Gotham City needs to be saved once again. As the set begins, Commissioner Gordon (Curtis Luciani) thanks Batman for offering to help and hangs up the iconic red phone. For the next 25 or so minutes, he and police officer Clancy O’Hara (Eric Heiberg) just… wait for Batman. 

Obviously “Waiting for Batman” is a riff on “Waiting for Godot,” and they share absurdist DNA that is perfect for the duo’s unique styles. Curtis is pure chaos broiling beneath a dizzying intellect. Heiberg meanwhile has astonishing emotional commitment—he once told me that he literally doesn’t hear the audience’s reaction when he’s onstage, a claim that will shortly become relevant. And of course, they’re both very very funny.

I saw “Waiting for Batman” two or three times, and I wish it were more. But I’m going to use this entry to tell you about their performance at the 2015 Improvised Play Festival, one of the Hideout’s long-running contributions to the gospel of narrative longform.

I was pleasantly shocked to learn that, thanks to AIC historian Peter Rogers, the show is on video; you can even hear my dumb laugh on the tape. For whatever reason, improv comedy doesn’t translate to video as well as stand-up or sketch. (Having watched dozens of festival-submission videos, I can confirm.) But, in my biased opinion, this one’s well worth watching.

The chaos began before the duo even took the stage—one of them had forgotten or misplaced the essential red-phone prop, and they substituted it with a 22-ounce can of, I kid you not, Arizona Cherry Lime iced tea.¹ Curtis used the can as an ersatz Batphone and it quickly became a co-star of the scene, its unnatural colors provoking synesthesia in Officer O’Hara while Commissioner Gordon opened it and took a sip that he immediately regretted.

Otherwise the set proceeded in its usual fashion, Heiberg vacillating between crushing self-doubt and rousing self-assurance as Curtis alternately bullied and encouraged him, Batman hardly entering the conversation. The cacophony might not be for everyone, but boy was it for me. 

Suddenly, seamlessly, one of Curtis’s extended rants turned dark, serious, and addressed toward the audience: “This isn’t just some funny goof with a funny superhero… what we’re doing here is dark and dangerous”—here Curtis turned to the audience—“and it is the DUTY of EVERY INDIVIDUAL to ATTACK POLICE OFFICERS!” He pulled a flummoxed Heiberg to the smashed fourth wall and pointed out the audience: “Look at them! Look at ‘em!” 

And then came Heiberg with the moment of singular brilliance that I’m writing about 11 years later: “Who are you always talking to, sir??”

Improv is all about building a world together. Every yes-and impulse in an improviser’s body should tell them to acknowledge what’s in front of them, what another player is explicitly and urgently begging them to acknowledge. What Heiberg did is called a “block,” and it’s broadly discouraged because it creates conflicting worlds between the players instead of a shared one. But professionals know when to break the rules. Curtis could see the audience; Heiberg could not.

The scene continued, Officer O’Hara still wracked with self-doubt. “I just want to know I’m a good person,” he wailed. Commissioner Gordon challenged him: “How do YOU know you’re a good person?” A moment passed, and then as if to demonstrate his commitment, O’Hara grabbed the can of cherry limeade iced tea and gulped down the whole 22 ounces at once, then threw the empty can and screamed. The room lit up, and then came the second moment of brilliance: Heiberg heard us. 

This was an act of pure improv sophistication because it retroactively justified why Gordon could see the audience and O’Hara could not. Less than five minutes before, Heiberg had sharply defined a difference between their two worlds; now, against all odds, he found a way to unify them after all without “breaking the rules.”

With dazzled fear in his eyes, Heiberg turned to the audience and Curtis screamed: “DO YOU SEE?? … It’s time you met them the way a baby meets the world.” He led Heiberg offstage, who timidly greeted the audience members, shaking somebody’s hand.

Still in character, still terrified, Heiberg turned to Curtis: “Sir if I could be so bold, just moments ago, you said ‘Any time you see a police officer, murder them on sight’.” 

Said someone in the audience: “Get ‘em.”

Photos once again by the inimitable Steve Rogers Photography.

1. The US feels weirder with every passing year, man.