'Nanette': How Hannah Gadsby's Netflix special could revolutionize stand-up comedy

Kelly Lawler | USA TODAY

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Hannah Gadsby wants to quit comedy. And she explains this in one of the most striking stand-up comedy specials of the year.

If you've never heard of the queer Australian comedian, you are likely to now, as her latest Netflix special, "Nanette," is sending shock waves through the comedy world, lighting up social media and causing viewers (this one included) to question the assumptions we've long held about the men and women telling us jokes, with a microphone and a cockeyed smile.

It's a bit of an oversimplification to say that Gadsby, who was largely unknown outside her homeland, subverts the form of the stand-up set in the new special. She also challenges the idea that performing a stand-up set is even a good idea to begin with, and indicts herself and the comedy world for telling stories in a way that hurts people like her and society in general.

The special starts off with a string of Gadsby's typically self-deprecating jokes about growing up as a lesbian in the conservative Australian island of Tasmania, and about 17 minutes in she takes a heel-turn and announces she needs to quit comedy.

“Do you understand what self-deprecation means when it comes from somebody who already exists in the margins?" she asks seriously, referring to herself as a member of the LGBTQ community. "It’s not humility. It’s humiliation. I put myself down in order to speak, in order to seek permission to speak. And I simply will not do this anymore.”

Gadsby, 40, goes on to discuss the morals of stand-up, art history, President Donald Trump, society's lack of empathy and her own trauma, while repeatedly saying she needs to quit comedy. When serious, she's riveting, with the oratorical powers of great political leaders as she eviscerates her targets. Yet despite how ferociously she argues against the act of comedy itself, this part of the special is as deeply funny as it is moving.

Gadsby presents comedy as a kind of self-abuse, in which her worst life experiences were frozen in the moment of trauma so she could mine them for laughs. And "Nanette" confronts many different kinds of abuse: of those on the margins, including herself; by comedians, when they artificially create tension so they can relieve it for a laugh; of women by men; and by a society that cares more about men's reputations than their victims' lives.

Maybe, she posits, if comedians had "done their job" in the 1990s and made fun of President Bill Clinton, who abused his power, instead of Monica Lewinsky, his intern, the 2016 U.S. election would have turned out differently. Maybe if she hadn't turned her own coming-out story into a punchline, she wouldn't have been ashamed to tell her grandmother just last year that she's gay.

"The way I've been telling that story is through jokes," she says. "And stories, unlike jokes, need three parts: a beginning, middle and an end. Jokes are just two parts, a beginning and a middle. And what I had done, with that comedy show about coming out, was I froze an incredibly formative experience at its trauma point and I sealed it off into jokes."

Storytelling is important to Gadsby, and the biggest point she makes in the special is that we've been telling ourselves stories the wrong way. The former art-history major does an extended riff on Pablo Picasso, who had sex with a 17-year-old girl, a point that history has mostly laughed off. But Gadsby won't let the famed painter off the hook, nor any abuser, as she rejects the notion of separating the art from the artist.

“What about their humanity?” she asks. “These men control our stories, and yet they have a diminishing connection to their own humanity, and we don’t mind so long as they get to hold on to their precious reputation.”

Although she speaks specifically about Picasso, Bill Cosby and Harvey Weinstein, it's impossible not to be reminded of allegations against Louis C.K., a self-deprecating and influential comedian; or any Hollywood figure accused of assault, harassment or abuse since #MeToo took shape last October. That Gadsby finally adds her own stories to the chorus only strengthens her point.

The comedian is often visibly emotional and angry, another reason she thinks she needs to quit comedy. She argues that she doesn't want to be a vessel of anger, and doesn't want to spread anger the way she spreads laughter. Instead, she wants to tell her story truthfully.

"What I would have done to hear a story like mine," Gadsby says as the special wraps up. "To feel less alone, to feel connected."

Connection is what she argues for with her final words, which – if her threat is serious – may be the last she utters on the stage. It's powerful, it's beautiful and it's unlike anything you've ever seen.

And even after hearing her convincing arguments for an hour, it's hard to accept that Gadsby could leave the comedy world, which so desperately needs more stories like hers.

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