Hannah Gadsby: Nanette (2018)

Another week with no News Satire Roundup.  I’m changing it up a bit today – while I am reviewing a standup special, which is my go-to move on weeks when my shows are off, it’s not standup from Trevor Noah or anyone connected with The Daily Show.  Instead, it’s a Netflix special featuring Australian comedian Hannah Gadsby.  I’d heard a lot of buzz about this special before seeing it, and I understand why (some spoilers.)

This is my first real exposure to Gadsby and I immediately like her, even as her energy is instantly awkward (as she reminds us throughout the show, part of her job as a comedian is to create the tension she then relieves with jokes.)  Though we’re just getting started, it’s already evident, as the reviews I read pointed out, that I haven’t seen any standup specials like this one.  After all, it’s punctuated throughout with her repeated insistence that she needs to quit comedy.

Not there’s no standard comedy stuff – her style is sly and nonchalant, but it’s also excellently funny.  She starts out relating some “feedback” she got about there not being enough “lesbian content” in her last special, “even though [she] was up there the whole time,” later discusses an encounter with an incredibly-stupid homophobe, and eventually delivers an extended bit fueled by her art history degree (may we ever write in our gratitude journals, “Thank God I live in a post-cubism world.”)

But as much as she tells jokes, she also analyzes and deconstructs the act of comedy itself.  As I said, she looks at tension and laughter, and she frequently takes note of her own jokes for us, just in case we’ve missed them.  But much more than that.  She revisits her previous specials, in which she largely mined her coming-out story for comedy, and examines what affect it’s had on her to repeatedly tell her story as jokes rather than a story.  In skimming it for humor, she explains, she’s cut out the moments of greatest heart as well as greatest hurt.  She’s left out the growth and development some of her family relationships have gone through, and she’s cut some of her memories short at the punchline, before the abuse starts.  It’s a fascinating meditation on how we become the stories we tell about ourselves, and even then, she’s just getting started.

From there, Gadsby jumps into a variety of heavy topics, ranging from the effects of internalized homophobia on a child’s psyche to societal gender norms to our long, depressing history of systemically turning a blind eye on sexual abuse and harassment.  She gives vent to her anger, she pleads for connection, and she still includes a surprising amount of humor in the midst of it all (the observation, “I cook dinner way more than I lesbian, but no one introduces me as ‘the chef comedian!’” is awesome, and I love her stories about being mistaken for a man by members of the service industry – “For once, I’m gender-normal.  I’m king of the humans; I’m a straight white man!”)  It’s both fierce and raw, and it’s pretty stunning to watch.

Warnings

Language (including homophobic slurs,) sexual references, references to violence (including sexual abuse,) and strong thematic elements.