Not everyone finds fame, but the lucky ones at least find a scene: for Dinsmoor, it was the off-off-Broadway revues of Ed Koch’s Manhattan. Chucklehead was six players, four writers, a musician, a videographer, and a useless producer, and they were ready to conquer the world. Through the lens of recollection, the larger-than-life characters in the troupe loom even larger: there’s three-hundred-pound Pat, the Brooklyn thespian and occasional pornographer; Dirk, an ambitious auteur hidden under the facade of a laid-back California dreamer; Angie, the snarky, curvy object of everyone’s affection. Then there’s Dinsmoor himself: Midwestern, Ivy League-educated, longing to break out of his day job in medical writing and make it big in the entertainment industry. These were salad days, indeed: “We are still in our late twenties and life is good. The troupe has yet to disband. I have yet to be married and divorced, yet even to meet my future bride. We’re all still alive. And at that precise moment in time, we are completely in love with being us.” Before Chucklehead is able to make it to the top, egos, addictions, and the unpredictability of life get in the way. Even so, the experience leaves Dinsmoor with a series of stories that capture the fullness and frivolity of youth.
Presented anecdotally, the memoir fills in the interesting facts about this obscure but highly relatable comedy group (and wisely leaves out those that would be of no interest). Dinsmoor is a practiced storyteller, his comedy chops intact: he knows the beats, he layers in the details, and he can make the reader laugh (and sometimes cry) pretty much at will. He often stuffs exposition into the mouths of the characters instead of simply presenting it himself, but his handling of the personalities in the book is so skillful, and the presentation of the time and place so evocative, that any instances of clumsiness are quickly forgiven. Anyone who has ever attempted to achieve something creative as a member of a group will recognize the familiar mechanisms of discord, and anyone who has ever been part of a close network of friends will be hit with a cathartic dose of nostalgia. Chucklehead never found fame, and yet somehow that fact makes these stories all the more vital.
A funny, endearing memoir of a comedy troupe coming together and falling apart.
~IndieReader.