Skip to main content
Peter Lundquist needs comedy to survive. So he says in his new solo show Nervous Laughter, on stage now through Jan. 24 at 21ten Theatre, an autobiographical account of his childhood, mental health crisis and salvation through comedy, all in a taut one-hour performance.
“Nervous laughter is a question,” Lundquist says on stage. “Am I safe here?”
Audiences are safe in the hands of Lundquist, 35, a veteran of various Kickstand Comedy programs, such as the Sketch Coven writers’ workshop and the monthly solo-sketch showcase Character Select. In Nervous Laughter, Lundquist embodies a few characters from his past—namely previous versions of himself, and also his father, a fundamentalist preacher.
Audiences be warned: there aren’t many moments of actual comedy in the show, other than the “if I don’t laugh, I’ll cry” variety. You won’t leave with your cheeks aching from smiling like spending an hour at a stand-up comedy show. But the part where he reenacts his father delivering a sermon on the lyrics of the 1999 Bloodhound Gang song “The Bad Touch” is hilarious. (“You and me, baby, ain’t nothing but mammals/so let’s do it like they do on the Discovery Channel” for those who need a refresher on that fine American musical accomplishment.)
Lundquist’s anxiety and religious trauma were off to a running start by age 10, and he describes the depths of his eventual despair in the introduction of the show, including panic attacks, visits to the emergency room, three nervous breakdowns (“so far…” he says, ominously), and a period of three years where he did not leave his apartment. With few options remaining, his therapist prescribes an improv class. “And it worked! [I’m] totally fine now!” he says, again somewhat ominously.
He uses that improv background during a segment of the show called “Wheel of Terror”—performed somewhat inexplicably in a wrestling singlet—where an audience member spins a homemade wheel of exposure-therapy options for Lundquist to endure live on stage. Choices: “Call my dad;” “Go topless;” “Proposition an audience member;” “Commit a federal crime.” At the Jan. 10 show, Lundquist had to “violate the Geneva Convention,” which was funnier in concept than the resulting gag involving a Johnson & Johnson first aid kit.
Nervous Laughter, directed by Brooke Totman, follows in the legacy of other mental health comedy solo shows (yes, it’s a whole genre), including Chris Gethard’s Career Suicide from 2017 and Gary Gulman’s The Great Depresh from 2019. This one is more rinky-dink than those larger-budget offerings, but exceptionally brave, big-hearted and honest.
GO: Nervous Laughter at 21ten Theatre, 2110 SE 10th St. nervouslaughterpdx.eventbrite.com. 7:30 pm Fridays and Saturdays through Jan. 24. $25. Under 18 allowed with parent or guardian.
