Interview
Interview
Maria Bamford thought living in a cult was overrated
Before her one-off London gig this month, Maria Bamford talks cult life, sliding doors career choices, and why hecklers should be appreciated
Imaginative, unconventional, downright bizarre: there are few stand-up comedians as idiosyncratic as Maria Bamford.
For nearly three decades, the California-residing Minnesotan has explored her relationship to mental illness with nerve-shredding frankness – and baffling absurdity – long before such discussions became common parlance. Spluttering over her bipolar, crippling anxiety, and obsessive compulsive disorder could be enough to induce a bout of anxiety in the average audience. On stage, she’s awkwardness personified. But Bamford’s self-deprecating nature, chirpy voice and trippy vignette style somehow ensure her coping mechanisms rub off and resonate.
Widely regarded as a ‘comedian’s comedian’, a hallowed status, she refuses to accept she’s a trailblazer.
Naturally, she batted away any suggestion of that being the case. “No. No no no,” she hurriedly expressed over Zoom. “There’s so many comics who have talked about mental health. The human experience has never not been talked about by artists. At the very least, I got help in terms of finding hope that someone else has the same experience through people writing memoirs. I don’t have the intellectual knowledge behind it, but there’s always been something people have spoken about. Since Shakespeare!”
Bamford was recently anointed the “9th Best Comedian Of The 21st Century” by Billboard, ranking above the likes of Ricky Gervais and Sarah Silverman. It’s an accolade which she’s suspicious of, and certainly won’t be using for any future marketing campaigns. “Is that a money laundering situation? I think it’s just clickbait so people go ‘noooo’, or ‘yeahhhh’. I prefer more obscure references. ‘She sold one hundred and one tickets in Wyoming.’ You’ve got to know your stats.”
Ahead of her one-off show at Walthamstow Soho Theatre in London this month, Maria Bamford joined us for the latest episode of Stuck In A lift. Read on to find out why living in a cult was overrated, how a heckler should be appreciated, and why her original career of choice was a prostitute.
Who would you most like to be stuck in a lift with?
Stewart Lee. I love Stewart Lee. I only know him professionally, but I’d like to hear what he has to say about a lot of things. I love everything he does – his specials, his comedy. I could ask him about William Blake.
Nodding to your accolade as Billboard‘s 9th best comedian of the 21st century, he of course did an entire routine about being ‘the 41st best stand-up ever’.
Right! It’s so beautiful, and so arbitrary.
Who would you least like to be stuck in a lift with?
Oh God. Well, just because he’s an unregistered sex offender. Let’s go with Donald Trump.
He’s a popular answer for that funnily enough…
Even the people that voted for him are like ‘I wouldn’t have him in the house….’
What is the weirdest interaction you’ve had with a famous person?
Do I have to name the name? Well, I was filming a sitcom recently. There’s not a lot of work here in Los Angeles right now. This person has been very famous for many years, they’re very talented, very successful. They were just really unpleasant. I was like ‘wow man, wow’. They’re getting massaged kale three times a day. What’s it gonna take? It was fascinating. I hadn’t been that close to somebody for whom money doesn’t buy happiness, writ large.
Is massaged kale the pinnacle of success?
Umm, yes! It’s not tough. I remember kale being awful, and challenging my insides. You just have to mash the kale with avocado for 20 minutes, then it’s fantastic.
What was the last gig or show you went to?
I went to see Chris Fleming. He was performing in my neighbourhood. There was a lot of other comedians there. Irene Tu, Jonah Ray who’s a comedian with a TV show over here. It was wonderful. I go to a lot of open mic nights. I love an open mic. Democracy in action.
What was the first record you ever bought?
Who’s John Lennon’s son? Julian. I bought a tape of his. I thought ‘I should buy this…’ I think I was around twelve or thirteen. It wasn’t for me at all. So ended up buying Whitney Houston’s first album. I think I only listened to Julian’s album once, which is no assessment of his skills. I have no idea what I’m talking about.
Do you have any superstitions?
Have you ever read The Artist’s Way?
No. It’s been recommended to me before. Not sure if that’s saying anything…
I live in Los Angeles, so there’s seven abandoned copies of it in every coffee shop. But yeah, there’s this tool by [The Artist’s Way author] Julia Cameron called the Morning Pages. I like to write out the Morning Pages, three pages every day. I like to do that. I get that done and out of the way. I’m not sure if it’s a superstition. It just feels good. I’m not a religious or spiritual person. I’m more of a cognitive behavioural stan.
It’s like when people do Tai Chi in the morning to get everything going.
It’s a purge of thoughts and ideas. It’s fun to see all your scribbles filling up a liquor store notebook. That’s when you know you’re livin’.
What’s your guiltiest pleasure?
Well, once this interview is over, I’ll be rewarding myself with a hot fudge sundae. Every morning for breakfast – which is a terrible mistake – I have a sundae. Because that’s what I’m like.
If anything, that sounds like pure pleasure and no guilt.
No, no guilt. I don’t give a shit. If it causes a spike in my sugars, so be it. It’s called ‘harm reduction’. What do you want me out there doing? Cocaine? Those are the two choices. Meth or hot fudge sundae.
What’s the worst heckle you’ve ever got on stage?
It’s the truthful ones. I was at a show in Detroit. A woman stood up – the stage was low, so she was roughly face-to-face with me – and said: “You’re not funny. Please bring the other guy on.” When you really hear the emotion behind something like ‘you are ruining our night’. But the worst heckle is always yet to come. You never know what the newest horror will be. As I get older I just welcome the heckle. The heckle is what everyone’s come for. It’s a live response, live theatre. I’ve taken a clowning class or two. The philosophy of clowning from what I can understand – clowning being stand up with nudity, crying, and a considerable lack of consent – is that the audience is the show. Rather than the stand-up being defensive and clever, it’s about the vibe of the whole room. I’m trying to do that more, as it’s more fulfilling. I mean, I’ve gone to the wrong show before, had one too many drinks and yelled “you’re a dinosaur!” I’ve been there. So why should I match wits with someone who’s suffering, who’s not having a good time.
Showing empathy for the heckle.
God yes. Also the joy of being the one person who speaks up about what’s happening. I’ve been the heckler who’s said ‘this isn’t any good….’ Just amongst friends so you get light titters amongst friends. It’s delightful to be that person. I don’t want to take that away from people. If the one thing they’re getting out of comedians is the ability to shit talk, then that’s a show too! But no, I do get them removed.
My husband loves music. We went to see a noise band. It was basically like listening to a 747 taking off and landing, then taking off again and landing. During the show the guy said ‘we didn’t have time to practise before tonight’. I was like, ‘f*ck you’. Heckles are just human emotion.
Two-parted question: In a biopic of your life, who would you want to play you, and realistically who do you think would be cast to play you?
Definitely one of my friends that needs an acting job. One of my friends Ivana. She’s a Canadian actor Ivana Shein. She loves to work! That was part one of the question. To play me, I’d get Keira Knightly. But she’d have to put on 55lbs. They’d demand she had to put on weight. Even though I’m not that big.
I was going to say, it must have been a long time since I’ve seen you then Maria…
That’s because it’d be such an important role. You have to be bigger than the person was.
You have to go through a transformation to be in contention for awards.
Exactly.
What did your 12-year-old self think that you’d be doing now?
Either a nun. Or a prostitute. I don’t know if you watch a lot of television, but I was raised in the 70s and the main roles for women – other than mom – was nun or prostitute. Lots of ladies of the night in TV. They wore gorgeous clothes and were always getting taken out for dinner. They were confident – and nuns too. Very confident. Those were my two interests. Of course, you find out that sex work is just a lot of invoicing. I read about nuns and their co-operative housing. I’ve lived in hippy communes before. “The Hieronymus Bosch House”. The garden of Earthly delights? Turns out they need the bathroom cleaning too, so do your chores on the chore wheel. It’s not perfect, but it turns out the nuns are all pissed off at each other.
The nun and the prostitute are two extremes again, like the hot fudge sundae or meth.
It’s a way of life, a sisterhood. A community where you have the confidence of generations behind you. Those were the two ideas at the time.
What’s the worst advice you’ve ever been given?
I had a one person show that I wanted to do, and thought I’d get a director. Somebody recommended me this director, so I went to him. He goes ‘I don’t even know where to start’. Obviously it’s okay to get artistic critiques, or not to like something. But anything that shuts people down completely is just the dumbest. If one person thinks it’s funny – even if it’s hate speech – you can’t deny them their experience. The ‘not funny’ thing doesn’t ring true to me. There’s a judgement. Like, “my husband’s a painter so that’s ‘real art'”. I’m not into that. I’ll laugh at anything. Farts are hilarious.
Farts are probably the funniest thing ever.
Farts are the funniest. Especially if they’re coming from someone aristocratic.
What’s the worst job you’ve ever had?
I sold furniture. I was there for two years, but I didn’t actually sell any furniture. I didn’t want to sell it. I didn’t think the furniture itself was very attractive. It was made out of cargo wood. It was very heavy. It mostly sold to group homes and sober living places, as it was indestructible. I could never land the sale. Primarily because I was terrified of doing the paperwork. It was a miserable job. I just sat around fluffing pillows for hours.
A) it sounds like you were subconsciously protecting people from purchasing said furniture, and B) I’m impressed you managed to keep your job for that long.
Right! The manager would often tell me “Maria, would you please stop eating your sandwiches during your shift?” I had an eating disorder at the time, so I would take eight hours to eat a sandwich. Where else was I going to eat it?! I’m not the greatest salesperson. You need that sense of confidence, that everything is going to be ok. I don’t give people that assurance.
What’s the skill that no one else knows you’re good at?
Well, I can move my hair *wiggles eyebrows and hair in unison*. Umm, I think that’s about it.
If a song played every time you walked into a room, what would it be?
I wish this would happen: ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’. But The Muppets’ version. Have you heard it? It’s Animal singing “mamaaaaa, ma-ma-ma-maaaaa”.
Find tickets for Maria Bamford here.
