The Cult of “Kill Tony”

The world of comedy is in a weird place right now. A distinct strain of gleefully transgressive comics have embraced taboo-busting (read: bigoted) jokes to become arena-packing headliners and podcast luminaries. That shift has placed the epicenter of the form in Austin—and specifically in Tony Hinchliffe’s pressure-cooker of an open mic night known as Kill Tony, where comics look to launch their careers in front of crowds who mock them mercilessly. For Slate, Luke Winkie unpacks the many discomfiting layers of the crucible.

This is one of the golden rules on Kill Tony. The comics pulled from the bucket will be treated with the exact opposite of careful reverence, and everything about them is fair game. “I expected that my first appearance would be absorbed in how I looked, and that I was going to get played with like a toy,” said Jacob Barr, a comedian from Michigan who landed on Kill Tony last summer. Barr was born with a congenital disorder that caused him to have short forearms and malformed hands. During his interview with Hinchcliffe, Kill Tony’s longtime producer, Brian Redban, piped in the sound of a squealing dolphin. “It’s a humiliation ritual,” Barr continued. “My parents hated it—they did not like it.” But would Barr appear on the show in the future? No question. The exposure led to more bookings, and with them, and a faint pathway to a full-time career in comedy. If his name is ever pulled again, however, Barr hopes to deliver a “more technical” minute—one that isn’t completely overshadowed by the way he looks.

“It’s a weird experience,” Barr said. “I’m trying to be a stand-up, but I’m also trying to be a person.”