'The Comedian' Allen Chaney SE2PrePro: Spotlight Test

'THE COMEDIAN' ALLEN CHANEY
Season 2 (Pre-production) Lighting Test- Spotlight



“Why, anxiety? I’m just sitting here.”
-Marc Maron

Silence.

A clock ticking away on the wall.

A common theme between Allen Chaney and his Psychiatrist Dr. Howell.

Finally, Dr. Howell clears his throat to speak and Allen glances up from his phone.

“So. I think it’s fantastic you opened up the way that you did. Mr. Fitzsimmons sent me a tape of your… breakthrough. I’m proud of you for taking that step.” Dr. Howell says, picking up his notepad and pen.

“You aren’t going to take credit for that, are you? Because I want to stress that my ‘breakthrough’ has absolutely nothing to do with you, you absolute hack. Are they just handing out Doctorates in Brain Wrangling now or what? Can you find them in a Cracker Jack box? You suck at this. And you look funny. That’s not true. That was out of line. Sorry. You still suck at your job though. Like, real real bad. You are the worst at this.” Allen says. Wanting to make it clear that even though he had come clean about the kind of person that he really was that nothing was different between him and Dr. Howell. Dr. Howell just smirks in response. Fucker.

“I seem to recall you mentioning something about putting on a false negative attitude to push people away. Is that what this is? Or is there another reason why once again you seem to think so little of me and these sessions?” Dr. Howell asks, still scribbling notes.

“Because this didn’t help. None of it has helped. I get more out of talking to the few friends I have than I do talking to you. Even Daniel is more of a listener than you and the only reason he cares if I live or die is I make him money. But that’s really the entire case with you fucking people isn’t it? I’m a paycheck to you. I’m the john and you’re an emotions prostitute, taking money from people who are sick in the fucking head and don’t know any better. I come here because I have to. To keep my job. That’s it. I’d rather be doing literally fucking anything else right now. I’d rather pull out one of my toenails and replace it with a JFK Half Dollar. I’d rather have boiling chowder funneled into my asshole, frat boy butt chug style. I’d rath-”

“Is that it?”

“One more.”

“Go on.”

“I’d rather have my scrotum folded upward and superglued to my pubic area so my front area just looks like a stretched out flesh bubble.”

“Your first two were better.” Howell says, no longer writing notes.

“Wasn’t asking for punch-up notes.”

“I think I could get a funnel and the diner two buildings down has a pretty good vegetarian chili. Don’t think they do chowder, though.” Dr. Howell says, clearly amused by all of this.

“Are you seriously trying to ‘Yes, and’ a bit right now? Nah. No. It stops here. You’re useless. I’ll stay to keep my job but when it comes to all this shit? Nope.” Allen says, folding his arms.

“Okay. Funny thing is that PWE management reached out and said after today you are no longer required to so… best of luck to you, Mr. Chaney.” Dr. Howell says, closing his notepad.

Allen blinks.

Twice.

“Are you fucking with me right now? Are there dudes with a cattle prod and a straitjacket outside that door?” Allen asks.

“Oh, definitely. And a third gentleman preparing the chowder funnel.” Dr. Howell says with a roll of his eyes.

“Stop doing the bit. You aren’t a part of the bit and even if you were, the bit is over.”

“Well I was not lying. In my personal opinion we have a lot more work to do here and Mr. Fitzsimmons has offered to continue covering our sessions if you want to continue but if you want to be done then we can wrap up here and that will be that. You keep your job and you never have to see me again.” Dr. Howell says.

“Oh. Okay. Yeah.” Allen says, finally uncrossing his arms.

“That’s what you wanted, right?” Dr. Howell asks, setting the pen and notepad aside entirely now.

“Yes. Absolutely.” Allen says. That was most definitely what he wanted. 100% for sure.

“Okay then. I just wanted to leave you with something to think about.” Dr. Howell says.

“Sure. Fine.” Allen says, seeing the light at the end of the tunnel.

“Those few people you’ve opened up to who do such a better job of this than I do. What happened that caused you to open up to them?” Dr. Howell says.

Allen starts to say something and immediately realizes the trap he had helped set up for himself that he had completely fallen right into. He wasn’t going to say it out loud but he didn’t really need to. It was after he started this therapy that he opened up to Martin. To Daniel. Now Martin was going through a rough time and needed Allen’s help and Daniel was looking to come out of retirement and wouldn’t be around as much. And now he opened his vulnerabilities to literally EVERYONE. All these people messaging him about how they went through similar things and how he was inspiring to them. Allen felt the weight of that now. He wouldn’t just be able to selfishly use people as a pillar for support. He had to be a pillar for others now. And then there’s all of the people looking to use those vulnerabilities against him Trying to get inside his head. They knew who he really was now. There was no going back from that.

Dr. Howell just watched as Allen sat in silence for several minutes before then beginning to breath super hard and clutching at his chest. He was sweating. An anxiety attack. Allen just silently gave himself one.

“Deep, slow breaths, Allen. Look at me. Follow my breathing.” Dr. Howell says. He takes a deep breath in and exhales. He does it a few times and Allen follows along. Eventually calming down.

“How would you feel about me putting you on Xanax, Mr. Chaney? I know you like a drink or two which is why I’ve been avoiding the topic but if you can cut back on the beverages then I think this would be a huge help.” Dr. Howell says, already writing a prescription. Allen just nods in response. Dr. Howell hands the slip of paper to him and Allen just walk to the door.

“You can make an appointment for next week with Sarah out at the desk. See you then, Mr. Chaney.” Dr. Howell says.

Allen releases something between a grunt and a growl because Dr. Howell was right. He’d be there next week.

Fucker.

We are at the same sound stage we saw The Comedian on last time but now it seems like a new set was in the process of being built. The camera passes by the fake sitcom house which still had a lot of work to be done but the part of the set the camera eventually settles on was set up to look like a classic comedy club. Microphone, stool, brick wall, and a neon sign reading ‘LAFF ZONE.’ It looked like it was filming from the audience so there were a few tables and the lighting made the faux-shadows of the fake ‘audience’ seem plausibly real even if they are motionless.

Allen walks on screen and in front of the camera. He grabs the mic from the stand and looks directly at the camera as if he is looking directly at the viewer before finally he… shrugs.

ALLEN CHANEY: Look, I’m just as confused as the rest of you but here we are and I’m going to enjoy it and the rest of you are all just going to have to live with it.

Allen takes a deep breath.

ALLEN CHANEY: I know who Shawn Warstein is. Anyone with nothing but a buck to their name and more than one functioning brain cell would bet that last dollar on him winning the Olla-Rumble but the joke was on them. I know that the last time this company had a big dumb hootenanny like this that Adrien Cochrane ran the hell away with it and many thought he’d do it again but the joke was on him. As much as I make fun of Nathaniel Dixon, the goofy-looking fuck has a killer instinct and could have easilly gone all the way in the Rumble but the way things shook out? The joke was on him. Vincent Black eliminated Warstein AND Dxxon and by all accounts probably should have gone all the way to win the whole thing but it turns out the joke was on him. Allen Chaney was finally content to carve out a living on the mid-card and live comfortably off his mid-card paychecks and never have to worry about putting himself in the spotlight again but uh….then I won the fucking thing so I guess in the end the joke is actually on me. What the fuck, right?

Allen rolls his tongue over his teeth.

ALLEN CHANEY: I never really opened up to strangers much but amongst my few friends growing up they always considered me the funny one. If I was feeling bad it always made me feel better to make them laugh. Then in high school as a freshman I was told that the Theater department had a monthly show where they did original sketch comedy and I wrote a few things and within two weeks I was the king of the theater kids. All my buddies would then pressure me. ‘You gotta do standup, dude. You’ve gotta do it.’ so I started writing my 15 minute set. I spent YEARS working on that 15 minute set. I graduated High School. I started going to Junior College while working a shitty fry cook job and worked on tightening and perfecting that 15 minutes. Learning it from front to back and telling it to only my closest friends so I could learn where I’d need to pause for laughter. What worked and what didn’t. Cutting jokes, adding new ones. Then one day I look up the biggest Comedy Club in the Kansas City area and find when they have an open mic night and I call them and sign up. I put on a nice button-up and a pair of khakis that I ironed which was the first and last time I ever ironed a pair of pants. I get five minutes. I have fifteen memorized so I pick my best five of those fifteen and the open mic host says ‘Welcome to the stage…Allen Chorney!

Allen sighs, still a little bitter that one guy got his name wrong over a decade ago. A spotlight kicks on and focuses on Allen. He put a hand up to briefly shield his eyes, allowing them to adjust. Just acting, he was used to that by now.

ALLEN CHANEY: So I walk up and for the first time a spotlight is on me and… and all fifteen minutes just fly out of my head. They’re just gone. I try and remember key words that can maybe start a joke and just…nothing is coming. I just stand there in the spotlight fumbling for a while until I eventually vomit Kraft mac and cheese on myself and get off the stage. I get off stage and I’m shaking and I tell myself I can’t ever put myself through that again. I still can’t eat box mac and cheese to this day.

Allen makes a noise with his mouth like there’s something unpleasant in his mouth.

ALLEN CHANEY: A part of me was happy after winning the Olla-Rumble. A HUGE part of me, in fact. But there was another part. The part that in that moment felt like they could taste macaroni rising up in their throat… and once again I find myself in a spotlight and a few months ago I would play it off and tell you how much I felt like I belonged here and how I was going to go on and win the Excellence Championship but uh….honestly I’m fucking terrified. I’m certainly not wearing any pants I ironed when I fight Vhodka.

Allen looks down at his usual attire of basketball shorts. They were… clean enough for being on camera. Might smell a little ripe. He went for a jog earlier and took a sink bath before filming.

ALLEN CHANEY: So now I have to take stock of what I do and I don't have going for me on the road to my shot at the Excellence Championship. I can’t say that I’m the best or the most athletic or the fastest or the strongest or the smartest or particularly good-looking or really honestly too amazing at much of anything. What I’ve got is if you put me in a ring with someone I will make my problems THEIR problem and I’ve got a lotta fuckin problems, Vin. Some shit I’ve already talked about, some shit I’m keeping to myself. I don’t know if I can beat your wife. In fact, I think it’s very likely that I am going to lose. I mean, I also thought it was almost impossible that I was going to win the Olla-Rumble so what the fuck do I know? The point is that whether I think I’m going to win or lose I am going to fight. Maybe I’ll surprise myself. Maybe I won’t. The only way I’m ever going to find out if I belong in the spot I have found myself in is if I go out there and fucking fight. Vomit on pants or no.

Allen subconsciously wipes off his pants even though they aren’t visibly dirty. Again, they may smell a little funky.

ALLEN CHANEY: So what can I tell you about Vincent Black? Well, I can tell you that he’s been in two matches with me now just in the past couple of months and I won both of those matches… so yeah, I guess that’s probably enough. Setup and Punchline or whatever! Later!

ALLEN CHANEY: Okay okay okay no no no. I have actual shit to say. Now I’m sure ‘The Little Spoon’ I’m about to face has had a few sweet nothings whispered in his ear during bedroom time about softening me up before I have to face his wife. It’s smart. If I had a beefy tattooed husband who also wrestled it’s definitely what I would do. In between cuddling on the couch and picking out nice furniture and dealing with the fact that neither of our families ever approved of our marriage but that just makes our bond stronger because we love each other so much and…

Allen kind of drifts off for a moment while imagining the life he would lead with his imaginary hunky tattoos husband. He shakes it off.

ALLEN CHANEY: Hm? Oh, right. Promo. What I can say is that I actually DO have respect for you, Vin. I’m willing to bet you fought your ASS off to win that Olla-Rumble unless you lost on purpose so you didn’t have to fight your wife or some shit in which case the entirety of this match will be me pointing and laughing at you until you leave in shame and are counted out you fucking biiiiiiiiiitch. No. That’s not the guy I have any interest in fighting. Let me tell you the Vincent Black I’m absolutely fucking jazzed to fight. The one who I’ve beaten twice now and he’s back because we’re cut from the same stupid fucking cloth. We just don’t stay the fuck down, do we Vin? Even when the whole world and every ounce of logic in the world tells us we should. We’ve been told we were washed-up and broken and unfixable and then the two of us waltzed into a high-profile match named after a fucking cat and showed everyone in this company and so many others who the fuck they were dealing with. I’m glad it was us, man. I’m glad we were the guys. Legit.

Allen does, in fact, seem to be speaking sincerely.

ALLEN CHANEY: I could say that this match doesn’t matter. I even just joked about it. I beat Vincent Black. Twice if you count the rumble. That isn’t really true. I’ve never beaten him one-on-one. I sat here and told you all that I don’t give a shit about winning and when I said that it was true. Today is a very different day and between this day and when I said it a lot of shit has happened. Shit that means I have to hold myself to some kind of standard. Fuck, I hate that. Exactly the position I didn’t want to be in. That may have changed since the Olla-Rumble but one thing I said is staying the same. I’m here to hurt people. I’ve said I’m scared but don’t get it twisted. Everything I’m afraid of is in my own head and it’s being dealt with. I ain’t afraid of any of YOU. Y'all could come at me all at once each wearing a Freddy Krueger glove of Gom Jabbars and I’d just smile. Fear is the little death, you cunts. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass. I will…really hope that everyone watching this has read ‘Dune’ or all of this is nonsense.

Allen takes a moment. He hadn’t seen the recent movie but he hoped that it was in there so maybe SOMEONE on the planet would get this.

ALLEN CHANEY: But now this spotlight has been put on me and I’m sure everyone has a fucking stiff one at the thought of me losing and proving that me winning that rumble was just a fluke. Those sharks I’ve talked about before. Blood in the water and all that. The moment this all became real to me wasn’t the moment I tossed Vinny over the top rope or hearing the announcer call my name or even when I got a few congratulatory texts and tweets. The moment this became real for me was when all of a sudden people I didn’t know and have never even associated with started lining up to talk shit. That’s when I knew I really did something. A line is forming of bottom feeders looking to leech something off of my name. It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside, to be honest. I’m going to say the name ‘Tyler Cage’ right now and absolutely make Tyler’s year.

Allen gives a devilish little smirk.

ALLEN CHANEY: Tyler. If you make it to me on your list… you ain’t making it to Jimmy the Bird. That’s what I call James Raven, we’re basically best friends. Setting aside the fact that there’s a pretty competitive betting pool going on backstage regarding whether or not you’ll even beat the CAT when it comes right down to it….I may not have the best confidence of the PWE roster but I would absolutely kick your ass. I’d compare you Lewis Chad Pinkston but frankly you just aren’t as entertaining and aren’t even as good a wrestler. I am done talking about you now. Hopefully for forever.

Allen mimics closing a book, as if closing the chapter on all this Tyler Cage nonsense. This stupid, stupid chapter.

ALLEN CHANEY: I didn’t expect to win but I’m glad I opened up the way I did before it happened. I’m glad because I know there are people like me and the youngins these days who are like me lash out at the world in a different way. I’m not looking to be the poster boy for world-hating incels who think every word turd that falls out of Joe Rogan’s dumbshit face are the gospel and refuse to call people by their preferred pronouns. You aren’t helping yourselves and you’re doing nothing to help the world you are living in. No one who’s ever been upset about a black Spider-Man and feels the need to send more than 10 tweets about it gets to count as a functioning member of society. Go touch some fucking grass, wash your asshole, and watch a movie directed by a person of color that isn’t based of a comic book. I like those movies too, but they aren’t everything. This is a weird tangent, I apologize.

Allen makes the conscious decision to stay on-topic but honestly we’ll see how long that lasts.

ALLEN CHANEY: Vinnie so much lately you talk about how you don’t know if you belong in this industry anymore and you keep fighting. I don’t know if I ever belonged in this industry and I’m in the same boat. I said we’re a lot alike but there’s a significant difference between you and I when it comes to the end result. You keep failing. We both put a lot of pressure on ourselves and no matter how strong you are that pressure starts to form cracks. It’s formed cracks on both of us. But while you just sit there and tell us all about the cracks that are forming I’m working on ways to fill mine in. And sure, it would be easy right now to make a joke about me having my crack filled but I already beat you all to it and no one else is around to make that joke but me. I’ve shown in the past that the pressure for sure can buckle me, crack me, come damn close to breaking me… but I rebuild and maybe I’m even starting to figure out how to rebuild better than when I started. There’s… an acceptance to the way you were talking about yourself around the time of the Rumble that kind of bums me out.

Is Allen actually….concerned?

ALLEN CHANEY: Don’t bring that guy to fight me, Vin. I’m not particularly interested in fighting that guy even though if he shows up I’m definitely going to beat that guy and I don’t even think I’ll have too difficult of a time doing it. I’m looking to prove that I belong in this spotlight and I don’t prove shit if I beat some sad sack looking to get Old Yeller’ed out of the industry by a big fat shit so he can go and lounge in the shadow of his more successful wife. Is that a little harsh? Does that stick in your craw a bit, Vin? Good. Use that and let’s beat the shit out of each other you big buff hairless fuck.

Allen smiles.

ALLEN CHANEY: Folks might think you were handed the short end of the stick in this match, but I learned at the Olla-Rumble that sometimes the short end of the stick is the sharpest. We’ve both got something to prove. Let’s go prove it, man.

Allen looks up at the spotlight again and puts a hand up so it isn’t so bright.

ALLEN CHANEY: So there I was backstage, my ironed khakis covered in my bile which was tinted orange-yellow by fake cheese powder. I told myself I could never put myself through that ever again. I cried. I’m not ashamed to admit I cried my eyes out.

Allen let’s silence hang over everything for a moment.

ALLEN CHANEY: I was back the next week.

Allen kind of smiles to himself.

ALLEN CHANEY: Shakespeare said ‘All the world’s a stage’. Not everyone gets time in the spotlight and usually when they do it isn’t for very long. I’m gonna make the most of this time because in the blink of an eye or the snap of a finger it could all be gone. Setup.

Allen snaps his fingers and the spotlight goes dark and all we see is his shadow.

ALLEN CHANEY: Punchline.

“I was a big dreamer and never particularly good at anything--a real dilemma. I wasn't terrible. I was just... okay. If you're terrible, you can write everybody off, like, "I don't know what the hell those idiots are doing?" I knew what those idiots were doing. And I knew that they did it better than me.”
-Mike Birbiglia

7 AM in the midwest. It’s cold as fuck outside. A nice time to be wrapped up in a blanket and asleep in your warm apartment under a warm blanket with a snuggly cat.

The sounds of ‘WU TANG CLAN AIN’T NUTHIN TA FUCK WITH’ fill the air as Allen’s phone rings. He arises from his slumber and looks around from where in his blanket his phone has buried itself and finally answers it.

“Glurm.” Is the sound Allen makes that will have to pass for a phone greeting.

“Marty? Hey man. How are you doing?”

-

“No no, yeah. I heard about that man, that’s rough. Any time you wanna hang out man just give me a call. Maybe we’ll go to the city and hit up the Velvet Rabbit again. I can sling some jokes at a club then we can have some fun.”

-

“Tonight?”

Allen already finds his brain searching for an excuse. Something to get out of a sudden social engagement with his friend. A doctors appointment, needing to look over his epileptic cat even though Doris next door was always willing to look after Bill. Marty. His friend who had just split with his fiance and had only confided in Allen and the Lord about how bad that made him feel. . His best friend who was there for him when absolutely no one else ever was. Martin West. The Reverend. Who befriended him despite Allen being the least befriendable person on the planet.

Shit.

“Yeah man. Swing by tonight. I’ma get some coffee in me and some laundry done and we’ll have us a hang my dude. See you then.” Allen says.

-

‘Uh. I love you too, brother.”

The call ends.

Allen lays his head back down and tries to get a few more winks of sleep before starting his day. He is able to drif off... for exactly 2 minutes.

WU TANG CLAN AIN’T NUTHIN TA FUCK WITH

Allen answers the phone again.

“Yurph?” Allen says. It was at least a little bit closer to an actual word than ‘Glurm’ was.

-

“Hey boss. No, I saw the tweet. If you’re feeling up to it still then I say go for it, old man.”

-

“Train with me?”

Daniel Fitzsimmons, formerly Daniel Demon. A 50+ year old veteran who was seven feet tall and still built like a fucking tank. He coulda had his pick of anyone to get back into ring shape with and he was picking Allen over his sons.

“Uh, yeah. No I actually may be in New York City pretty soon. Shoot me the details and I’ll be there.”

-

“Okay, later.” Allen says before hanging up his phone. He sets it on the bedside table and just looks at it for over a minute, daring it to ring again. Satisfied with it’s silence he lays his head back do-

‘WU TANG CLAN AINT NUTHIN TA FUCK WITH’

“FUCKING SHIT ON MY DICK.”

Allen answers the phone.

“WHAT!?”

-

‘Oh. Oh hi. Sorry. Yeah, I thought you were someone else. HULU guy, yeah? I remembered your name.”

He didn’t.

-

“Really!? Oh wow you will not regret this. I…oh. I mean yeah I do still take the occasional writing gig so I might be interested. What series?” Allen asks. His hopes that maybe they changed their mind about giving him his own show ere dashed but he didn’t mind too much. It still sounded like they were gonna be offering him some work.

“I guess I do consider myself something of a cat guy. Why do you ask? The….oh you’ve gotta be kidding.” Allen says. He looks up from his bed and over at the only company poster he has on his wall.

And the orange cat looks back at him from the poster.

-

“You know…funny enough it looks like I WILL be in New York City in the next few days, What kinda pay are we talking?” Allen asks.

The phone call continues. Some early negotiations are made. Allen would have his manger Daniel there for the more serious negotiations but he’d likely end up taking the job.

A fucking Ollie Dorito cartoon.

Hilarious.