Comedy Coaster: The most masochistic entertainment at Six Flags Magic Mountain
If Dante had visited Six Flags Magic Mountain before writing his Inferno, I am confident he would have found a place for the Comedy Coaster in the ninth circle of hell. It’s the latest attraction, where schadenfreude and amusement park rides converge to create a spectacle that will make you question humanity’s trajectory. Yes, folks, it’s a rollercoaster that doubles as a comedy stage. Why laugh at stand-up when you can laugh at stand-ups literally falling to their doom?
The concept of Comedy Coaster is simple yet diabolical. A comedian stands at the front of a rollercoaster, facing the passengers, holding a mic, and begins his routine in the station. As the coaster ascends the first big hill, the comedian keeps delivering their bit, hopefully keeping the audience in stitches and not themselves. At the apex of the hill, the passengers wield the power of life and (figurative) death. They decide if the comedian’s jokes are funny enough to save them from an embarrassing ejection. If the comedian bombs, they are unceremoniously ejected from the car and sent flying into nets below. If they manage to tickle the audience’s funny bone, they get the privilege of sitting down in a chair in front, buckled in by quick-moving robotics, to enjoy the rest of the ride.
It’s essentially gladiatorial combat for comedians, but instead of lions, the threat is high-speed amusement and public humiliation.
First impressions: A carnival of cruelty
When I first pitched the idea to the folks at Six Flags they must have thought I watched one too many episodes of Black Mirror: “What if instead of just a regular rollercoaster, we make it a platform for comedians to risk their dignity and well-being? And what if the audience, in their infinite wisdom, gets to decide their fate? Oh, and let’s make it a daily thing!”
The first test run was a festival of cringes and cackles. I watched as comedians of various calibers, from seasoned veterans to fresh-faced novices, braved the ride. There were those who thought they could master the challenge with tight five-minute sets, and others who clearly mistook this for a daredevil stunt show. The first comedian I saw tried to riff on the absurdity of the situation itself, only to be launched skyward by an impatient audience member who clearly thought irony had no place on their vacation.
High stakes: Laugh or fly
The coaster itself is a monstrosity of steel and speed. It’s one of those mega-coasters that you can hear screaming from a mile away. Adding a comedian into the mix is like spiking your morning coffee with jet fuel. As the coaster clanks up the first hill, the comedian must navigate not just their set but the looming possibility of becoming a human projectile.
You’d think the audiences might be lenient, given the precarious situation of the performer, but you’d be wrong. It seems the power to eject a comedian has awakened something primal in people. They are out for blood—or at least for a good story to tell later. Laughter, it turns out, is not just the best medicine, but also the best way to ensure you don’t get ejected 200 feet into the air.
Open mic Tuesdays
After the first tests went well, we’ve been running every day. And then we introduced Open Mic Tuesdays. This is where things go from merely cruel to absolutely sadistic. Imagine, if you will, eager hopefuls and seasoned comedians with new material lining up for their chance to perform. It’s like America’s Got Talent, except the talent has a significantly higher chance of experiencing gravitational mishap.
I MC’d one such Open Mic and witnessed what can only be described as a cavalcade of catastrophe. One brave soul, let’s call him “Johnny Jokes,” took the mic with confidence, only to lose it halfway up the hill as he fumbled his punchline. The audience, sensing weakness, pounced. Johnny was ejected so quickly I barely had time to register the look of sheer terror on his face. Another, a veteran comic trying out new material, managed to eke out just enough laughs to secure his seat for the ride. His victory lap was less triumphant and more relief-soaked as he descended the coaster, looking like he had aged ten years in two minutes.
The ride of your life (or death)
The physical experience of the Comedy Coaster is a blend of exhilaration and existential dread. If the comedian survives the judgment, they’re treated to the rest of the ride—a twisted metaphor for their career, perhaps. They get to enjoy the loops, twists, and turns, albeit with the knowledge that they were only seconds away from a very public failure. For the audience, it’s a two-for-one deal: the thrill of the ride and the thrill of playing Simon Cowell with a side of potential bodily harm.
Behind the scenes: The untold horrors
The mechanics of the ejection system are disturbingly efficient. I got a peek behind the scenes and saw the nets—sturdy, thank heavens—but also a stark reminder of the high stakes. There’s a team of technicians who reset the seats and check the harnesses, likely while questioning their life choices. There’s also a medic on standby, because comedy-induced injuries are apparently a new occupational hazard.
One of the more disturbing elements is the “Laugh-O-Meter,” a device that measures the audience’s reaction and activates the ejection mechanism. It’s a soulless arbiter, coldly calculating the comedian’s fate. The whole setup feels like it was designed by someone who watched The Hunger Games and thought, “Yes, but can we add more slapstick?”
The comedian’s perspective: A high-wire act
I spoke to a few of the brave souls who dared to perform on the Comedy Coaster. One, a seasoned comic named Lisa, compared it to a high-wire act with no safety net—literally and figuratively. “It’s the most terrifying gig I’ve ever done,” she confessed. “You’re not just fighting for laughs; you’re fighting gravity. And the audience knows it.”
Another, a newcomer named Dave, saw it as a trial by fire. “If you can survive the Comedy Coaster, you can survive anything,” he said with a nervous laugh. Dave didn’t survive his set, but he did leave with a story that would undoubtedly make his next routine far more compelling.
Judge, jury, and executioner
As for the audience, they’re a mixed bag of thrill-seekers and comedy aficionados. Some come for the rollercoaster, others for the potential carnage. I overheard one passenger gleefully exclaim, “This is better than Netflix!” as they eagerly reached for the ejection button. It’s a troubling commentary on our entertainment values, but there you have it.
There are, however, moments of genuine connection. When a comedian does manage to win over the audience, there’s a palpable sense of camaraderie. The collective relief is almost as exhilarating as the ride itself. It’s a fleeting but genuine human connection, forged in the crucible of shared experience and imminent danger.
