Sarah Sherman’s debut comedy special is titled “Live + In the Flesh.” But she’s also in blood, guts, goo and a heap of NSFW prosthetics.
At the beginning of the hour, which debuts Dec. 12 on HBO, Sherman coalesces from a skull inside a pile of mush and eyeballs and glitter as John Waters, playing a stage manager, looks at her in disgust: “Go on out there and remind them why God invented the barf bag.”
Sherman is best known for “Saturday Night Live,” where she plays oddball characters and straight women alike, all while being a frequent tormenter of Colin Jost behind the “Weekend Update” desk. But “Live + In the Flesh” is billed as a special from Sarah Squirm, her body-horror alter ego, and Sherman sure takes advantage of her hour away from NBC’s standards and practices.
Ahead of the special’s debut, Sherman chatted with Variety about what she finds gross, opening for Adam Sandler and baring it all for a laugh.
How did you get John Waters to introduce the special?
I wrote him a letter — a really earnest letter. I was like, “I love you, you’re gross.” And then I drew a picture of the pile of bones and guts and goo that I am in the beginning, and I wrote: “This is your scene partner, and fuck you, dude, I hope you like it.” I was walking home from therapy one day, and I picked up a baguette. I’m walking down the street eating a full loaf of bread, just miserable, and I get a call from an unknown Baltimore number: “Sarah, this is John Waters. See you on set.”
Did he have any reservations?
No notes. And I did the thing where I was like, “You don’t even have to say the stupid shit I wrote. You can say whatever you want!” And he was like, “I’ll be saying it.”
Why are you so into gross stuff?
I’ve been doing stand-up for like 100 years, and so much of it comes from being a classic Jewish, self-deprecating, self-loathing comedian. A lot of my self-deprecation comedy comes from body stuff: “I have a fucking mustache, my hemorrhoids are… whatever.” But I also have the “Female Trouble” version of it, of being an ugly little Jewish girl from Long Island. Joan Rivers did it, Phyllis Diller did it, but I just watched too much “Ren & Stimpy,” so mine came out in this Technicolor, gory, body-horror way. Phyllis Diller would talk about her tits being like sandbags knocking around between her knees — I just show it.
Do you get a kick out of watching the audience wince when you double down on the body horror material?
It’s fun to do that repulsion-and-attraction thing — grossing people out and then reeling them back in with a joke. Comedy is the great identifier, and laughing is a moment of connection, so I like playing with how far I can push it before pulling them back in. And sometimes it doesn’t work. In Phoenix, Ariz., I lost the whole room. They just fucking walked out.
For real?
Yeah! A lot of people who come to my shows don’t really know what to expect. This is my first special. They think I’m the brown-haired girl from “SNL,” and they’re just having a nice weekend. They don’t always know what they’ve signed up for. The show used to be a lot more abrasive, and I’ve made a point to make sure there are more punchlines.
Sarah Sherman in “Saturday Night Live”
Holland Rainwater/NBC
Do you ever see children in the audience and get nervous?
Yes. I’ve made the mistake of doing all-ages shows. For the most part, my shows are 18 and up, but if I see a kid in the audience, I’ll say to the parent, “This is bad. Just so you know, this is bad.” And they’ll go, “No, they like it. They like it.” Kids like gross stuff. I just wouldn’t recommend they look at my Batwing labia lips, but…
It puts the comedian in an unfair position.
Again, my shows are 18 and up, but if I spot someone who’s too young, I stop the show and say, “Parent, let’s just get this out of the way. I turn my mouth into a butthole covered in hemorrhoids. Know that. Do you want to proceed?” And they’ll go, “Yeah, cool.” One time I was doing a show in Joshua Tree, and some hippie mom, after I warned her I had a lot of jokes about my tits, said, “Well, I breastfed my kids until they were 4, so…” And I was like, “Why is this my problem now?”
Even though, as you mention, comics like Joan Rivers and Phyllis Diller did similar material dating back to the 1960s and ’70s, do you think there is still a shock value to a woman talking about her body with vulgarity?
Of course, there is this weird cultural illusion of fatigue around a female stand-up talking about her period. That’s always seen as “hack female comedy.” How many fucking dudes have I seen talk about blowjobs and dating? It pisses me off sometimes.
Is there a place you wouldn’t go in terms of grossing out the audience?
No.
I typically have a decent stomach for that sort of stuff, but there were two particularly nauseating moments in the special that I wrote down to ask you about.
Was it the hangnail?
I skipped ahead at the hangnail visual.
Yes! I made that. It’s just wax and glue. A lot of the videos are things I made in a garage in L.A. before “SNL.” I had no money, so that’s just a finger that I painted red and put wax over it. The hangnail is a glue strip.
The other one was the “cheese pull” line.
Love that line. And there’s a special crotch shot.
What grosses you out?
A lot of the imagery I invoke in the special comes from intrusive thoughts I’ve had. I’m grossed out too — that’s why I talk about it! I’m affected by it. I did this thing that didn’t make it into the special, where I talked about wanting to put Botox on my brain so it could be smooth and I wouldn’t have any thoughts anymore. I made a video unscrewing the top of my skull and popping off like a lid so I could get to the brain. For some reason, the idea of bone-on-bone, unscrewing the top of my skull was an intrusive thought that disturbed me for days. I couldn’t sleep; I was thinking about it so much. So it’s not that I’m like, “I’m Sarah Squirm! Nothing’s gross to me.” Everything is gross!
You opened for Adam Sandler this year on his arena tour. I was at the Madison Square Garden show.
Oh, no. I bombed! I stunk.
I wouldn’t say that. But I was sitting behind the two worst people in the entire arena, and it dawned on me that the crowd was not exactly your target demographic.
The thing about Sandler is his comedy is really surreal and bizarre and dirty. So, it’s actually a good fit. If I did five minutes after his hour, people would be like, “We respect it.” But because I’m some random woman on stage, they’re like, “Why the fuck is she talking about her fucking asshole?” Also, if you pay to see an Adam Sandler show and someone is on stage who isn’t Adam Sandler, you’re like, “What?”
What was it like performing in arenas?
So much of my material — as you can tell from the special — is very audience-interactive, so it’s weird to be so far away from people. And my voice is very shrill, and when it’s ricocheting off the walls of a giant arena, it can be painful for some people. So I talk lower to make people respect me, and slower to make people not afraid of me, because I can be a lot. I’m a very specific taste. Doing the arena shows and doing “SNL” is just practicing — I don’t want to make comedy that’s for no one. I like making people laugh. It’s just a matter of learning how to make all different kinds of people laugh in different settings.
How do you balance adjusting your comedy for a broader audience while still being true to your comedic voice?
Well, comedy is also a job. Being a comedian is awesome, but I’m a comedian for hire — Sandler hired me to open for him and warm up the crowd, so I want to do a good job. The same way that if you hired a mechanic to change your tires, you’d want them to do a good job. I never thought my job would be “I’m a full-time comedian.” I can say that now.
Sarah Sherman in “Saturday Night Live”
Will Heath/NBC
You do a bit where you single out an audience member who is high, shine a spotlight on them and then, essentially, haze them with a paranoia-inducing scary voice. Did anyone have a legitimately bad reaction?
On the arena tour, the camera zooms in on one person in the audience, and this woman was suddenly on a jumbotron in front of 17,000 people. She was in hell.
How could you tell?
She said, “I’m in hell.” I felt kind of bad about that. When I ask someone in the audience if they are high, they’re usually high on weed, gummies or mushrooms. One time a guy was like, “I’m on fucking cocaine!” I brought him on stage with me. He was a crazy, red-faced, tank-top Philly dude, coked out. That was kind of an intense vibe. Not a chill high.
Toward the end of the special, you show images of your “naked” body covered in gnarly, distended prosthetics, and then the camera flashes to audience members gasping in horror. I know it’s not actually your body, but do you still feel self-conscious at that moment?
It’s funny because HBO sent me an email like, “Just checking, none of your real genitals are showing, right?” I was like, “No… those are not my genitals.” I love prosthetics so much. That’s the best I ever feel, if I’m wearing a pig nose or something. The most fun I’ve ever had at “SNL” was when I had my eyes removed and replaced with googly eyes. The whole special is all about how you’re never in a real zone — it’s all transformation, fantasy, escapism. I just love that.
This interview has been edited and condensed.
