Hannah Gadsby Talks 'Queer Joy' and Calling Out Netflix (2024)

Comedian Hannah Gadsby got famous for quitting comedy. But in their newest comedy special, titled Something Special, they do something they consider much more difficult: fall in love

The Australian comedian, who uses they/them pronouns, became a household name in 2019 after releasing their explosive and eye-opening special Nanette. A deconstructed comedy that was more primal scream and scathing rebuke of assault, hom*ophobia, and trauma than a bucket of laughs, Nanette took Gadbsy from a comedian desperate to quit to a fan-favorite ready to explore what comedy and pain could look like together.

Now, four years after that life-changing Netflix special, Gadbsy is introducing the truest version of themselves to audiences. They’re a spouse — after a 2021 marriage to their producer Jenney Shamash. They’re on the autism specturm. They’re nonbinary. And, while they tell Rolling Stone that they wouldn’t consider “joy” a word they associate with, space from Nanette, and more time with their new marriage, has allowed them the first opportunity to think about the future.

“The future can be joyful and terrifying in equal measure. But when you’re trapped in trauma, you’re unable to think about the future,” says Gadsby. “And one of the more freeing aspects of my personal life is that ability to think about the future — as opposed to just a holding pattern of survival. I don’t know how I got to that. I could say, I just did Nannette and now I’m cured. But that would be really disingenuous. All I can say is I wish everyone could see the other side of it.”

Rolling Stone caught up with the now happily-married comedian (with Shamash just off-screen) to talk about the catharsis behind their new comedy special, their famous feud with Netflix, and how sometimes the best political statement is joy.

What made you decide to lighten the usual tone of your comedy specials for Something Special?
There was a crossroad going into the tour that made this show. The world’s falling apart in so many new and interesting ways, and there are so many different things that I could talk about. But I made the decision to make the show that I did because the world will always be falling apart. But I don’t know that I’ll always be happy. Happiness is a fleeting thing. I’m on the other side of trauma. I’m able to feel joy, so it made sense for me to explore that and share that — particularly for an audience who’s coming to my work through Nanette, which is a deeply traumatic show about deep trauma. So it’s sort of sharing where I am. And I think a queer person expressing joy on stage is kind of a political statement in this moment.

How much of your healing process do you attribute to being able to work your emotions out through comedy? And would you push back against characterizations that your work isn’t comedy?
What I did with Nanette really changed that. I really broke the mold for myself. Being a slave to the punch line was damaging. And letting my audience know that I’m not going to be that was incredibly freeing. But I like that this show says. “I can and I will make you laugh.” That’s the ultimate goal. But if it comes at the cost of my personal sense of safety and humanity, then no, the laugh doesn’t come first.

You didn’t make a big deal of it but you changed your pronouns to they/them. How did it feel, and what was the process like to find the pronouns that work and make you feel good?
So I waited a long time hoping for better pronouns, because they’re really not fun. I thought the queer community was better fun and what do we get? They/Them? But it’s what happens, so it is nice. I’ve always lived in the gray between genders. And it’s really funny, but it never occurred to me that we could put language around it. I didn’t do a public coming-out and an announcement. I just did it on the quiet and people have been really respectful. I think it’s time to recognize that the binary does not encompass every soul that is born onto this earth. Queer, genderqueer, trans people have existed always. I’m a history nerd. As they try to bury our existence, we have always existed, and I think it’s a shame that it’s not an exciting time.

In the past year, comedy stages have become almost a battleground for debates about transgender rights. Where do you think your role falls in terms of calling out transphobic content?
I’m really, really resistant to the idea that Dave Chappelle should lead this conversation and it’s very frustrating that he is. Because I don’t hear anything from him that I haven’t heard from everywhere. And I don’t want my art to center around his voice. I can mouth off as much as ya like. And I have opinions. But I don’t feel the need to put all my opinions out all at once — and certainly not through my art.

Speaking of Dave Chappelle, you very famously called out Netflix CEO Ted Sarandos for name-dropping you when the company was facing backlash over Chappelle’s work. How did you all get over that enough to have them debut your next special?
Classic Hollywood. My people talked to his people. Netflix is a machine I don’t completely understand. I’m not privy to all the decisions they make or why they make them. I’m not afraid of biting the hand that feeds me. And so I did. I gave it a go. And it worked out well for me. In the negotiation for this special, we put in to make another special that we’re doing later on this year. It’s platforming a diverse group of genderqueer performers from around the world. I can talk around the drain of what’s already out there. But I feel like perhaps the better use of my platform is to share it. I don’t think it’s easy to be a trans performer now coming up through the ranks. I hope that what I do is perhaps giving a few people a safer place to perform, even if it is just for a little while.

Since you’ve experienced your own romantic comedy, has your vibe and dislike about them changed?
No, I still get super frustrated because they’re often built on such miscommunications. It’s like if you would just talk about it, had a few more sentences, this whole problem wouldn’t happen. It’s so infuriating. But it’s also part of the journey. There’s nothing wrong with romantic comedies. I don’t have the brain for them.

That’s perfectly reasonable. I can’t do horror.
I can’t do horror either. Why would I pay to feel bad? I don’t know why I say “pay.” I sound like an old person. Oh I… I pay for my Netflix. I do. I do. Isn’t that fun?

You can’t fix that in the next deal?
Maybe that’s how they’re getting me back. “You can pay for your own subscription. That’ll teach you to talk about Ted like that.”