3.5 stars (out of 5)
Saturday, June 11.
Woodhull's comedy, like the premise of "Seinfeld," is about absolutely nothing and yet somehow incredibly successful. It is not loud, political, racial, deadpan, improvised, satirical, wacky, musical, gimmicky, family-friendly, new age, raunchy or any other traditional comedic variety. Woodhull simply makes fun of himself and his ex-girlfriends for 45 minutes and he's brilliant at it. He doesn't change volumes or make funny faces and he doesn't need to; he has very simple and plainly written subject matter that is made exponentially funnier by his natural Midwestern voice — which is not terribly eccentric, but contains enough character to maintain a distinctive punch.
Perhaps his most endearing characteristic is his mastery of a very rare and difficult demographic — the late twenties/early thirties niche. There's a massive logjam in the world of college humor, and then most other club-comedians skip right through the entry-level working crowd into the midlife crisis demographic. But the brilliance of Woodhull's diagnosis on the everyday plights of a 30-year-old Midwesterner in 2011 is unprecedented.