Christopher Titus is everything one would hope for: funny, charming and full of advice for comedians.
Within seconds, he’s talking about the state of American medicine, delivering the kind of line that could easily sit inside one of his specials.
“Doesn’t it always sometimes feel like our medical community is run by a bunch of people that couldn’t run a Big O Tires?” he said with a laugh.
Observation is the key to his comedy. He’ll bring it to the Tempe Improv Friday, Sept. 11, and Saturday, Sept. 12. Titus doesn’t hide his affection for the Tempe Improv.
“That club is just one of the best in the country,” said Titus who recorded a special there.
“Sometimes when they [other clubs] do a remodel, they mess a club up,” he said. “There was a magic to that club for years, and they didn’t. It’s still got the magic to it.”
Landing in America
He’s coming to film “Doomed to Repeat,” a show built around a discovery that reshaped how he sees his own place in the country.
“I found out my family’s been in America since 1635,” he said. “Which means I’m OG American. That’s right. The Titus family has been here 400 years, and guess what? We don’t own anything.”
The line is classic Titus: sharp, self‑deprecating, and rooted in a larger point.
“I guess we were just drunk and getting in fights,” he said.
The lineage gave him a framework to talk about the country’s current moment.
“With all that’s happening in the country right now, it gave me a unique perspective to comment on some stuff,” he said. “This show’s not super political. I didn’t want it to be super political. But it’s one of my best.”
He’s not exaggerating. “I even got a standing ovation second show in Texas on Friday.” He pauses, letting the surprise sit there. Titus has never been afraid to cross lines, and he knows some jokes will land harder in certain rooms. “Dude, look, I’m going to [tick] off a couple of red hats,” he said. “But I can live with that.”
His relationship with comedy started early. “When I was a little kid, I used to go to sleep listening to Bill Cosby records,” he says. “Didn’t know he was a [criminal], but I was also a child.”
He remembers the night he decided he would be a comedian. “I was living with my crazy mom,” he said. “We were living in an apartment in North Hollywood, and I remember the night I made the decision I was going to be a comedian. I was like 4 or 5.”
At 14, he got his first real look at the craft. A woman his father was dating took him to the San Francisco Comedy Competition.
“I got to see one of the preliminary nights, and I got to see 20 different guys,” he said. Then the semis. Then the finals.
“I remember understanding that comedy was more than I thought it was,” he said. The finals lineup was stacked: Marshall Warfield, Dana Carvey, Michael Winslow, Mike Davis, and A. Whitney Brown.
“It was the first time I saw what comedy really could be.”
When he was 17, he performed for the first time.
“I asked if I could do a comedy set at the senior follies [at school],” he said.
“And I ripped on the school. I ripped on all the teachers.”
Then he staged a demonstration for the incoming senior class on “how to trash a freshman.” He and a friend hog‑tied a kid, dragged him onstage, stuffed him in a garbage can, and walked off.
“When I got off stage, all the people at school went, ‘I didn’t know you could do that. ‘That was crazy.”
He wasn’t the funny guy in the hallway. He was the guy who had to write it down. “[George] Carlin’s my favorite,” he said. “Carlin was really such a good writer. I started very, very young.
“Robin [Williams] and Carlin are my heroes, and Robin made it up, but Carlin was really such a good writer.”
Writing became his way forward.
“I gave myself four years,” he said. “If I couldn’t make a living at four years, I was going to quit and go to law school.” He didn’t quit. “After four years, I made enough money to pay my bills,” he said. “And then I taught myself how to write movie scripts and TV scripts, and that’s how I got my TV show.”
He pauses. “I have no college, and I have a Writers Guild nomination, so I’m pretty blessed.”
He’s blunt about the state of comedy today.
“It’s so weird. It’s so bad right now,” he said. “There’s a lot of bad comedy right now.” Too much crowd work, too many easy jokes. “People still talking about farting and sex,” he said. “You need to write ambitious.”
It’s advice he gives his son, Jett, who is also a comedian. “He came to me when he was 19 and goes, ‘I want to do stand‑up comedy,’” Titus said.
“And I said, ‘Nope. Not a chance.’” He didn’t want his son living bitter if it didn’t work out. But the kid signed up for a comedy class anyway. “He goes, ‘I have to get on stage. I can’t chicken out.’ And I thought, OK, that’s good.”
His son moved to San Francisco, built a crew, and endured brutal open mics.
“He told me some stories,” Titus said. “I was like, ‘Holy God, kid, you really hate yourself.’” When he came home months later and performed the same jokes, Titus didn’t hold back. “I said, ‘You’re not working hard enough.’ You’ve been gone for four months, and you have no new jokes. Nothing.”
Applause, applause
Titus has sold shows to major networks. His multi-cam show “Titus” earned an Emmy nomination, while Titus received a WGA Award nomination for his writing
On the small screen Titus also starred in ABC’s “Big Shots,” “Future Tense” and created and starred in “Special Unit” for Comedy Central.
He has released 10 90-minute comedy specials, including “Amerigeddon” on Amazon. His 10th special, “Carrying Monsters,” complements his first show, “Norman Rockwell is Bleeding.”
The Armageddon Update/Titus Podcast has over 10 million downloads.
Family affair
His family is full of performers. “My wife’s [Rachel Bradley] also a comedian,” he said. “She’s releasing her second special.” His daughter, Keni, has a record contract with Warner Brothers. “We are the Jonas Brothers Partridge family Osmonds,” he said. “It’s crazy.”
He’s grateful he still gets to do this. “This is my 11th 90‑minute special,” he said. “I’m just really blessed that I get to keep doing this.” He quotes Bruce Springsteen, who was asked when he’d do a farewell tour. “He goes, ‘I’m not. I’m going go till the wheels come off.’ I feel the same way.”
