Montreal, July 18—Hospital instead of curtain call for Bob Arno at the end of his performance in the televised Just For Laughs Gala, Friday night. Hosted by Craig Ferguson, the all-star line-up played to a packed house at the 2200-seat St. Denis Theatre. Performing comedians included Craig Robinson, Mike Birbiglia, Steve Byrne, Elvira Kurt, Bruce Bruce, and of course, Bob Arno.

The day before, Bob rehearsed the seven cameramen and the sound and light technicians. The theater looked spectacular. Andy Nulman was there, an old friend of Bob’s for more than 20 years.

We arrived on show night in time for makeup and a photo shoot. Then Bob cased the joint, as usual, getting a sense of the upscale audience the costly event attracts. At 7:30 or so, standing in the back of the house waiting to go on, Bob began to feel a little queasy. Something was bothering him, and it was getting worse, not better. Backstage in the wings, I had no idea.

Bob went on and did a smashing show, only a minute longer than his allowed ten. Dashing into the wings to huge applause, he ducked under the video camera waiting to tape his bumper shots. I chased Bob through the backstage maze, through the dressing room hall where 20 or more comics watching the the show on monitors burst into applause, and only caught up with him in our dressing room.

“You’re supposed to tape bumper material,” I reminded him, “it’s in the contract.”

“I can’t,” Bob said, doubled over. “I have a kidney stone.” He grimaced.

Bob Arno’s virtuoso performance was also a heart thumper. With a switch from crime to comedy, “pickpocket” Arno has gone straight but, be forewarned, he’s nobody’s straight man. He delivered a hilarious routine that left the audience running for cover, and double-checking its pockets.” —Hollywood Today.

The scene in the dressing room was bizarre. Bob and I discussed options, to the extent Bob was able to communicate at all. The door was knocked on by a procession of people, and each time I opened it, the inside handle fell off. I was irritated that I had to fit it back on each time, otherwise the door could not be opened. Meanwhile, the next comedian’s routine was blasting into the dressing room and—we could hardly believe it—he seemed to be doing a routine on kidney stones! He graphically described a urinary exam that had Bob shaking his head when I urged him to go straight to the hospital.

Meanwhile, the cameramen kept trying to interview Bob, a PA wanted me to sign off on payment, Andy Nulman was recommending hospitals, a car and driver was arranged, and I was spreading apologies.

Then Bob pulled two watches out of his pocket which, in his pain, he was too distracted to return while on stage. I gave them to Craig Ferguson, who tried to return them to their owner from stage between comedians. One watch was claimed, the other was not. Perhaps its owner left, or didn’t realize it was missing. Eventually, a woman claimed it, running up on stage and admitting it wasn’t hers, but that claiming it allowed her to get a kiss from Craig Ferguson.

Bob skipped the curtain call and slept it off. It was a rough night for him, having refused the hospital. By noon the next day, he was almost back to normal. The Montreal Gazette, in its review, bestowed “Best Act” on Bob.

Happily, we kept our early dinner reservations, then meandered slowly through the city streets, packed with Just For Laughs Festival goers. At the St. Denis Theatre another Gala show was in progress. We popped in and offered to tape the video bumpers and intros that Bob had refused to do because of his illness. Bob delivered them with energy so high it was hard to believe he had been so incapacitated 24 hours earlier.

We headed back out toward the street of festival crowds, where all the comedy stuff was happening. A giant praying mantis climbed over us, its delicate legs lifting high, head tilting, eyes flashing. We were on a perpendicular street about half a block from the thickest crowd, when suddenly there were screams ahead and panicked people scattering. I just had time to ask “what is it? what’s going on?” Then a bucket dumped on me, and on everyone around me. It was a storm the likes of which I’ve never experienced before, despite having lived in the tropics in Asia, Africa, and the Caribbean. One minute it was dry. The next was like standing under a waterfall. There was no cover. We crowded into a doorway, but it didn’t have a roof. Another couple squeezed in and put up an umbrella. I cozied up to them, uninvited, and got the spill from their umbrella along with the rain. We were drenched.

Watch for the 2008 Just for Laughs television show hosted by Craig Ferguson. It will be broadcast around the world. I don’t know when.