John Mulaney in his comedy special Kid Gorgeous.
John Mulaney in his comedy special Kid Gorgeous.

Pop CultureJanuary 27, 2020

Wholesome, witty and woke: The unproblematic comedy of John Mulaney

John Mulaney in his comedy special Kid Gorgeous.
John Mulaney in his comedy special Kid Gorgeous.

Jean Sergent writes about her comedy crush John Mulaney, and what makes his brand of wholesome yet sharp comedy so special.

Who is John Mulaney and why do people love him so dang much? John Mulaney is a white, middle class, American stand up comedian. He’s a former Saturday Night Live writer, voice actor (Into the Spider-Verse, Big Mouth), and the living embodiment of a child’s drawing of a man. So what’s there to love? Truly a question for our times. And yet, dear reader, when it comes to John Mulaney, I ask you: what’s not to love?

I asked some close personal friends of mine why they also dig Mulaney. Here are some of their responses:

“He’s gentle. Also smart but kind I reckon!”

“I really love Oh, Hello!

“I love how we both have things for goodwill in the boot of the car and how much we love our wives.”

“He is so pure also a little bit old-timey but not in the problematic way. He is smart and clever and his delivery is so wry.”

What to do with all these lovely, heartwarming data points? Well, I’ll engage my master’s degree in sociology and do a coded analysis of course. Let’s break these passionate words down into cold, clinical themes.

Theme One: Good At Comedy 

John Mulaney doesn’t trade in hot takes. He has an old-timey joke style that relies on rhythm and insight rather than pithy observation. His storytelling style always punches up not down, or else he’s the butt of his own jokes. Smooth, glorious, unproblematic.

He has an openness and vulnerability that – in a slight paraphrasing of his own words – makes you think you could pour soup into his lap and he’d probably apologise to you. He doesn’t rely on brash masculinity and pushiness (think Jim Gaffigan or Anthony Jeselnik) in his joke delivery because he doesn’t need to show you that he’s funny. He has the science of comedy – rules, rhythms, and devices – ingrained in his DNA, and his artistry comes from the very cliched and yet so often unattainable principle of just being yourself. Too Old To Be A Duckling is the sweetest, funniest, most innocent and unproblematic joke imaginable, but John Mulaney imagined it and now you can enjoy it.

Theme Two: Wholesomeness and Purity

John Mulaney loves his wife, he donates things to goodwill, and he literally and very much on purpose made a children’s comedy special about death and anxiety. He was an alcoholic druggie scumbag in his twenties and is now a fountain of angelic gentlemanliness in his thirties, which should truly give us all a life lesson in the power of positive manifestation.

But back to the first point: John Mulaney loves his wife. Like, he really loves his wife. Comedians don’t usually love their wives! It’s usually ‘my wife this my wife that’ in a way that probably satisfies some heterosexual men who genuinely hate women but spend time with them anyway. This gross, 90s, three-camera sitcom trope is tired and old, but it’s part of stand up comedy’s evolution, from vaudeville routines through to sexist British pub comics like Bernard Manning into the confessional therapy comedy of someone like Marc Maron. The wife ‘bit’ is so much a part of the framework of stand up that subverting it is the only possible evolution. John Mulaney pulled off that switcheroo, and gifted the world with an iconic routine:

Theme Three: General Weirdness

One of the most delightful things about John Mulaney is that he is definitely a lot weirder than he seems on face value. One way to sniff out the true weirdness of a comedian is to look at the characters and alter egos they construct. Think about the way Borat or Ali G give Sacha Baron Cohen the license to behave in otherwise entirely unacceptable ways. Mr Bean shows a completely different side to Rowan Atkinson, while Dame Edna and Sir Les Patterson are vehicles for the inner lives of Barry Humphries. 

John Mulaney’s id is on full display in one of my favourite cultural creations, Oh, Hello, which centres on two elderly men from the Upper West Side of Manhattan called Gil Faizon (played by Nick Kroll) and George St Geegland (Mulaney). Legend has it that the characters were inspired by two men Kroll and Mulaney saw in a bookshop buying themselves individual copies of Alan Alda’s autobiography. Gil and George are sort of Alan Alda/Bernie Sanders types – leftist and eccentric, yet so much darker, funnier, and more disgusting than either of those pillars of white humanity. They’re misinformed, old, harmless creeps whose close friends include an abortionist called Doctor Wong. They evolved from stage personas to podcast guests to sketch show characters (with a prank show called Too Much Tuna) to Broadway stars. If they are for you, then they are absolutely for you.

Theme Four: Existential Kindness

Now listen, John Mulaney has so much material you could do a deep dive into Netflix, YouTube or Spotify and come out so much richer for it. But may I remind you of a point I made earlier – he made a children’s comedy musical special. Released on Christmas Eve, John Mulaney and the Sack Lunch Bunch is an hour-long variety show of songs, chat, and sketches that lift the soul and soothe the heart.

The core company of children are wickedly talented and fabulous performers, and the guest cast – including David Byrne for goodness sake – are generous performers who expose their tenderness with artistry and aplomb. It’s a magical concoction. Since I first watched it on Christmas Eve and in the three viewings I’ve had since, I can’t stop thinking about a) Girl Talk with Richard Kind, b) the song I Saw A White Lady Standing In The Street Just Sobbing (And I Think About It Once A Week), and c) at what age will the two children who do sketches with David Byrne suddenly have a lightning bolt of realisation that they sang and did sketches with David Byrne?

Ultimately, John Mulaney is out there in the world doing the most to entertain and delight us. If you haven’t jumped on the bandwagon yet, then please help yourself to the smattering of clips provided for you by me, your kind and generous cultural guide. These key qualities that delight and entrance viewers are what differentiate Mulaney from some of your more abrasive and problematic comedians.

You don’t need Louis CK, if you ever liked him to begin with. Razor-edged brutality doesn’t need to be bogged down in misanthropy and misogyny. Comedy can be just as devastating when it’s kind, not just when it’s cruel, crass, or crude. John Mulaney is whip-smart, lightning-fast, and intoxicatingly funny. Run, don’t walk, to your nearest Netflix account and inhale Kid Gorgeous, Oh, Hello on Broadway, and John Mulaney and the Sack Lunch Bunch at your earliest convenience. 

All of John Mulaney’s content, including his most recent special John Mulaney and the Sack Lunch Bunch, is available on Netflix.

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sam

Pop CultureJanuary 26, 2020

Lucy Lawless as Stevie Nicks is New Zealand’s forgotten comedy masterpiece

sam

Twenty-two years ago, Lucy Lawless wasn’t just playing Xena, she was part of one of SNL’s greatest ever sketches. Sam Brooks pays tribute to Stevie Nicks Fajita Round-Up.

The year is 1998. Jenny Shipley is prime minister, we win zero medals at the Olympics, and an actress named Lucy Lawless is the first New Zealander to host American TV sketch comedy show Saturday Night Live. We’re at the height of Xenamania, and Lawless is not just the most famous person in New Zealand, but the most famous New Zealander in the world.

Looking back at the episode feels more like looking into some strange funhouse mirror rather than into a part of television history. Lawless’ monologue, New Zealand accent fully intact, rests entirely on a stretched-out joke about how Xena is a lesbian, complete with Tina Fey dressed like a trucker. It has not aged well, to put it nicely. Elliott Smith (RIP) is the musical guest. The sketches include one where Will Ferrell plays a sexually aggressive nude model, and one where Lawless plays a stripper clown who has to argue a case in front of Judge Judy. I guess we expected different things from our comedy in 1998.

Saturday Night Live is one of those cultural institutions that never quite properly reached our shores. One obvious reason is that it was never regularly broadcast here; another is that we don’t share a tradition of watching televised sketch comedy at midnight on a Saturday. I don’t count this as a flaw in New Zealand culture, trust me.

Every now and then a sketch breaks out and make headlines here – think Tina Fey and Amy Poehler playing Sarah Palin and Hilary Clinton, or Alec Baldwin puckering his lips and calling it an impression of Donald Trump. But mostly SNL is something that comes over here in drips, drabs and YouTube clips, free of episode-long context. And in the pre-YouTube era? Forget about it, with the exception of legendary clips like ‘More Cowbell!’ or the Debbie Downer sketches.

The other reason it never really took off here? A lot of SNL stuff is by design disposable. It’s a fast turnaround sketch show hosted by somebody who might not necessarily be very funny or good at live comedy. When SNL hits, it hits hard – any episode with Melissa McCarthy is wall-to-wall gold solely due to her commitment to the material she’s given – but it misses about as much as you’d expect it to, given that it’s a full 90 minutes of comedy written and performed in a single week.

But I’m not here to talk about Saturday Night Live. I’m here to talk about one of the best sketches that the show has ever done, one of the greatest pieces of comedy involving a New Zealander ever, and one has dug deep into my brain since I saw it on some off-brand video hosting website a few years ago: Stevie Nicks Fajita Round-Up.

The concept is very, very dumb, right from the intro line:

“Hello, I’m Stevie Nicks. Do you like the music of my band, Fleetwood Mac? And do you like fajitas, flautas, quesadillas, and other Tex-Mex specialties? ”

Yup. That’s the sketch. It’s a commercial for a Stevie Nicks Tex-Mex restaurant called Stevie Nicks Fajita Round-Up. Lucy Lawless, commits to Nicks’ goat-bleat of a voice and flowy mannerisms (complete with fan blowing her hair around all witch-like) and sings Fleetwood Mac songs turned into jingles that hawk burritos, fajitas and other Mexican food “for an affordable dining experience you’ll never forget”.

To wit:

You placed an order, I wrote it down.
Three enchiladas, the best in town.
Then I saw my reflection in a big pile of nachos.
Until a landslide brought it down

It’s dumb as hell, and in an interview a few years ago, Lawless herself admits that she doesn’t really get it. I was also surprised that she came to SNL with a Nicks impression prepared, because a Stevie Nicks tex-mex restaurant feels like the kind of idea that some impossibly outre homosexual (I say this from a place of identification, not judgement) would have had in his back pocket for five years, rather than something that comes from the host.

It’s one of those sketches that shouldn’t work. Lawless wasn’t known for her comedy, and I doubt anybody was expecting her to pull a spot-on Stevie Nicks out of her Xena armour. It’s also one of the rare SNL sketches that not only doesn’t outstay its welcome at a crisp two and a half minutes but rests entirely on the guest host’s shoulders. Then add the fact that it relies on one of the hackiest comedy tropes in the book: swapping out serious lyrics for funny lyrics that rhyme. By rights, Stevie Nicks Fajita Round-Up should have been forgotten alongside the hundreds of sketches performed by hosts who can’t even read cue-cards convincingly, let alone carry a sketch.

But damn if it’s not one of the best comedy clips I’ve ever seen, and one that I could watch on repeat quite comfortably for the rest of my life. Every time I pick up something new, whether it’s the way Lawless elongates the second syllable of “cocaaaaaine” or how truly spot-on and awful the photos of the food are.

And it’s solely thanks to the commitment of one plucky New Zealander, doing her damnedest not just to mimic Stevie Nicks, but to show us what it would be like if music’s most notorious sorceress truly did open a Tex-Mex restaurant in the heart of Arizona. Bless you, Lucy. You’re more than Xena, you’re more than one of New Zealand’s most iconic performers and climate change activists. You’re also the bastion of one of New Zealand’s greatest comedy exports, and I bow down to you for it.