COMEDY FANS WERE in rapt anticipation of the new Kids in the Hall miniseries, premiering early last month on CBC.
I went to the advance screening of episode one at the Rivoli — a packed to the rafters event introduced by Mayor David Miller, who must be an enormous fan since he wasn’t there to troll for votes.
It was hard to see the screen for the crowds, but I liked enough of what I saw to follow the series.
The Kids in the Hall had done a number of tours over the last few years, which I thought were very successful with their maturity adding to the material.
All had shone in individual careers since they disbanded in the mid-’90s, but it’s been a long time since they had collectively jolted the comedy world with their groundbreaking work.
Their new series, Death Comes to Town, takes place in the fictional town of Shuckton, which could be any town north of Barrie. Death, played by Mark McKinney, rides into town on a low rider chopper with a scythe and a PDA shaped like a skeleton’s hand.
His first victim is the corrupt and sleazy mayor of Shuckton, played by Bruce McCullough. When he dies, Death collects his soul, a fine white powder, and snorts it.
Of course the town has to believe that the mayor was the victim of foul play, and a murder mystery ensues. The Kids play most of the parts. I stopped trying to count how many parts each one plays; it must be dozens.
Many of the roles they play are women. Those who loved the drag aspects of the original TV series won’t be disappointed. The Kids never met a wig they didn’t like.
Dave Foley plays the mayor’s ambitious wife and is so convincing in drag that I had to look twice to be convinced it was a genuine Kid. Kevin MacDonald fans will not be disappointed by his portrayal of a public defender obsessed with his dying cat.
The brain dead animatronic pet will upset animal lovers, so beware.
Scott Thompson, who was battling cancer at the time of production (and who tells me he’s now in total remission), used his baldness to play the mayor’s gay lover who steals the corpse and lives with him as if he’s still alive.
The character is a masterpiece of comic timing, as Thompson’s monologues become more and more absurd, chatting with his dead “friend.”
Equally moving and absurd is Bruce McCullough’s portrayal of Ricky, an obese man confined to his house, who becomes obsessed with the case, and tries to solve it à la Rear Window. McCullough brings a fine subtext of humanity to Ricky, which he’s done with other characters, but never as evolved as this.
The show is obsessed with death, sex and venality but in a creative and surreal way. The scenes are fast and layered quickly to keep the pace moving. Not every gag works, but there are so many that a fresh one is just around the corner.
If you missed the air dates of the show, never fear, it is sure to be released on DVD later this season. I think it might be a fitting way to enjoy this creation by one of Canada’s most enduring comedy troupes: making an evening of it.
