Organizers of the inaugural Minneapolis Comedy Festival, which wrapped up Sunday, have plenty to crow about thanks to a star-studded lineup that took full advantage of downtown's numerous theaters.
But there's room for improvement.
Promoters have promised to return next summer, which is good news. It would be even better if they consider the following suggestions:
Sample the local fare. The show that came the closest to tipping its hat to Minnesota was Saturday's "Armchair Expert Live in the Midwest" at the Orpheum Theatre, and not just because host Dax Shepard wore overalls. Keyboardist Bob Mervak opened with snippets of Minnesota anthems — Bob Dylan's "Forever Young," Prince's "Purple Rain," Semisonic's "Closing Time" — before surprise guest Andrew Zimmern sprung onto the stage. The "Bizarre Foods" host and longtime Twin Cities resident isn't technically a comedian, although it was hilarious watching Shepard try to get a word in edgewise.
I get that national headliners sell tickets, but it would be a nice gesture if local comics were guaranteed opening slots. A chance to be on the bill with red-hot Christian comic John Crist last Tuesday would have done wonders for a promising Twin Cities talent like Robert Baril, whose only slightly sinful material on religion would have killed.
The Twin Cities' more intimate clubs could also play a bigger role, hosting late-night sessions featuring those currently working the local circuit or hometown favorites like Chad Daniels and Cy Amundson. That may already be in the works for 2020. Acme owner Louis Lee was spotted having dinner Tuesday with promoters at Ruth's Chris Steak House.
Take more chances. Well-known names have their place, but festivals should always be on a mission to introduce new talent.
Watching Bob Newhart shuffle onto the Orpheum stage Friday was a thrill and hearing him perform his classic "Bus Driver Training" routine would have given me goose bumps — if I had been able to catch exactly what he was saying. The sound system wasn't a good match for his low-key delivery, which meant much of the audience was constantly asking their seatmates to repeat the punchlines.