
Leanne Morgan’s Funny
Choosing comedians is like forming friendships. There’s no rush.
The fit has to feel just right. And when it does, those funny relationships endure, and make for the mightiest craic.
The comedy in my life – and there’s a lot of it – is the result of testing, over time. Each thread in my mantle-of-mirth has been chosen – for its fine texture, or its delicate hue, or for how it perfumes the air of an evening in June.
Alas, most stand-ups wither in a season.
I connect with their groove, over-consume their greatest hits until, spent, I realise my hunger can no longer be sated. These comedians are surely not second rate; greats such as Nate Bargetzi, Jimmy Carr, Anthony Jeselnik have all expired on me. But comedy is chemistry, and subject to my churlish, chemical laws.
A small number of legends have entered my Marble Halls, to take up semi-permanent residence. John Cleese, Ricky Gervais, Jennifer Saunders, Joan Rivers, for example.
These artists offer me something more enduring.
Cleese is a master of fantastical farce – bringing to it pace, prosody and vivid imagination; Gervais focuses on the price of ego, and the folly of pursuing public virtue; Saunders trades in wonderful, operatic exaggeration, creating a whirlwind of fun to reveal the humanity in us all; and Aunty Joan (RIP) hides a philosophy of life which is so movingly sensitive, hidden as it is between her acid tongue, puckered lips and sculpted, somewhat wonky eyes.
***
I have nominated Leanne Morgan to my comedy Hall of Fame.
She is an unlikely candidate, coming from farming stock in northern Tennessee, with three adult kids, a six-foot-four husband, and a southern accent heavier than my spare tire.
But we do share one salient thing.
We were both born in 1965, and know the world long enough to agree with Freddie that nothing really matters, and indeed, that anyone can see.
I watched her Netflix special, The Big Panty Tour [written, performed and produced by Ms Morgan], and paid some attention to why she is so very good.
Perhaps my strongest discovery is a feeling: when I watch Morgan speak about her life, she makes me happy. She tells stories of cellulite, menopause, sagging breasts and randy husbands – and does so with wit in her nostrils and love in her eyes.
She describes the life that most people lead, in which humdrum things can irritate or resuscitate your spirits. Leanne Morgan does not address high philosophy, nor the geopolitical forces with which the world grapples. She speaks of Weightwatchers, and wonders if her husband of thirty years would drag her from a burning vehicle.
Pause.
He wouldn’t.
I paid attention to her language. I noticed how visually memorable her stories are. I noticed how simple her vocabulary is, and how distinctly unpatronising is her tone. Though Gervais is highly amusing – I also know he will never be wrong. Ricky understands it all, and most likely better than you or me. I accept his mildly arrogant educational energy – though it is also his Achilles heel. Cleese is crankily similar, rarely more than 30 seconds from sermonising on the worthlessness of wives, or of woke.
In my Marble Halls Of Comedy, everyone is human. No one need be perfect. Leanne fits here oh so naturally, clad in her Spanx, enjoying the frailties and foibles of life alongside us, her adoring, flyover-brethren.
Of course, during her act, comedy’s fourth wall knocks sharply at the door.
Leanne Morgan moans about her weight and curves, yet she is a high cheek-boned woman of beauty; she jokes about shopping at Target, yet her elegant style makes her look a billion dollars; she is just a fun-loving grandma, yet she tours the North American continent to sell-out success; she prattles about a simple life, yet she does so with comedic, sophisticated mastery.
***
At the end of her Netflix show, Morgan invites her family to the stage. Grandma has spent the whole act roasting them, excoriating her husband, throwing shade on her girls, calling her daughter-in-law a heifer, and generally sending up everyone except her precious toddler-grandson.
Each family member embraces Leanne, and shares the warmth of the audience’s love too.
Lies, we all agree, tell the darnedest truths.