I'm Dying Up Here

While I'm Dying Up Here is fictional and made up of composites from comic personalities, the characters will resonate with fans of the genre.

By the end of the first episode of this utterly seductive tale about the comedy-club scene of early-1970s Los Angeles, it’s clear that the lives of these aspiring comedians with all their inexhaustible yearning, their whining, their gratitude for any spot onstage--2 a.m., before an audience of 15, including drunken hecklers, what could be wrong with that?--is the stuff of irresistible drama.

Not all the historical references will resonate for a younger audience, but the palpable desire to break through, juvenile pranks and constant barrage of one-liners -- on stage and off -- should make this relatable even for those who don't fully appreciate the terror of having to follow a young Richard Pryor on stage.

The series gradually finds its voice, along with profound ambitions pointed toward the political movements of its time (and our time). But it's most impressively a good hang, reveling in the tense camaraderie and striving one-upmanship of desperate comedians yearning for more stage time. [2/9 Jun 2017, p.94]

The series, created by David Flebotte, doesn’t break any particularly new ground--dying is still easy but comedy is still hard--but it is a compelling character-driven attempt to capture a moment in time when comedy and the culture were evolving.

Like the comedians, the scripts try too hard. Once the stage is set (and those conceits are out of the way), I’m Dying starts to breathe and draw us in.

Considered for what it really is—a sharply observed soap opera about a wholly debauched and dysfunctional group of friends preying upon their mutual insecurities—I'm Dying Up Here offers considerable viewing pleasure.

It can feel a little predictable at times, even a little phony, including the odd meaningful speech made about purpose and authenticity.

This fictionalized version has strong moments, and the cast is so deep and the level of incidental detail so rich that it’s an eminently watchable show, but one that hasn’t quite figured out how to properly exploit the setting it knows so well.

The smoother storylines of the earlier episodes and an ensemble with no sore thumb pieces kept me watching through the rough sections and left me with hope that even though TV's need for another show about comedians is nonexistent, I'm Dying Up Here might continue with an approach that's different enough and expansive enough to be worthwhile.

The cast is quite good — though Leo overdoes the tough-mother-hen bit-- and for actors not schooled in standup comedy, Griffin, Santino, Graynor et al. fire off one-liners (both funny and derogatory) with the panache of seasoned on-stage comedians. ... It’s hard to root for a coterie of self-involved, vicious people with nothing likable about them.

While Dying has few real laughs (even when the comedians are on stage) the show succeeds when it stops trying so hard to prove that it’s important. While some viewers may be turned off by a dark show about comedians, most would be turned off by a boring show about comedians. When it occasionally finds ways to have a little fun, I’m Dying Up Here kills.

In its imperfect stab at capturing the ’70s, the show never stops resembling a bad costume party, as if HBO held a fire sale after its extravagantly doomed record-label drama “Vinyl” was canceled and “I’m Dying Up Here” bought up the entire stock. It seems HBO threw in “Vinyl’s” structural and tonal problems free of charge.

The drama has a lot going for it, with a strong ensemble of actors. ... There are many people we're supposed to care about, whose lives are not particularly happy, but none has enough screen time to make them sufficiently sympathetic. Too often, they come off as personality types rather than specific people. .... And then the entire ensemble is somewhat overwhelmed by the show's bold, frenzied filming style.

The laughs, as you can imagine, are few and far between -- what with that death hanging over the comics, who come off as some of the unhappiest, bitter and jealous people ever. ... [Michael Angarano and Clark Duke] play two penniless and naive comics from Boston who come to L.A. seeking fame and fortune. They are funny. I wanted to see more them (and their story) and less of everyone else.

In I’m Dying Up Here’s attempts to reflect a diversity of experiences within the pursuit of creative satisfaction, it sometimes feels like everyone is working at the same club that’s located in parallel universes.

Dying drops a killer set but doesn’t know how to close the room.

A majority of the characters are either unlikable or uninteresting, and the show’s attempts at relevancy lack a fresh edge. For as much as it wants to parallel the present with candid stories on sexism, racism, and more material covered by the era’s edgiest comics, “I’m Dying Up Here” still feels stuck in the past.

Its characters are, for the most part, fictional composites. And too often, a number of them are a good deal less interesting than the show’s version of Pryor.

You’ve seen it before, read it before. Too bad Dying passed up an opportunity to tell it in an exciting, engaging new way.

If all of the characters were as 14-karat authentic as Goldie, I'm Dying Up Here might have had a fighting chance. Instead, even with Jim Carrey on board as an executive producer and Tom Dreesen along for the erratic ride as technical consultant, this Showtime newcomer only intermittently finds its rhythm and hits its stride as compelling drama.

I’m Dying Up Here never manages to find its footing amidst the challenges it created for itself, and audiences suffer for that. Only give this one a watch if you’re a die-hard comedy fan--but don’t expect to laugh.

As drama, the show is inert. After watching four episodes, I realized I’d been watching constant variations of the same narrative arc: Comedian campaigns to get stage time at Goldie’s. Pause for subplots about other comics’ personal lives. Back to Goldie’s for a performance, during which the comedian either “kills” or bombs, after which he or she is just as miserable as when the episode began.

It’s sporadically entertaining and interesting, but cut up by wild tonal shifts, bad editing, and some worse writing. It doesn’t help that the whole thing looks like a bad comedy sketch, complete with gauzy lensing and exaggerated costumes designed to scream ‘70s. Too little of it feels lived-in or genuine.

Almost everyone's miserable on this Strip. I'm Dying Up Here would feel more alive if it had a sharper focus. [29 May - 11 Jun 2017, p.13]