A Mystery Wrapped in an Enigma Wrapped in a White Headband: Dat Phan
At first, after he won the debut season of reality contest Last Comic Standing (at the Paris Hotel/Casino theater, no less), Dat Phan just made me angry. Who was this nobody, this painfully mediocre “fish out of water” (from San Diego) who co-opted Margaret Cho’s act yet relieved it of all bite? The fact that he received a NBC development deal and a Comedy Central Presents half-hour over the seasoned likes of Kathleen Madigan, Rich Vos and Ralphie May was an outrage, and the show began its rapid descent into irrelevance.
Over time, though, I just felt sorry for the guy. He was at best a feature thrust into a position he simply wasn’t ready for as a performer. He really didn’t do anything dishonest or wrong – just answered an open call and hoped for the best. No one would have done it any different, and he had no control over the outcome. Perhaps he would have one day earned that deal/special on his own artistic merit, but it all happened too quickly, and there’s no undoing a shocking win on network television. The subsequent industry backlash ensured that Phan would face being the butt of jokes, a shorthand symbol of everything wrong about the business side of comedy, for the rest of his career. And at this point, that career really has nowhere to go.
He moved to Vegas a few months back and has been booked a few different times at Palace Station’s LA Comedy Club, where he headlined all last week (February 25 through March 2). And now I’m just completely baffled by him.
It was unavoidable that I met and shook hands with him immediately before a 7 p.m. show. He was friendly and chatty right off the bat, which automatically meant trouble: so much for getting in, getting out and writing a completely unbiased assessment of his performance. Hard to be brutally honest about someone so unabashedly eager to please. Was this guy genuinely, straightforwardly nice? Is he so far removed from the rest of the comedy community that he’s completely unaware of how he’s perceived? Or is he actually so smart that he’s well aware of the backhanded compliments and snide remarks, and this is him working overtime to prevent any further condemnation?
Inside the showroom, while host Nancy Ryan and featured comic Rob Sherwood did their respective things, I sat scribbling alone in the back. Phan soon came over, commented on my writing speed, amount I was accumulating, and the fact that I didn’t seem to be laughing. “I see a lot of comedy,” I responded, hoping that he would take the hint that yes, I was a comedy snob, and yes, I already had some preconceived notions that would take some serious convincing to undo, so perhaps it’s just better if you leave me alone to be a judgmental bitch in peace.
Instead, he sat down at my table. Soon I was in possession of his business card (“I love human beings, and I want to be your friend,” it reads), on which he had Sharpied his cell number.
Near the end of Sherwood’s set, Phan asked if I could watch his stuff (CD, DVD, small white towel, water bottle). He then began executing martial-arts-influenced, deep-bending stretches in the back, occasionaly using the backs of two unoccupied chairs for support.
When he was brought on stage, he didn’t come through the back curtain like most every other performer does; he climbed the showroom floor’s short stairs at stage right. Wearing a white headband over hair gelled into towering spikes, brown tee shirt underneath a sleek, Asian-inspired black jacket and bright green pants accented with all manner of black straps and buckles, it didn’t take him long to ditch the jacket and start in with the impressions of his family, lightning-quick chatter and a series of highly animated chops, kicks and whirls.
Material-wise, the set was pretty much what I’d anticipated: even his “political” bits conclude in mimicry of his mother. He’s very physical, wide-eyed, in complete control of the stage and unshakably confident, and Phan is certainly trying his mightiest to address cultural stereotypes. The extent to which he succeeds, however, is another matter.
Out front afterward, he hawked DVD copies of Cellular, the 2004 Kim Basinger film in which he made a cameo, and again pressed the flesh, encouraging me to call him anytime, for anything at all I might need.
At 9:08 a.m. the next morning, I received the following text: “It was great to meet you last night Julie. Do you have a MySpace or Facebook profile? Dat Phan.” I have yet to respond.
Dat Phan, if you’re out there stalking this blog (and I’d guess there’s a good 50/50 chance you are), I very much respect your dedication to the craft. Deep down I am really rooting for you to prove all the naysayers wrong and strike a tremendous blow for every “ethnic” comic who ever got pigeonholed, as well as for everyone who never had that second chance to follow through on a dream. I wish you all the best of luck in the future. There’s just no way you’re gonna be my MySpace friend in the meantime.