So much so, that they’re in talks to potentially have recurring performances in the space.Īnd when he’s not securing residencies at funeral homes, Wasserman is hard at work with with Brooklyn Eviction Defense, a coalition working in solidarity with at-risk tenants facing threats of eviction or other violations by landlords.

Leading up to this weekend’s show, Wasserman has been workshopping it, and while it admittedly involves less fake blood, the consensus is still that he and Sparrow are a perfect fit. “I visited Sparrow, and it’s such a beautiful space and there’s something about it that felt like ‘What better place to do a comedy show and have this communal conversation about love and death?’ and so we set a date.” “ had told me that she was opening up this new, death-positive kind of funeral home that was trying to re-own our relationship to mortality and death and I had just decided that I wanted to start doing the show again,” Wasserman recalled. So when Wasserman explained the show to his friend and Sparrow’s funeral director, Lily Sage Weinrieb, it seemed like a perfect fit.

This includes offering freewheeling grief support groups, booking visitations in ‘celebration rooms,’ sharing stories about Death and Dying in the Modern Age, and having a gift shop stocked with everything from grief-based books to comforting home items. It is a comedy show and it is a very funny show, ’cause I’m very funny, but it’s a happy accident that it’s seemingly finding space for people to speak on things that they’re normally not asked or invited to and feel heard or understood.”Īnd this Saturday, Wasserman will be performing the show at Sparrow (161 Driggs Ave.) Sparrow describes itself as a contemporary funeral home that aims to recontextualize people’s feelings about and conversations surrounding death. “I will say I’ve never gotten so many hugs and thank yous after a show than doing this one. “Because my comedy is super interactive and the show itself has all these interactive conversational moments, too, about the audience’s experience with loss and grief, the show is different each time I do it,” Wasserman said.

“So what started as a way for me to just vent about my losses and grief is now a kind of communal sharing about grief that’s chopped up with really goofy chaotic bits.” “I thought ‘Now the whole world is grieving and I’m not so special anymore,’ which is cool, ’cause now the show is a more universal kind of story about loss and grief than just mine,” he reflected. “And then when my dad died and everyone else started getting sick and dying it was like ‘Oh, I can’t not talk about this.’ Whenever I had a new bit, it was very much just an organic response to what I was feeling that day.”Īnd when COVID put his tour plans on hold, Wasserman took the opportunity to explore the possibilities of what the show could really be, to not just himself, but others as the world grappled with excessive amounts of loss. “What I had found was that I just couldn’t not talk about it on stage like I normally do goofy, untethered-to-reality type of stuff like chaotic, high-energy stuff that really has no personal meaning,” Wasserman explained. Live After Death, was born as a result of losing seven loved ones in three years.

Sparrow funeral home