The first thing I want to say about Tim Robinson’s appearance at the Chicago Theatre on Thursday night is that, heading into the venue, I had no idea what he would actually do on stage. I had no idea what the shape of this show would look like. Would it be sketch comedy? Or a casual hang? A backstage peek at the process of assembling a comedy phenomenon? That mystery was a good thing, a reminder that Robinson and creative partner Zach Kanin are responsible for one of the most surprising bits of TV comedy in decades. That show, of course, Netflix’s “I Think You Should Leave,” consists of three brief seasons with speedy 15-minute episodes. It plays both short and just right.
The second thing I want to say is Robinson got his start at Second City, as did Sam Richardson, his other frequent collaborator (and fellow Detroit native), and this live version of “I Think You Should Leave” was so thinly conceived and loosely organized, it played perversely like a so-so night of improv in the service of spotlighting just how sophisticated the TV version is. What did the live show look like? Couches and chairs, and Robinson and Kanin inviting on guests (impressive ones) to sort of discuss and riff a little on the sketches that never made it past the final cut. Which, largely, were great.
The third thing I want to say is, as lazy as the live show felt, this format, this often chaotic blend of rejected sketches and live comics commenting on them, was also strangely wise. It revealed how a TV series that plays as improvised works so well because it is not improvised. The show opened and closed with extended cuts of sketches that made the show — one about a TV lawyer who clears up the most improbable scenarios, and the other starring the late Fred Willard as a cheerfully obtuse funeral organist. You could see where extra lines lagged, or how a joke went a beat too long. Stripped of extraneous (yet great) seconds, Robinson arrived at a pair of classics.
Robinson and Kanin would swivel in their chairs and watch, and when the lights came up, they would offer shy and fleeting, though telling, thoughts on why they cut jokes.
Here, you can feel that going long, Robinson would say.
Or there they needed to get to the point quicker.
Or if his character goes silent for a minute, saying nothing, “people turn off the TV.”
On that last one, I’m not so sure.
Like a lot of “I Think You Should Leave” sketches, this excised, unaired sketch about a wallet was set in the most archetypal of comedy locations, a job interview. Robinson and Kanin often begin with ordinary comedy staples — an office cubicle, a first date — only to upend it with such a commitment to risking the audience’s comfort, you’re still twitching on the 10th screening. In this case, Robinson wraps up a job interview. It’s gone well. He thanks the employer and leaves the room — only to burst in a moment later, screaming that this man who interviewed him just stole his wallet. The man calmly points at the table, showing that the wallet is still there. With that, Robinson goes silent.
And stands at the table, and stands, and stands, and stands, saying nothing.
He stands for a minute, thinking.
Then just sits at the table again and sighs, and mentions how strange wallets are, and squints, pretending to see his mother walking by outside. He wonders if he seems nuts.
The thread of the live show was that Robinson and Co. would invite guests up to judge whether material like this should have been cut. But no one offered much that was critical or insightful, perhaps because not a single unaired sketch played less than hilarious. Maybe redundant. Maybe a tad baggy. But always explosively funny. The guests were generous and included Richardson, comedian Patti Harrison (another series regular) and, from the Chicago set of “The Bear,” Ayo Edebiri and Lionel Boyce. There was a bird mascot who wandered out to flirt. And a guy named Bruce Buckles (actually the comedian Brendan Jennings) who explained he was making his way through the Chicago improv scene and could not think of anything funny to say.
Tim Robinson in Season 3 of “I Think You Should Leave.” (Terence Patrick/Netflix)
These were game attempts at replicating the series’ manic energy, but alongside clips of the series, and minus the awkward tension of Robinson and Kanin’s writing, they drifted.
Of course, they did.
What’s made “I Think You Should Leave” an instant classic is how deftly it reveals the terms of agreement for merely getting through a day in the 21st century. Male egos are often the focus, and never to bolster. One unaired sketches was about a young boy playing with dinosaurs at a restaurant table and the older, stranger man (Robinson) at the next table who overhears this and can’t believe how stupid this kid must be — he would never be able to fend off a T. rex. The kid’s mother, politely at first, says that her boy is young. But the man doubles down. He can’t stand to listen to child broadcasting such obviously wrong ideas about dinosaurs. He can not sit still in the face of such ignorance. He flips his table. The police are called. Life is a negotiation, Robinson reminds us again, and at all times, we are this close to a breach of contract.
cborrelli@chicagotribune.com
