In the midst of a national recession and the worst local financial conditions in decades,
Comedy Castle
owner Mark Ridley decided to completely remodel his successful Royal
Oak club, by not just slapping on a fresh coat of paint but tearing up
the floors, rebuilding the bar area from scratch, and upgrading
everything from the carpets to the seats to the company logo. Recession
be damned, Ridley blew right through the yellow lights and proceeded to
reinvest, refurbish, and even attempt to grow his company. It's exactly
the sort of move you would expect from a guy who has spent three
decades laughing in the face of hard times.
The Detroit/Windsor
metro area supports five full time comedy clubs, plus a host of open
mic nights, semi-regular bar nights, returning weekend shows,
fundraisers, and special comedy events. If you extend the map out a
little further to nearby cities like Toledo, Lansing, and Ann Arbor,
the region boasts of more than a dozen stand up comedy clubs and shows
on any given weekend. It's
a pretty impressive stat, considering most large cities only have a
handful of similar venues. Not to mention that Detroit has been the tip
of the spear of the economic meltdown, with the recession leaving
deeper and longer lasting wounds here than almost anywhere else in the
country.
Yet the region's comedy industry continues to chug
along, and while some clubs have come and gone over the years --victims
of misfortune, malfeasance, or indifferent management-- the stronger
operations have endured the storms through boom and bust, creating one
of the nation's most durable and loyal audience base. Ridley attributes
that strength to the area's blue collar character and to the habitual
nature that the nine-to-five lifestyle of factory work hardwired into
the population.
Hard work often requires hard partying to blow
off steam, and the fast pace of a stand-up offers pure, gut busting
release. When budgets are tight people tend to seek comfort, be it food
or comedy, a fact that Ridley takes seriously - which inspires him to
keep the level of quality high in his room.
"It might be their
one night out a month, if they do something, so they look for the good
value," Ridley says of his customers. "Whether it's movies or live
entertainment, we're still perceived as a really good value - which we
are. There aren't many places where you can go, whether it's me or the
other comedy clubs, and see live entertainment and not spend an arm and
a leg on it like you would in New York, L.A., or Chicago."
And
it's not just affordable according to Ridley, it's cathartic: "Comedy
is honesty plus exaggeration, and so people are forgetting about what's
going on outside for at least ninety minutes, be it unemployment or
family problems or health. We give them an excuse to forget it all for
a while."
A history of yucksNow in his late
fifties, but with laugh lines outpacing his wrinkles, Ridley is
possessed with an infectious energy that reflects a lifetime of working
at a craft he still truly loves. He grew up in the area, and like so
many local baby boomers he was a devotee of Soupy Sales, whose
mid-fifties
Lunch with Soupy
show was appointment viewing for a generation of Detroit youngsters.
"Soupy was hip, he was a jazz guy, and it came through the TV."
Still,
Sales represented an earlier era of nightclubs and cabaret style
entertainment that was dying off in the Detroit area by the mid 1970s,
replaced by rock venues like the legendary
Grande Ballroom.
While there were a smattering of coffee clubs and other odd joints
there was no such thing as a "comedy club", and Mark noticed the gap.
While
dabbling in stand-up, Ridley became hooked on the then burgeoning
comedy club scene that was exploding on both coasts. Like so many
Midwestern creative thinkers, he made a pilgrimage to Los Angeles,
where he encountered a galaxy of emerging talent, including Jimmy
Walker, David Letterman, and Jay Leno. They were packing crowds night
after night into legendary Hollywood strip venues like
The Improv and
The Comedy Store.
He wasn't just soaking up the laughs, he was studying the business
model. The comedians were not getting paid at these places, but the
club owners were making money hand over fist from cover charges and
two-drink minimums.
These
hot spots were booming, and turning out stars, but the sweatshop
atmosphere wasn't always the best thing for comedians struggling for
attention.
The grind could also wear out audiences.
"They
would put up 20, sometimes 40 guys a night," Ridley says. "And it was
just a continuous show, one after the other." He returned to Detroit
with what he thought was a better idea.
While it's hard to
document such things, many credit Ridley as pioneering the
three-comedian format, with an emcee, a feature act, and a headliner to
close the show, all paid to perform. Necessity, however, was the mother
of invention. "I didn't have the talent," he laughs.
But he
did begin to have a following. For the first several years the Castle
lacked a permanent kingdom. Ridley operated as a sort of vagabond,
bouncing from one venue to another, sometimes for months or sometimes
just a few nights. His pitch was simple: "You've got an empty room, can
I produce the show and fill it up."
Ridley would rent the
P.A. speakers and microphones on a weekly basis for about 25 bucks, and
haul them along to wherever he could book his own show. One of his
first headliners was Birmingham native
Mike Binder, who went on to become a writer and the director of films like
The Upside of Anger.
In time more talent filtered in, and Ridley's shows became a launching pad for local talent like
Tim Allen and
Dave Coullier. Eventually, by 1989, Ridley had enlisted some investors to help him secure a permanent location in the massive former
Daily Tribune
newspaper printing press /warehouse (269 E 4th St in Royal Oak). It
proved to be a perfect match, as sleepy downtown Royal Oak would
transform over the next decade into one of Southeast Michigan's hottest
entertainment Meccas, with restaurants, bars, and nightclubs sprouting
like weeds.
As the club grew in space and reputation the Comedy
Castle became a favorite spot for a who's who of comedians, with
everyone from Jerry Seinfeld, Jim Carrey, Lewis Black, Bob Saget, and
Ellen Degeneres passing through. Their
headshots line up in the Castle's hallways like a museum of funny.
Still, Ridley continued to push the local guys whenever he could,
supporting rising names like
Mike Green and
Last Comic Standing winner
John Heffron,
who grew up in South Lyon. To this day, Ridley devotes Wednesday night
to open mic, where anyone who calls in and makes it on the list has a
chance to get stage time.
The punchlineRidley
considers developing talent for the future to be vital. "It's just
something I always thought was an integral part of having a comedy
club," he explains. "Open mic is not a money maker by any stretch of
the imagination." The fees are low on amateur nights, around three
dollars, and the audiences can sometimes be spotty. "If you look at
what it costs to keep the doors open and compare it to what we take in
on any given Wednesday night, by all practical purposes we should keep
the doors shut. But to me a farm club is important."
But it's
not generosity that has fueled Ridley's recent upgrades. In these
troubled times people need a reason to laugh and so the Comedy Castle
finds its product in increasing demand.
"When we compare the
numbers to 2008, it's [2009] actually a better year. But for all
intents and purposes it shouldn't be. Entertainment does thrive in hard
times."
And so it made sense for Ridley to evolve his club's
worn down stereotypical '80s look and create a place that feels fresh
and inviting. New touches like Marx brothers statues and a Blues
Brothers mural in the lobby make clear that laughter has always been
the most important currency at the Comedy Castle.
Ultimately,
it was Ridley's new wife, Sara, who convinced him that reinvention is a
necessary part of survival when it comes to business. Of course, it
helps that she has experience as an interior designer.
"It just looks like you don't care," Sara told him. "I know you do care, but you can't tell by the looks of it."
Ridley
knew she was right and made the investment. He even went so far as to
turn his club into a non-smoking venue, something that would have been
unthinkable a decade ago.
Still, when asked why he chose to
renovate at the height of an economic crisis --with lending
institutions hoarding their remaining money-- Ridley chuckles, "Thank
you president Obama. No seriously, after the crash of last year he made
it easier for businesses to get an SBA [Small Business Administration]
loan."
Even then it wasn't a slam dunk, despite a 30-year
track record of success, some financial institutions were gun shy to
lend Ridley the cash, primarily because he doesn't own the building.
Eventually a northern Michigan bank did come through and Ridley bought
out his partners and proceeded to roll up his sleeves. He's now
carefully booking the acts that will keep not just audiences but
himself laughing.
"Somebody just asked me how long I want
to keep doing this," Ridley relates. "I just signed a five year lease.
We'll see how that goes. I may do another five after that. I'm in no
hurry to retire. if you love what you're doing it’s not like work."
Corey Hall is a freelance writer, stand up comedian, and film critic for Detroit's Metro Times. His previous article was Grace & Wild: A Studio Success Before Hollywood Came Calling
Photos:
All photographs taken at Mark Ridley's Comedy Castle - Royal Oak
Portrait of Mark Ridley
All photographs by Marvin Shaouni
Marvin Shaouni is the managing photographer for Metromode & Model D.