KATE BERLANT WAS due onstage in 15 minutes. It was March 2019, and she was performing at the Upright Citizens Brigade Theatre in Los Angeles, where she often does an hourlong set of improvised stand-up. The crowd that night was full of die-hards glancing around in the hawkish way fans do when they know a lot about the person they've come to see. "That is her mom," someone mouthed across the room as a statuesque, curly-haired woman in her 70s took her seat in the back. The comedian would soon shoot a special for FX that would crystallize her electric, unpredictable sets-which she rarely, if ever, puts online before a national audience for the first time. The actor and comedian John Early, her frequent collaborator, sat nearby holding a green notebook. He would be taking notes to share later with Berlant, who remembers almost nothing about a set once she has finished doing it. Onstage, she exists mentally just ahead of what's actually happening, in a kind of flow state punctuated by bracing terror about what to say next.
Berlant leaped onto the stage, curls bouncing, and flashed a bright, straight-toothed smile. "Wow," she began, turning on her heel. "The expectations! Already crushing, I would argue." Her tone was elevated and self-congratulatory; she might have been about to give a self-help seminar. Puzzled, she pointed to an empty seat. "Empty seat there-and again, what happened?" She gave a searching look. "Already, I can't really perform, thinking about the people who were turned away. The young children, who are ..." She searched for a word "kids." The persona appeared to fissure, as though she'd caught herself off guard. She fought a smile. "I'm actually worried now!" she went on over laughter, "for the safety of-" She paused again, portentously. "The kids."
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