Splitsider

"Specials are very difficult. It’s an entire production crammed into a few days with just one chance to get it right. So it was important to make this to feel alive. A big part of this — and it was something that Chris really wanted — was to feel the intimacy of the space and feel how close the audience was to him. In a lot of his other specials he’s playing to 3,500-seat theaters where the stage was towering above the crowd. But in Tamborine, he’s six feet away from the front row. And because of the space, the audience is almost ranked above him, and it feels like he’s cornered by them a little bit this time. We are just trying to elevate specials to a place we feel like they deserve. So many specials are being cranked out every single week now that they tend to feel cheaply digital and crappy. So when you’re given the opportunity to make one for Chris Rock you have to try to step your game up.”

"It’s like eating locally or shopping locally. We need to think the same way about the internet. When you go to Facebook, you’re going to Walmart. And every time you go and scroll through content on Facebook, you’re depriving independent media of a way to exist. I’m still on Facebook, although almost exclusively to post anti-Facebook things. It’s a funny joke, but it’s also the only place to see it and engage with it. Facebook feels like this dingy, disgusting, rapacious place to me. And I want it to feel that way to other people so that when they go to a cool website, they are inspired: They see human beings putting love and care into something."

“Watching the performances of comedians who are particularly prone to fostering these types of audiences, though, it’s often evident that they’re the ones who are most frustrated by it. They’re well aware that their ultimate job on stage is to be funny and, oftentimes, you can see them recoil when they can barely get through a politically focused setup without an entire room of people bursting into uproarious applause. You can see it in this clip of Kondabolu, where the momentum of one of his jokes is disrupted by applause, so he’s forced to say 'Thanks choir!' in order to re-establish himself. The same can be said of Seth Meyers, who makes it a point to talk over audiences until they stop clapping during his politically charged 'Closer Look' segments. Along the same lines is the British comedian Stewart Lee, who once sarcastically mocked a response of 'clapter' by saying: 'Hear that applause? That’s what I like. I’m not interested in laughs. I prefer applause. […] What I’m aiming for is a temporary mass liberal consensus.'”

“The writing in 'Peanut Brittle' is as surprising as the subject matter. Comics often affect a conversational tone to disguise that they are making a well-practiced speech to hundreds of people, sometimes for the third time that night. Paul, however, doesn’t care at all if he sounds natural. 'Oh, my heart is beating like a jackrabbit!' he says at one point, like no one you have ever met. Describing the 'venomous cobras' that pop out of the prank brittle can, he exclaims, 'One of them tried to hook my eyeball with a fang as he gained his freedom!' Like the characters in Shakespeare’s plays, HBO’s Deadwood, or an Aaron Sorkin script, Paul talks in a baroque, stylized manner. This frees him up to employ every verbal weapon available for maximum laughs, with no obligation to sound like he’s 'just talking.' Yet he never forgets that comedy requires brevity. Talk show bookers tell you to get your first laugh by the forty-second mark. Paul gets his in six. The only way to get it faster is to fall into a pie.”

Looking for the perfect comedy Christmas playlist?

"It was one thing to come of age during a time when movies and movie stars reigned supreme, and when the nine or ten people (men, of course) with greenlight power could wield their influence in toxic ways. But we live in peak TV, thank goodness. There are a hundred more buyers, many jobs, many more women in influential positions, and more and more people speaking out about abuses of power. We just want to do our jobs, be treated like humans instead of sexual prospects, and be paid fairly. And we are getting there."

Carrey: “Remember when you came and visited the set of Man on the Moon?”

Macdonald: “Oh sure, yeah. I was also in the film.”

"By turning Trump’s image against himself — in an administration that is solely about image and appearing to accomplish things — Berger’s method feels like the most fitting way to tackle the endless barrage of incompetence and evil coming from this White House, and it adds immediacy to otherwise simple comic ideas. We don’t need another person imitating the president to make fun of him when Berger can make him do that himself."

"Mike Myers seems to be more comfortable behind a character — preferably one with an accent and maybe a prosthesis or two. That isn’t to say we don’t know the real, hardworking, staunchly Canadian Mike Myers. We just have to find him in his work."

How has this experience of working together on a TV show been?

Kulap: Oh, me and my sweet boy? Me and my sugar booger? The love of my life, Scott? I love working with my sugar booger. How do you feel Scotty?

Scott: It’s great. We’re constantly closing down the set so we can get it on.

“’I was told Toronto’s only remaining singing telegram company was hiring,’ Kuhr says, explaining the show’s recruitment process. ‘Was I interested? As an underemployed actor, yes of course I was interested.’ What ensued: after the pranking, Kuhr was advised his new job didn’t actually exist, but he could still pocket $300 by signing the release form allowing Howie Do It to use the funeral footage. Like many in his situation, he took the money, figuring some form of token remuneration was preferable to none. Hey, what’s more funny than a man losing his job, right?”