and sci-fi movie references throughout. Oswalt summed it up well in the opening minutes of his set: “I’m a fat comedian with OCD. I tell strangers jokes about my dick.”
Donning a baggy T-shirt and serious case of bed-head, he riffed on the notion he’d given up on his appearance. “My torso looks like Walter Matthau’s face,” he said before divulging the secret that he’d once eaten pie while swimming. While Oswalt’s unabashed disappointment in his appearance proved to be the North star of his performance, he waxed prophetic elsewhere with a heavy flow of political and religious commentary, including a lengthy dissertation on the “dumb cuntiness” of Sarah Palin thrown in, too.
In preparation for a new album he’s to record in the coming weeks, Oswalt did little to hide the fact that he was trying out new material. Sometimes, as in the case of his account of “The Zorro of airplane vomiters,” it worked well. Other times, such as an impromptu riff on how “even the worst gymnast is still amazing,” it didn’t. But Oswalt recognized this, squashing the courteous applause of the Milwaukee crowd with a stern, “No. Don’t clap for that. I was up on the parallel bars and I landed on my dick.”
Usually a sign of a lack of new material, Oswalt’s engaging back and fourth with two Appleton men in the front row—whom he deduced to be a guild of happy hobo painters—actually became a highlight of the varied set. The respectful pair of painters also helped balance the multitude of people hooting and yelling things out between almost every bit. When one of the happy hobo painters asked when he would play Appleton, Oswalt responded, “Hmm… I wonder why I wouldn’t come to play a comedy club in Appleton.”
But before finishing the night off with a touching remembrance of seeing one crackhead blow another in a dirty New York City tunnel, the veteran comic made nice with the local crowd. “I love Wisconsin,” he said. “Great serial killers up here.”
