Just for Laughs has been a launch pad for Canadian comedians. What happens to us without it?

A few weeks ago, I was feeling pretty good about being a Canadian comic. I had been flown out to perform on a taping for Just for Laughs Vancouver as part of the next season of CBC Gem's The New Wave of Standup series — a career first and long-awaited milestone in my eight years as a standup comedian. The morning of my filming, on a typical drizzly Vancouver day, I wrapped myself in a complimentary hotel robe and treated myself to room service. Life was good.

On March 5, the parent company of that same festival that had me flying high, Groupe Juste pour rire inc., announced it would seek creditor protection under Canada's Bankruptcy and Insolvency Act — and that this year's flagship Montreal festival was cancelled.

My first thought, of course, was what a devastating blow this would be to the Canadian standup comedy industry. My second thought was, "Could my exorbitant room service be blamed for this?" Then I remembered I had paid out of pocket.

Just for Laughs is a beacon for Canadian comedy. It is the carrot at the end of the stick that every Canadian comedian is chasing, whether they admit it or not. It has had a hand in creating the very foundation of Canadian standup, and as a result, getting booked on the Montreal festival — the biggest comedy festival in the world — is one of the very few springboards for success in our industry. It has propelled comedians from amateur to something that at least somewhat resembles professional status. Getting on JFL means something. It's a stamp of approval — a sign you've "made it."

With the cancellation of this year's festival, it feels like a tentpole for Canadian comedy has been taken away and comedians have been left scrambling under the fallen big top. Showcases for JFL have all been cancelled at the last minute, and comedians like myself that work on these important sets all year long have been left high and dry. 

The messaging of Groupe Juste pour rire's announcement doesn't elicit a lot of confidence. The Montreal company cited "many challenges" in their industry, including post-pandemic inflation, as reasoning for their current financial state (owing more than $22.5 million to creditors). And although it says it hopes to resume the festival in 2025, that feels like a tall order. The return of the festival is dependent on JPR pulling off a huge restructuring in a year's time. This will take a lot of innovation and downsizing — no small feat for a large company that has already struggled to pivot. 

JFL's New Face's showcase is of particular importance to up-and-coming (God, how I hate that term, but I digress) comedians like myself. It features a lineup of comedians that represent the next generation of comedy and is one of those important career springboards for amateur comedians. And while there's no way to know for sure, I really thought this was my year. In an industry that's all about momentum, that's a tough pill to swallow. 

This leaves me and other comedians with familiar feelings of outrage and apathy. Outrage because, in an industry with so few pathways for success, one sure path has been taken from us — at least this year. Apathy because this is such a typical experience for Canadian comedians. We are used to getting the short end of the stick. The hustle and grind that is so synonymous with standup is even tougher in a country like Canada where opportunities are few. Yet again, we're getting the message that we have to figure things out on our own with little support. 

This outrage can't solely be placed on JFL though. Thanks to COVID, there's an increasingly uncertain artistic landscape in Canada. Many in-person festivals are feeling the pinch; Fringe and Hot Docs are all festivals in financial hot water. However, JFL is different in that it has national recognition, is broadcast across Canada and holds a huge market share when it comes to standup comedy in this country. 

As for other avenues for success, comedians are left with crumbs. There are little to no comedy-specific grants for standup. Often, we're grouped together with theatre artists in the grant world, forcing us to compete with completely different art forms. Meanwhile, I've seen circus arts get its own category. And hey, no shade to Cirque du Soleil — I, of course, feel a kinship with any professional clown or mime. I just want a fair fight. 

And if you're thinking, "Just post your standup online! Build a following!" I can tell you a thing or two as someone with a medium-sized following online. First, the money does not come easy just because you have an online following (though I may receive free zit patches and the odd tote bag, I make little to no money from my 70,000 followers on TikTok). And secondly, while festivals are far from the only thing to work toward in comedy, getting an opportunity to perform at a festival like JFL is still a huge goalpost that's now in peril. So it's hard to know what to work toward. And apathy is the death of art.

Most standup comedians I know are doing multiple shows a week, producing their own shows, running their own social media, putting out podcasts and managing their own careers for little or often no pay. We work and work to finally get opportunities like JFL. And even after we get them, we're still in the driver's seat of our careers — the opportunities don't start flooding in just because we book a big festival. Now, more than ever, it's a grind. So the feeling of pushing the boulder up the hill is a very familiar one for comedians. And the boulder just got heavier.

If JFL does come back next year, it's hard to imagine Canadian comedians getting a good deal. There's no doubt in my mind that the restructuring will leave the festival a shell of its former self, and that its organizers (and their creditors) will be scrupulous when it comes to their bottom line. And what does that mean? Canadian comedians will be first to tell you: it means bringing in more bankable American talent paid for by Canadian taxpayers and artistic institutions. The same criticisms the festival has faced in the past will likely become more ingrained in the future. 

I don't think this paints a picture of total doom and gloom for Canadian comedians though. My hope is that we won't let apathy win. While I want JFL to recover, the vacuum JFL has created in terms of funding and resources presents a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for comedians to take matters into their own hands. Nothing lasts forever — not even the world's biggest comedy festival. So what will take its place?

The talent I see in my home city of Toronto is endless, so I think the possibilities are endless too. I think we can learn from the past and create a festival, or something like it, that is community-based and transparent. Something that fosters talent from within the community, prioritizes a diversity of voices and is hopefully sustainable. I don't know what that looks like yet, but I hope I can have a hand in building it.