Filling the Room: Why Comedy is a Two-Way Street

Saba Jakeman, co-producer and co-host of Comedy on Mackay with audience members.

There’s a unique kind of anxiety that creeps in five minutes before showtime when half the chairs are still empty. For comics, that silence hits differently. We start doing mental math: Did I post enough? Should I have made a reel? Did my followers ignore this one? Is this my fault?

The pressure to fill the room has somehow slipped into the job description of comedians—particularly those of us working in indie, alt, or DIY scenes. And to be blunt: it shouldn’t be.

At the same time, let’s also be real—if you’re on a show, it’s not a huge ask to let people know. You don’t need to become a content machine. But a simple post, a story, a mention—those things matter. Not just for the producer, but for the whole lineup. Sharing is solidarity.

💬 A Real Moment That Stuck With Me

After a recent show, a comedian messaged me:
“There weren’t many customers there, so I won’t worry too much about the pay. Honestly, keep it—thanks for the spot.”

It was generous. But it also hit me hard.

Because beneath the politeness was something familiar: that subtle feeling that if not enough people showed up, maybe their set wasn’t worth it. That maybe they didn’t earn the spot.

But that’s not how this works. Comics aren’t responsible for turnout—not alone. That’s a producer’s job. Of course, producers don’t control the algorithm or the weather either. But we carry that burden because we believe in the room—and we hope comics will share that belief, even just a little. Your job is to show up, perform, and if you feel like it, let people know where you’re performing. That’s it.

🧠 Comedy is a Collaboration, Not a Transaction

A comedy show doesn’t happen because one person is funny or one person booked a bar. It happens because everyone involved contributes. The producer organises and promotes. The comic writes, performs, and (ideally) shares the event.

But when this relationship becomes lopsided—when comics are only booked based on draw, or producers assume comics should singlehandedly promo the show—it creates tension. The room doesn’t fill, people start blaming each other, and the scene gets colder, not stronger.

🤝 The Symbiotic Relationship

Here’s what a healthy dynamic could look like:

• Producers: Promote the show actively, highlight performers in posts, create a vibe people want to return to. Don’t just rely on comics to do the lifting.
• Comics: Show up, bring your best, and make some noise about it. Not everyone can give the same amount every time—and that’s okay. But if we each give something—some posts, some presence, some grace—we build a space that lasts. That kind of momentum can’t be faked, and it can’t fall on one person alone. Even a quick “Hey, I’m on this cool lineup tonight” makes a difference. Tag the show. Repost the flyer. Let your people know you’re out here doing the thing.

It’s not about being a marketing guru. It’s about showing respect—to the show, to your peers, and to yourself as an artist worth seeing.

🚨 What Happens When It Falls Apart?

When comics feel like their worth is tied to how many followers show up—rather than how hard they crush—it gets toxic.

When producers rely solely on performers to build their audience, it starts to feel exploitative.

When no one shares anything, shows tank, and no one wants to come back.

A healthy comedy scene needs both infrastructure and energy. One without the other burns out fast.

And when no one says anything—even silently—that absence can feel like complicity.

At Comedy on Mackay, whether there are four people or thirty-five, our goal stays the same: to create an intimate, unforgettable experience that makes every audience member feel like part of the show. That’s not the compromise of a small room — it’s the intention.

We don’t measure value in headcount. We measure it in presence, in energy, in connection. Sure, we still need people in seats. But what keeps a room alive isn’t just numbers—it’s returning energy. Audiences who come back. Comics who want to return. That starts with presence, not pressure.

We’re building something ambitious here.
We’re experimenting with format.
We’re showcasing underrepresented voices.
We’re trying to expand what live comedy can look like in Montreal.

That kind of work takes time, trust, and shared energy—and it only thrives when performers and producers recognize their shared role in shaping the room.

💬 The Ask

This isn’t just about flyers or marketing—it’s about shaping the kind of comedy culture we want. When you share a show or tag a lineup, you’re not just doing promo. You’re showing up for the kind of space you want to grow in.

So here’s what I’m saying, both as a comic and someone who produces:

• If you’re a comedian, please share the flyer. Even just a story. It helps the producer, but more than that—it helps you. It builds your presence, shows you're active, and supports the people putting in work to create space for comedy.
• If you’re a producer, please don’t make draw the unspoken requirement. Be transparent if that’s your metric, but better yet—book people who are funny and match your show’s vibe, then give them tools and tags to help promote it without guilt-tripping them.

🌱 A Room Fills Best When Everyone Feeds It
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We’re all trying to grow in this thing—get better, be seen, build audiences. That only works when the relationship between comedians and producers is one of mutual respect and effort, not quiet resentment.

You don’t have to go viral. You don’t have to bring ten friends every time.

But you should let the world know you’re doing something worth showing up for.

Because you are.