In “Douglas,” her new show named for her dog, which premiered at the Melbourne International Comedy Festival last week, Gadsby discussed her autism diagnosis, which she received relatively recently, and the clarity it provided. While she found out about her autism before she put together “Nanette,” it was not until now that she felt ready to talk about it in front of an audience.
Her return — she will play more sold-out shows here, then begin a U.S. tour April 29 in San Francisco — follows the controversial success of “Nanette” in 2018. Beginning life onstage before going viral worldwide as a Netflix special, that show set off furious arguments about the nature of comedy. “I wasn’t expecting global stardom,” Gadsby said Friday. “I wasn’t expecting to finish and end up big in India. Now I have everyone watching me.”
In Melbourne, “Douglas” drew thousands of fans who agreed to lock away their phones in a special case during the show. “I’ve never heard such a huge crowd so silent. She’s the most courageous person,” said Theresa Bonasera, 52, from Melbourne.
“We’re very proud of her,” added another Melbourne local, Lindy Arc-Dekker, 59, a retired engineer. “It’s brave to make yourself so emotionally vulnerable. But I think the home crowd really took that and held her safe there.”
After the performance, I caught up with Gadsby, dressed in a cap, glasses and teddy-bear sweater, in the Arts Center Melbourne. Humble, self-deprecating and shy, she said that stand-up is “a really great way for me, as somebody who has lived an incredibly isolated experience, to connect with the world.” These are edited excerpts from the conversation.
Q: In “Nanette” you said you were quitting comedy. But you’re back.
A: Quitting was always a theatrical device, and I’m delighted everyone took it so seriously. It was basically to defuse the obvious criticism: “That’s not comedy.” But that theatrical device, as I relived trauma night after night, felt really good to say it and mean it. I think I meant it and still mean it in the sense of the strictest definition of what comedy is — yeah, I’ve quit that.
Q: What was it like getting back onstage?
A:I thought I was risking a lot with “Nanette.” It was a lot more risky to not care about failure now that I’m at this level. That was my main driving principle writing “Douglas”: I don’t care if this fails. I’m going to take certain risks again.
Q: At times in “Douglas,” especially in a PowerPoint presentation where you unpack assumptions around fine art, you looked like you were having lots of fun.
A: The nature of “Nanette” meant I couldn’t enjoy that experience. I was exhausted and every night was trauma. “Douglas” is a fun show. And it will only get more fun as I weave the thoughts more tightly.
Q: How scary was it to talk about your autism diagnosis?
A: It was a lot of pressure. Everyone understands the coming-out story now: It is part of popular culture. But women with autism is a very niche experience. I can’t predict how people are going to respond.
Q: “Douglas” examines neurodiversity, portraying neurological differences, such as autism,not as “conditions” that need a cure but as human variations.
A: Autism is overwhelming. So people see the distress of it. But often in a lot of those distresses we’ve been dragged out of our little thought orgies, having a great time in our heads. Nobody sees that, and I don’t see that celebrated. It is different and it is not all sad. [People think] it’s a devastating existence. And it doesn’t have to be: It’s not autism that makes it difficult to live with autism. It’s the world we’ve created that is not geared in our favor.
Q: Why ban phones?
A: I believe strongly that in live performance you’re not passive — taking people’s access to their phone heightens their experience. It brings them back into the room. We’re all aware that there is an addiction going on. It is overwhelming having the world in your hand at all times.
Q: During “Douglas” at certain moments it was so quiet you could hear a pin drop.
A: In a room full of people, mood can spread like an infection. You can see that in broader culture too. I’m very interested in that because on the spectrum, we’re not as prone to be taken by [mass mood]. Our less intuitive way of experiencing the world stands outside that group thinking a little bit.
Q: You live in Los Angeles now. Will you stay?
A: I’m not going to stay in LA. People say you’ve got to give it two or three years and then you really love it. I don’t know if you really love it or you just become an LA person and I’m not sure I want to be that. It’s all industry, and that hustle makes me uneasy. Hollywood is making our culture, it is driving our stories, and I don’t see anything tackling homelessness and it is so in our face over there. So these people creating all our content are willfully blind to really vulnerable people. And I’ve been homeless. So I’m both sides in that town.
Q: “Ten Steps to Nanette” will be published later this year. How did you find the process of writing a memoir?
A: I’d been struggling, trying to write a book for a long time but could not. I could never reconcile this almost naive part of my world and life with this other part that is quite intelligent. But once I was diagnosed, I could fully understand that they could coexist and I could celebrate two parts of that world. The book has a lot of that: It’s tracking my life from extreme invisibility to extreme visibility.
Q: You have talked about a revolution in comedy. Tell me about that.
A: There does have to be a revolution of form in order to accommodate different voices. Because stand-up in the form it exists — stand-up punch line — that’s a form that was set up by men for men. It’s a competitive way of communicating, and that suits them. But there is a diversity of experiences that won’t fit into the format as it stands. I’m not sad if I kill comedy. I’m not sad.
This article originally appeared in The New York Times.