After interviewing Brendan, Greg, and Anthony, I had my invigorated courage and I began sending emails out to some of my favorite comedians in New York. One of the first I heard back from was Christian Finnegan. In my email I talked up my radio show in order to seem like more of a professional. “I am in the process of writing a book about working comedians.” I wrote. “I would love the opportunity to interview you.” I told him how much I love his albums and ended the email by saying, “Nothing too heavy or daunting. I promise.”
Finnegan got back to me the next day and we set up a time to meet later in the week. He was doing two shows at Dangerfield’s and I was to arrive after the first. We would find a quiet place and sit and chat in the club until it was time for his second show. “There may be a room at the club.” He wrote. “I'll check tonight.”
Dangerfield’s isn’t exactly my favorite comedy club. While Rodney Dangerfield was one of the best comics in history, the club itself has sort of fallen into disrepair. As Finnegan put it-- nothing from the waitstaff to the upholstery has changed since the ‘80s. So much so that they even used it for scenes in 2019’s The Joker.
On the night of the interview I showed up early to watch the comedians’ sets and taking notes. Hoping to avoid paying the cover and a two drink minimum, I hold my notebook up to the usher. “I’m here to interview Christian Finnegan.” I say. To my surprise, this works, and I’m led into the showroom to a small table in the back. The showroom is long and thin, which is a good start, but the ceiling is too high and the lights are too bright for comedy. It’s going to be a weird night. If I needed more proof that this was a place built on the money of misguided tourists, each place setting had a postcard waiting on it. A picture of its sweating namesake and a line about how much fun it is a Dangerfield’s.
The showroom is half-filled. Not bad for an early show on a weeknight. The ushers were smart and put everyone in the center to make it feel a little more full. Always a nice touch. The show starts and the host does a decent job trying to get the energy up, but I’m happy to find that Finnegan is one of the first on the bill. The host calls him Flannigan when inviting him onstage, but he is a pro and didn’t seem ruffled. Finnegan is tall and slender with graying blonde hair. I think I spot him notice me, but with the lights I can’t be sure. Not all of his jokes land and there’s a sense that he’s just going through the motions. Some of his jokes are new, which is impressive considering his last album was only a month or so prior. I see the red light come on and he wraps up his final joke, exiting the stage to some sizable applause. The host reemerges as I quietly sneak back into the lobby. I find him waiting by the door.
“Hi, I’m Katie.” I say, shaking his hand. Christian is immediately very kind, and his warmth calms my nervous energy. He walks over to the manager and they have a brief conversation I can’t quite hear. The manager stares at me.
Finnegan waves me over. “We can go talk in the green room.” He tells me. We head down a narrow staircase and into a small green room. There is a sink and a gilded mirror to our left, and a long sofa and a small table to our right. The walls are actually green, which I wasn’t expecting. I sit on a stiff chair next to a table and I feel a bit like a therapist when he takes a seat on the sofa.
“I really appreciate you taking the time to meet with me.” I tell him.
“Of course.” He smiles. “No trouble at all.”
After a bit of small talk I arrange my notebook and I press “record.” The mood is light and welcoming as I begin asking him about his origins. He tells me about the early days, open-mic nights, and his first few big bombs. We linger on the topic of bombing. He’s looking around the small room as he talks, his eyes bouncing across the faded paint.
“There’s something sweet about bombing, in a weird way.” He starts. “It sounds bizarre, but it’s… sometimes when it’s so bad, it’s just such a unique feeling. I’m not saying I enjoy it by any means, but there is something kind of… I don’t know. It’s kind of like falling, it’s like jumping out of an airplane or bungee jumping or something like that, the feeling of weightlessness.”
He tells me about the rough years he’s spent being on the road, and what it means to find the right audience.
Every so often we hear big laughs trickling down through the vent on the ceiling. Finnegan tells me about his ideal audience, and the experiences he’s had performing in clubs across the country. I go on to ask him about his schedule now, and I’m happy to hear that he’s able to stay in the city more and more. For a working comedian, the road is where the money is, so it is a big step for a comedian when they’re successful enough to afford sticking around.
Here’s telling me about trying to stay sane on the road when the door behind us suddenly opens. I turn around to see a Dangerfield’s employee. The man’s eyes are on the floor.
“I’m so sorry.” He blurts.
“Hey no, that’s alright,” says Finnegan. “We’re just chatting … No, no worries, man.”
“It’s chill, just talking about comedy, don’t worry.” I say.
“I’ll leave you alone.”
With that, the door shuts. There’s a weight in the air. Finnegan looks at the closed door and then at me.
He waits a moment and then leans in.
“Everyone was convinced that we were coming down here to have sex.”
Oh God. “Really?” I ask.
“I hope that doesn’t make you uncomfortable. They’re creepy dudes. I mean, they were saying it in joking terms, but … I’m sure that’s probably happened. I’m sure there are comics who show up and they… yeah. My apologies.”
I tell him that it’s okay. I begin to realize that this is a world where my little notebook and I were quite out of place. Still, I wasn’t about to let my age and gender keep me out of this world. It made me want to fight harder to enter this world on my terms.
“Yeah. Sorry. Comedians are… like they are.” He says.
I’m proud of myself for getting us back into the interview. We talk more about the mindsets of the comedians he sees and the stereotypes that pervade the community. We get to chatting about the entitlement that he sees around him, and I start to get a little more probing with my questions. He tells me about how much he needs stand-up, and how lost he would be without it. By the end of the interview, I feel drained but pleased. My nervousness alchemizes into exhaustion the second we start to wrap. I look forward to transcribing the interview and reveling in all that I learned.
“Well it’s 10:15pm so I will let you go in a bit.” I tell him.
“Yeah I need to go get something to eat.” He says.
I thank him for his time, smile, and shake his hand. Leaving the small green room, I make my way back up the narrow stairs. There is a fresh crowd in the showroom as the second show begins to start. As I make my way through the lobby and out the door I get a few glances from the club staff, but I don’t stop to imagine what they’re thinking.
A few days later I send Christian an email, thanking him for his time.
“My pleasure.” He responds. “Thanks for not asking the same dumb questions.”