The L.A. Clown Renaissance: How a DIY Art Form Became Hollywood’s Underground Resistance
In the heart of Los Angeles—where improv reigns on the Westside and stand-up dominates the comedy landscape—something stranger and more subversive has emerged. Over the past decade, a clandestine movement of performance artists, misfits, and rebels has transformed clowning from a circus relic into a radical, anti-algorithmic art form. This isn’t your grandfather’s Ringling Bros. It’s a scene where the rules of comedy, theater, and even sanity are rewritten nightly in black-box theaters, abandoned zoo enclosures, and DIY house parties.
Dubbed “L.A. Modern Clown” by its practitioners, this movement blends avant-garde performance, activism, and raw psychological vulnerability. It’s a space where failure isn’t just tolerated—it’s celebrated. Where the line between comedy and therapy blurs. Where the clown’s traditional role as trickster and truth-teller has been repurposed as a form of resistance in an era of algorithmic content and corporate entertainment.
But how did this happen? And why is L.A. Suddenly the epicenter of a clown renaissance?
The Birth of a Movement
The L.A. Clown scene didn’t emerge overnight. Its roots trace back to 2012, when actor and former Cirque du Soleil performer John Gilkey[1]—often called one of the “fathers of L.A. Modern Clown”—began teaching weekly workshops in the city. Frustrated by the dominance of stand-up and improv in L.A.’s comedy landscape, Gilkey saw an opportunity to introduce something more experimental: clowning as a form of physical and emotional liberation.
Unlike traditional clowning, which often relied on whiteface and slapstick, Gilkey’s approach emphasized authenticity. “The nose is the smallest mask,” he explains, referencing the red nose as a symbolic tool for transformation. “It’s not about hiding—it’s about revealing the truth beneath the persona.” His philosophy resonated with a generation of actors, writers, and artists disillusioned by Hollywood’s rigid structures.
“Clowns have always functioned as the great levelers—annulling hierarchies, profaning the sacred, and turning reason into nonsense. Their motto: ‘I unsettle all things.'” —Adapted from Zen and the Comic Spirit by M. Conrad Hyers, a foundational text in the scene.
Today, the movement has expanded into a loose network of teachers, troupes, and performance spaces. From the Elysian Theater in Echo Park[2]—the scene’s unofficial hub—to guerrilla productions in abandoned Griffith Park Zoo enclosures, L.A. Clowns operate outside traditional entertainment systems. Their work is not about viral fame or corporate backing. It’s about connection, risk, and the kind of unfiltered creativity that thrives in chaos.
Why Clowning in an Age of Algorithms?
The rise of L.A. Clowning isn’t just artistic whimsy—it’s a response to the homogenization of entertainment. In an era where streaming platforms prioritize bingeable, algorithmically optimized content, clowning offers something radically different: imperfection.
Clowning as Resistance
- Anti-Algorithmic: Clown shows are often unrehearsed, unpredictable, and resistant to being packaged for mass consumption.
- DIY Ethos: Many performers fund their own productions, rejecting Hollywood’s gatekeeping structures.
- Psychological Liberation: Clown training encourages performers to embrace vulnerability, failure, and their “inner child”—a counterpoint to the performative perfectionism of social media.
- Community Over Clout: The scene thrives on collaboration, not competition. Performers support each other’s work, even when it bombs.
For many in the scene, clowning is a form of spiritual practice. As Natasha Mercado[3], a leading clown teacher, puts it: “It’s not about being funny. It’s about finding the childlike joy, the playfulness, and the willingness to fail spectacularly.” This philosophy aligns with broader cultural shifts toward mindfulness, emotional authenticity, and rejection of performative success.
The pandemic accelerated the movement’s growth. With theaters closed, clowns pivoted to guerrilla performances in public spaces, including the abandoned Griffith Park Zoo[4], where they hosted Clown Zoo—a weekly production that became a symbol of communal resilience.
Who’s Running the Show?
The L.A. Clown scene is a patchwork of teachers, troupes, and performance spaces, each with its own philosophy. Here are the key figures and collectives shaping the movement:
1. The Teachers: Philosophies and Pedagogies
- John Gilkey – Founder of the Idiot Workshop, Gilkey’s approach blends commedia dell’arte with modern psychological clowning. His students often describe his classes as “therapy with laughter.”
- Chad Damiani – Known for his practical, no-nonsense teaching style, Damiani’s students include Connor Storrie[5], star of the HBO series Heated Rivalry, whose clown training influenced the show’s physical comedy.
- Natasha Mercado – Teaches “soft clown,” an approach rooted in sensitivity, pleasure, and mindful play. Her workshops at the Lyric Hyperion[6] attract performers seeking emotional depth in their work.
- Jet Eveleth – Founder of Clown Church, Eveleth’s classes blend spiritual exploration with performance, often incorporating meditation and breathwork.
2. The Troupes: From Underground to Mainstream
- Cruel Babes – Led by Gilkey, this troupe blends absurdist humor with sharp social commentary. Their shows often explore themes of power, vulnerability, and societal norms.
- Clowns of Color – A collective focused on amplifying marginalized voices in the scene. Performers like Jamonté Williams[7] and DeShawn Ball[7] have gained recognition through festivals like Netflix’s Is a Joke.
- Freak Nature Puppets – Known for their hybrid performances blending puppetry, clowning, and physical theater. Their work often tackles environmental and political themes.
- Biz Baz – A variety act that defies categorization, mixing music, dance, and surreal humor. Their shows are celebrated for their unpredictability.
3. The Venues: Where the Magic Happens
- Elysian Theater (Echo Park) – The scene’s nerve center, hosting weekly jams, intensives, and performances. The theater’s intimate space fosters spontaneity and audience interaction.
- Playspace – A weekly open-mic-style jam where performers experiment with new material. Run by Rachel Ho[8], it’s a testing ground for emerging clowns.
- Griffith Park Zoo (Abandoned Enclosures) – The site of Clown Zoo, a pandemic-era production that became a symbol of communal resilience.
The Sacred Art of the Flop
In L.A. Clowning, failure isn’t just accepted—it’s sacred. The term “flop” refers to a performance that completely bombs, yet from these moments of chaos, something unexpected often emerges. As Alex Tatarsky[9], a Philadelphia-based clown who has worked in L.A., explains:
“The flop is beautiful. It’s about trying to save yourself, the show, and turning shit into gold. That’s clown alchemy.”
One infamous flop comes from Chas Harvey[10], who was performing a bit involving a Baby Hitler doll when an audience member ripped its head off mid-act. Harvey, stripped of his costume and confidence, turned to the crowd and asked, “Is anybody here going to pray for me?” A stranger from the audience stood up, embraced him, and offered a genuine prayer. The moment became a legend in the scene—a testament to the power of vulnerability and connection.
This philosophy extends beyond performance. Many clowns describe their training as a form of self-actualization. By embracing failure, they strip away the masks of perfectionism and performative success, revealing their truest selves. As Damiani tells his students: “The goal is to be your truest self. That’s the clown underneath all the characters.”
From Underground to Streaming Wars
While the L.A. Clown scene remains fiercely independent, its influence is seeping into mainstream entertainment. Several performers have gained recognition through festivals, streaming platforms, and even Hollywood:
- Natalie Palamides – Her one-woman show Weer, which blends absurdist humor with raw emotional exposure, was produced by A24[11] and performed at the Cherry Lane Theater[12] in New York. Palamides’ work has been featured in The New York Times and Vogue, though she remains critical of the scene’s commercialization.
- Zach Zucker’s Stamptown – A clown variety show that will debut as a Netflix special, Stamptown reflects the scene’s eclectic mix of music, dance, and surreal humor. Zucker, a former student of French clown legend Philippe Gaulier[13], brings a more disciplined approach to the movement.
- Connor Storrie – The star of Heated Rivalry has openly credited his clown training with shaping the show’s physical comedy. His Saturday Night Live[15] appearance in 2026 featured a sketch rumored to have originated in a clown class, further bringing the art form into the mainstream.
Yet not everyone in the comedy world embraces the movement. Critics like Zach Zucker[14] argue that L.A.’s clown scene has become too performative, lacking the discipline of traditional clown training. “If you don’t choose it, it chooses you,” he warns. “Clowns are truth-tellers and healers. When people waste my time with bad comedy, I go, ‘Fuck you.’”
What’s Next for L.A. Clown?
The L.A. Clown scene is at a crossroads. As mainstream platforms like Netflix and Apple TV+ take notice, there’s a tension between staying true to the DIY ethos and embracing commercial opportunities. Palamides captures this dilemma:
“I don’t want it to just remain a tiny little thing. I’d love to see it grow. But I would love if it doesn’t become an industry—if it instead remains a community.”
Looking ahead, the scene’s future may lie in its ability to adapt while preserving its core values. Some key trends to watch:
Emerging Trends in L.A. Clowning
- Hybrid Performances: Blending clowning with puppetry, drag, and experimental music (e.g., Freak Nature Puppets, Biz Baz).
- Activist Clowning: Using the form to address social issues, such as Clowns of Color’s focus on racial equity in performance.
- Digital Experimentation: Some clowns are exploring live-streamed, interactive performances to reach broader audiences without compromising authenticity.
- Therapeutic Applications: Clown training is increasingly used in mental health and prison rehabilitation programs (e.g., Harvey’s work with California Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation[16]).
the L.A. Clown renaissance is more than a comedy trend—it’s a cultural movement. In a world dominated by algorithms, corporate content, and performative perfection, clowning offers a radical alternative: a space where failure is sacred, connection is prioritized, and the only rule is to play.
FAQ: What You Need to Know About L.A. Clowning
1. How do I get involved in the L.A. Clown scene?
Most workshops are open to beginners. Check out:
- Elysian Theater – Hosts weekly jams and intensives.
- Lyric Hyperion – Offers workshops with Natasha Mercado.
- Clown Church – Jet Eveleth’s spiritual approach to clowning.
2. Is L.A. Clowning the same as traditional clowning?
No. L.A. Modern Clown rejects whiteface and slapstick in favor of psychological depth, physicality, and emotional vulnerability. It’s more akin to avant-garde theater than circus performance.
3. Are there clown shows open to the public?
Yes! Many troupes perform at the Elysian Theater and other venues. Check their websites for schedules.
4. Can clowning help with anxiety or depression?
Many performers and teachers describe clown training as therapeutic. The emphasis on play, vulnerability, and community aligns with mindfulness practices. However, it’s not a substitute for professional mental health care.
5. Why is L.A. The center of this movement?
L.A.’s comedy culture has always been experimental, and the city’s isolation from traditional theater hubs (like New York) allows for more radical creativity. The lack of institutional gatekeeping also fosters innovation.
The Clown as Mirror
As L.A. Clowning continues to evolve, it serves as a mirror to our cultural moment. In an era of political division, algorithmic curation, and performative identities, the clown’s role as trickster and truth-teller feels more relevant than ever. Whether in a black-box theater, an abandoned zoo, or a Netflix special, the movement reminds us that joy, connection, and authenticity are radical acts.
So, should we all become clowns? Maybe. As one performer put it after leaving a show: “It’s possible we all should be clowns.”
The question isn’t whether clowning will survive the attention of mainstream platforms. The question is whether the rest of us can learn to embrace the chaos—and find the gold in the flops.
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