Three | Performing Arts Review | Chicago Reader

Three 

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Three, at Second City, Donny's Skybox Studio. Described as "an exploration of the world around us through the eyes of three sardonic men," this evening is more comedy showcase than play: each performer holds court for 20 or 30 minutes, with a rookie announcer to introduce them.

Kyle Kinane is possibly a Steven Wright-Eminem love child. This deadpan perennial art student sums up his life in the title of his would-be autobiography/self-help book, "How to Live in Your Parents' Basement Until You're 30, Never Get Laid and Not Kill Yourself." Much of his material focuses on art-school pretentiousness and home-school loneliness ("I played tag with myself until I got tired of being 'it' all the time"). The most polished is Matt Dwyer, veteran of Second City and other comedy institutions. Within five minutes, he's corralled the audience into a cross-country drug binge with Tom Brokaw at the helm (you always suspected, right?). Dwyer handles each twist and curve in his quick-paced rant "like buttah," to quote a Second City compatriot. Matt Andrews takes us back to Stonerville, but he does have some dead-on observations about gas stations and the people of Wisconsin ("it's a frightening kind of nice").

As the emcee, Emily Dorezas shows potential--she has an eye for targets and a knack for storytelling. However, her material slips too quickly into the cheap-laugh zone--including a joke about a rectum and a tomato peel way too gross to print.

--Kim Wilson

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