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Hannah Gadsby’s new show, Douglas, is not earth-shattering the way Nanette was; but then, nothing could be.
Many of us watched with fascination as Gadsby’s tenth solo show, Nanette, took her from a local niche market in queer comedy to international superstardom, skipping quite a few steps in between.
Gadsby was diagnosed with autism in the years leading up to Nanette. In fact, she tells us in Douglas that the show came directly out of that diagnosis: “I found a name for how I experienced the world.” Gadsby’s comedic voice changed with Nanette; there, she spoke with the newfound confidence of someone who has come to understand themselves, someone who no longer seeks to belong to clubs that wouldn’t have them.
How Gadsby weathered being thrust into Hollywood is a good question, but Douglas reads like a direct response to that experience, and an act of considered self-care.
Gadsby takes time to talk about her last show, her last tour, what she has learned – all that ordinary stuff local comedians do at every Melbourne Comedy Festival.
These are no doubt premeditated choices. Gadsby has spoken at length about not wanting to be seen as a non-funny comedian, or to quit comedy altogether (even though quitting was the premise of Nanette). After all, Nanette’s great success made her think that her best move would be to showcase her comedic craft “instead of trying to learn a whole new skill set”.
While performing Douglas, Gadsby talks about the emotional toll of spending two years touring a show about trauma. She adds: “That was only my fault. I started that conversation.” Formally, if Douglas is about anything, it is about recreating comedy as Gadsby’s safe, comfortable space.
Douglas begins with phones being taken away from audience members and locked into magnetic pouches. Having spent considerable time introducing the sensory sensitivity associated with autism, Gadsby later explains that the sudden flashing of light in the audience is very distracting.
Gadsby also notes the intentional medicalisation of women’s emotional range: “Sure, I may nibble on a bit of dark chocolate on a full moon. But I’ve never wanted to punch a door!” She points out that expectations of women to be the emotional workhorses of social situations are so high, and autistic women learn to camouflage their symptoms to such a degree, that autism in women and girls was once thought to be an impossibility.
Throughout the show she narrates her life, lived in the consequences of these misconceptions and misdiagnoses. Again and again she returns to a lament:
Nanette was a terrifically crafted piece of standup comedy, as well as a timely reckoning with patriarchy, sexual violence and homophobia, just as #MeToo was getting going. It was always going to be a very hard act to follow.
Douglas is a deftly executed, brilliant comedy about women and autism – speaking about an often painfully experienced difference without self-deprecation or condescension. I hope it finds its audience.
(This is an opinion piece and the views expressed above are the author’s own. The Quint neither endorses nor is responsible for the same. This article was originally published on The Conversation. Read the original article here.)
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