Great expectorations

Last year, comedian Steve Gadlin felt stifled by the city's improv scene. He'd done the standard improv drill: He'd been through the Second City conservatory and taken classes at ImprovOlympic and the Annoyance Theater.

"You can ask one in 50 people, and they'll tell you this exact story," Gadlin says. "You come to Chicago and you do these steps and you feel like you're part of something. But you're just stagnating this art form."

Performing with Playground Theater improv team Pastor of Muppets kept Gadlin busy, but he needed more. His first thought was to produce a sketch show with fellow comedian Paul Luikart.

The pair booked space at the Playground for a four-week run—a move that, in retrospect, might have been a little premature.

"As the deposit on the space was coming due, we realized there were no sketches on paper," Gadlin says.

He tried to bail out, but Mark Henderson, the theater's rental program coordinator, gave him a hard time.

"So instead of showing some backbone, I said, 'Okay, okay. We're still doing a show,'" Gadlin recalls. "And then I had about 20 minutes to come up with something."

In a state of panic, he cobbled together every idea that popped into his head. A game show. With spit takes. Hosted by a pathetic, riddle-telling Eastern European comedian named Sasha (Gadlin) and his mute sidekick, The Noob (Luikart), who think of themselves as international comedy sensations. Gadlin called Henderson back and told him to hold the space, because he was ready to put on a show. And thus Don't Spit the Water was born.

It would be a variation on the classic game show Make Me Laugh, in which contestants try to keep from cracking up while a comedian lobs jokes at them for 30 seconds. To up the ante, Gadlin hit upon the idea of making contestants hold a mouthful of water as the comics work their mojo.

Fellow improvisers cooked up goofy characters they hoped would induce uncontrollable spitting. Erica Reid, for example, became Cutie Bumblesnatch, a tutu-wearing, boom-box–lugging malcontent who scowls furiously while performing over-the-top dances.

But after months of practice, the first night began on a sour note. At October's premiere, the troupe couldn't muster three volunteer contestants (out of an audience of 12). "We had cast members calling their girlfriends, saying, 'Please get to the show—fast!'" Gadlin says.

But thanks to good word of mouth, the crowd more than doubled the following week. For weeks three and four, the 65-seat Playground was filled to capacity.

Gadlin immediately signed up for another rental slot, this time for eight weeks. Right from the start, the audience came out in full force, filling the theater nearly every week. Sasha and The Noob appeared on the WGN Morning News, and as a sign that the show was earning a reputation, the middle seats of the front row (the "splash zone") were consistently left empty.

But the biggest sign of success came shortly after the second run ended, when the Playground agreed to let Sasha and The Noob launch an open run. Rather than renting again, the performers formed a shared partnership with the theater.

And best of all, Gadlin says, when he let it be known that he wanted to increase the roster of comedians, the improv and stand-up communities were banging down the door. "For the first run, I tried to hold auditions, and nobody showed up," Gadlin says. "For the second run, about eight people showed up. For the third, we had 38 people. It was the coolest day. Six hours of weirdo parade."

With more talent and less financial risk, Gadlin and Luikart feel free to ratchet up the zaniness. They've invested in shinier backdrop curtains, wackier hats, and even Sasha and The Noob puppets. A silly idea that was thrown together in 20 minutes of desperation has become an extravaganza.

"I want to see the show go as far as it can," Luikart says. "I want to see character arcs for all these comedians. I don't think it's close to being done yet."

Don't Spit the Water wets the floor of the Playground Theater Saturdays at 10:30pm.