What's The Deal With Airline Peanuts?: Cosby performance fun for all ages

Robert Lopez is a senior journalism major and writes 'What's the Deal with Airline Peanuts?' for the Daily News.
His views do not necessarily agree with those of the newspaper.

Bill Cosby is almost as synonymous with stand-up comedy as Shakespeare is with drama. Like the playwright, he honed what was once a ribald craft into a respectable art form by playing with timing, tone and wit.

Stand-up comedy has long been one of the great underrated performance arts in American culture. Some people might see a clown, but I see a modern-day philosopher trying to convey his observations to the masses. And few people are better philosophers than Cosby.

When Cosby played Ball State in 1964, tickets cost $2.49. On Saturday at Emens they went for between $30 and $40. The place was, nevertheless, packed with a multigenerational crowd. Graying hairlines were mixed with heads that could barely pop up over the seats.

I was stuck in the corner. Even with my glasses, his face was blur. It could have been anyone, and if it weren't for the applause that greeted him the moment he stepped out from behind the curtain, I would have thought it was just another stagehand clad in a Ball State sweatshirt.

"Can you come fix this for me?" he asked as he was trying to adjust his mic. The audience then cheered the sound man who came out to help.

Now 65, Cosby geared his humor toward an older audience, telling jokes about gaining weight and how his long-time marriage has essentially stripped him of his manhood.

"You can tell my side of the bed by what's on the table," he said. "This is my table and I have nothing on it. I had an alarm clock once. But one time it went off and I wasn't in the bed. Now it's gone."

Some of the material was a bit darker, especially the bit about his wife's insistence on locking the bedroom door at night before going to sleep.

"Why do you lock the door?" he asks.

"Because someone might kill you," she responds.

"Well when that day comes, you better be careful, you'll be the No. 1 suspect," he says. "I have a note in my safe saying you did it."

Cosby also played off the audience for most of the show, mingling with people in the front row, talking with some of the ushers and asking which ones were widows. At one point he told a girl how to get revenge against her little brother -- by luring him into drinking beer.

The act closed with a bit about going to the dentist and the agony of seeing smoke come out of your mouth.

Cosby stands larger than life among his fellow entertainers. Only a handful of stand-up comics have attained his level of success and respect. Jerry Seinfeld, Richard Pryor and, of course, David Letterman have been among the lucky few. Chris Rock and Jon Stewart are on that path, but still have to mature a little.

Cosby is now more of a cranky old man than a big kid, but he hasn't lost his charm. While Cosby's show lacked the sharpness and silliness of his legendary 1960s albums, he managed to keep the audience laughing for nearly two hours, with no warm-up act or intermission.

Write to Robert at rclopez@bsu.edu


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