Colin and his panel of relatively unknown comedians are like a jazz quintet. They’re given an idea and they see what comedy they can do with it, then they go back to the idea and repeat. But in the listening world of nodding and tapping my foot to prove that I have rhythm, I laugh like a girl instead.

Loose and Sloppy
It’s fun to see Colin Quinn struggle as a host. He forces out failing one liners and practically baby sits his panel by slinging around catch phrases like "shut up" and calling them stupid. His distinctly gruff "I’ve lost my voice at birth due to smoking" mumblings break from the charismatically polished TV host personality. And this sets the tone for the naturally loose show.

Sure it’s annoying that Comedy Central sells the show as dirty, rough, and in your face. Usually when something is promoted like they’re cool jerks that shouldn't be messed with, it seems too phony like Becker, Barbara Walters, and Skelator. But Tough Crowd actually follows through without trying as hard. They are credible jerks.

What Segregates This Show From the Others
It’s like watching a couple of friends candidly talk with each other, but because they are gritty comedians, it’s actually funny. It’s a brimful of self-deprecation and new spins on current events. And the way they rib each other—whether it’s from making fun of their "bombs" or just because it was cheap and easy—is what makes it exciting. It’s not like high school where they taunt you with stale name calling. Creative ribbing is appreciated then dropped so newer baby ribs could take their place. There’s even word that Tough Crowd is a lot funnier during the forty five minute taping. The show is then whittled down to a mediocre show.

The Bad, the Ugly, and the Good
Their take on topics are interesting. If you agree with them, you’re glad your points are voiced by a neurotic. If you don’t agree with them, it’s fine because you understand that they’re not parading themselves as omniscient experts, like Tim Robbins, Patrick Ewing, and Yoda.

To keep the conversation interesting, the panel is composed like a college enforcing diversity. There’s usually always a black, woman, Jew, and/or a gay. Forming a Justice League of Controversy, the formula works like this: put black comedian Patrice O’Neal next to Jim Norton, whose motif involves baldness and a flannel shirt, and you get Patrice calling him a lumberjack with AIDS. Laugh if you’re cruel.

Harsh, yet funny is the theme of the show, which rises above the old standards of yesteryear. Like a jazz quintet Colin and his panel dip into stale stereotypes. Old ideas—like blacks not shutting up in movie theaters, Jews being good with handling money, and gays having sex with the same gender—are artfully rehashed and taken to the next level. And. That’s all.