After multiple musical numbers, some sexually repressed church ladies, a speech by a tyrannical king with tiny hands and a sketch about a polycule of DND dice, the curtain closed on Killing My Lobster’s final show. Following 28 years of groundbreaking, San Francisco-centric sketch comedy, as well as writing and acting classes, the Bay Area institution is suspending its operations as of Sept. 13 due to cuts to art grants by the Trump administration.
Killing My Lobster, or KML, was originally started by a group of Brown University graduates who moved to San Francisco together in 1997. Motivated by college improv experience and the thriving Bay Area comedy scene, they decided to form a group.
One of the original Lobsters recalls spurring the others into action. “We kept talking about doing something, we didn’t know what, and then I booked a space,” Killing My Lobster co-founder and artistic director Paul Charney said in an interview with The Urban Legend. “I came to one meeting [and said], ‘I booked a space in about a month in the Mission, and we should all work together, … or I’m going to be doing a really bad one-man show.’”
The original show had 10 sketches (short, two-to-five-minute comedic scenes), written and performed by the founding members. In the beginning, some were a little unsure of the quality of the show. “We asked a roommate to take money at the door. … We were charging, like, five bucks,” said Marc Vogl, another co-founder, in an interview with The Urban Legend. “[The roommate] decided on his own that he couldn’t in good conscience charge people for what was going to be such a terrible show.”
At first, everyone involved both wrote and acted in sketches for the show. “We were all writers, … performers … [and] people who went and handed out flyers and put up posters. It really was … very egalitarian, everybody’s doing everything,” Vogl said. However, as the organization grew, acting and writing became separate jobs.
KML had a unique formula: they would pick a theme (elections, for example) and then have the writers create a variety of sketches based around the idea, culminating in 90-minute performances of eight to 10 original sketches, each complete with sets, costumes and lights. Famously, every show began and ended with a musical number. The shows were directed by various local artists, with casts pulled from a pool of KML associated actors. Part of the allure of for audiences was the limited nature of the shows: each one would only run for a couple of weekends.
The variety and silliness of the sketches were essential to the formula. “All of it was like trusting that you could take an audience on a ride. And the motto was always, ‘Funny means different things to different people,’” Charney said.
KML specialized in the absurd. Maya Herbsman ’13 fondly remembers a sketch from a show she directed in 2023, which was themed around bodies. “It was a medley of ‘Grease’ songs with the lyrics changed to be like Miss Frizzle’s Magic School Bus [was] going inside of a pubescent human body.”
KML would put on all manner of absurdist shows over the next twenty years, always striving to adapt with the times. “It’s supposed to change, it’s supposed to evolve. … That’s all by design, and probably the reason why it stuck around, otherwise it’d be pretty stale,” Vogl said.
Throughout multiple crises — first the COVID-19 pandemic and now the cuts to art grants — KML has relied on its ability to adapt. “We’ve had to make changes, but we have the strength of this community. … They’re used to seeing changes, so they roll with it,” said Nicole Odell, the current artistic director, in an interview with The Urban Legend. “Being endlessly adaptable has been a requirement, but it is a strength of the company.”
On May 2, arts organizations across the country, including KML, received notification that their grants were being revoked. This was due to the Trump administration’s sweeping cuts to small agency organizations, including the National Endowment for the Arts (NEA), totalling over $358 billion. Even with KML’s trademark adaptability, the current funding landscape makes it unclear whether or not it will be able to reopen.
KML has since been forced to suspend operations and lay off workers, causing uncertainty for the future of the organization.
Still, Odell has faith, both in KML and the larger Bay Area comedy scene. “There is … tenacious, wild creativity happening in the city. … Live performance in San Francisco is some of the bravest and most interesting work … anywhere,” Odell said. “And if they come discover Killing My Lobster, I hope that they really love being a part of the community. … It’s a really special place.”