A Clown Comes Out of Hiding at the Funhouse

Thursday evening. We are driving down Burnside. As we turn left onto SE 11th, Red remarks that it seems that the New York Times is in love with Portland.

"There's an article about Portland every week," she says, "about some restaurant or nightclub here. It must be a really great assignment for whoever gets sent here."

We park near the corner of the Division. The sign in front of the Funhouse Lounge shows an affable clown. It is neither too genuine nor too ironic. Inside the dark small nightclub, we order drinks and food. Then we sit side-by-side on the cushioned banquette along the far wall near the stage, sipping our cocktails.

Strings of red lights on the ceiling give the place a faux seedy feeling.  There are a few other people sitting on the banquette, but the rest of the room consists mostly of empty round tables.  On the small stage are four chairs side by side facing the audience.

Red and I eat our Wellington sandwiches that we'd ordered at the bar. Upscale bar food is de rigeur in Portland, as Red remarks.

Across the room in the light of the hallway by the front door I see a familiar figure come towards the main room.

"That's Nick," I say to Red.

"Let's see how long he takes to recognize me."

He sees me across the room and recognizes me immediately. We give each a big hug, and I introduce him to Red.

Right after that comes in Hudson and Shelly---haven't seen them in years.  Hudson recongizes me and looks at me like I'm the last person in the world he expected to see sitting there.

Cassie---who has acted in some of Nick's productions---shows up and the six of us take up the whole table by the stage.

At showtime, four actors---two men and two women, all wearing black---climb on the small stage and take seats in the row of four chairs.

The first piece "60 Years to Life" is Nick's, performed solo by an actress standing on stage, looking out to the audience with a single light on her. At the end of the monologue she sings a song composed by Shelly's sister Heidi, accompanied by the president of the theater company, who plays guitar from the side of the stage.

There are two other pieces, with an intermission between the first two acts of the third piece, which is called "Galaxy Blink." I learn it is is written by the woman sitting to the right of me on the banquette.

All of the pieces are effective and well-performed. Red and I agree that nightclub theater like this can work pretty well.

At the end of the evening, outside the lounge, Nick and I make plans to see each other again.  "Now that I've come out of hiding," I tell him.

"I know all about going into hiding," he says.