Comedian Sam Morril Talks Crowd Work, Shrinks and Scaling His Act 

click to enlarge

• Courtesy
• Sam Morril

Comedian Sam Morril will likely joke about anything: abortion, pedophiles, dating apps, the Holocaust, Karens, watching porn — and that's just in his 2022 Netflix special, "Sam Morril: Same Time Tomorrow." Delivered with a liquid nitrogen-cooled deadpan, a gravelly voice and mischievously cocked eyebrows, Morril's quips are as graphic as they are hilarious. But a potty mouth and a gutter brain aren't what gets the New York-born comic's audiences doubled over in laughter. It's that Morril's sharp observations are anchored in irrefutable truths.

Not just a comedian, Morril hosted the late show "People Talking Sports* (*And Other Stuff)" for two seasons. In the first episode, he assured his audience it would not be a typical sportscast but more like when "you're at a bar, and someone comes over to you, and they're drunk and they're annoying you."

Speaking of sauce, Morril currently cohosts the podcast "We Might Be Drunk" with fellow comedian Mark Normand. The two recently launched a beverage venture of their own, Bodega Cat Whiskey, named for the furry friends New Yorkers often encounter at their local corner store.

Morril brings "The Class Act" tour to South Burlington's Higher Ground Ballroom on Saturday, August 19. Seven Days caught up with him in advance by phone.

You've performed here before, and I understand that one time there was an ... incident.

Oh, yeah. You never know what's going to happen in Vermont. You might get a massage from a white woman with dreadlocks; you might get attacked by a dude with a pint glass.

I'm sure Seven Days readers would love to hear about that.

Years ago, I got attacked by a guy in a bar. He was hammered. I was having a drink after a set. A comic friend of mine, Carmen Lagala, was opening the show. She's from Vermont. So she said, "Let's go to this bar right here." We were with a couple other comics.

And a guy just walks over, and he goes, "University of Vermont?" And I said no. And he goes, "Master's degree?" and I said, "You're getting colder." And he didn't like that. And he just goes, "I'm gonna beat the crap out of all of you." But he's just looking at me. And I was like, Well, this doesn't seem good. And I kind of just ignored him. As I turned around, he smashed a pint glass on my head.

It was a whole incident. He went for a cop's gun, apparently, afterward. They didn't shoot him because of his white privilege, I guess. I don't know. Turns out he was a therapist, too. That was fun.

Was this pre-pandemic?

Yeah.

Well, the bad news is that it's kinda gotten worse around here since then.

I've been back. They're giving out fentanyl like it's Pez.

Make sure to hold on to your keys and wallet!

We'll be safe. Beautiful downtown area there, so we'll just go to that good Turkish spot I like.

I wonder how writers like yourself don't just poke holes in everything you come up with. The entire internet is basically people telling each other they're stupid and wrong. How does that not creep into your process?

You mean, how do I get over the self-hatred?

Yeah, sure.

You know, it's tough. It's very hard to write something that actually makes the act, or I would have more jokes. For it to make the act, it's really gotta go through a lot. The point I'm at now with this new hour — you know, when I'm starting fresh; I have no material after I burn a special — I'll throw anything at the wall. But, at this point, the set is working, so for a new joke to make it in takes a lot. It's gotta kill.

You talk a lot about going to therapy. Does seeing a therapist help your act?

Yeah, I think therapy can help your comedy because, you know, we're working through original thoughts. I think some comedians make the mistake that their act is their therapy. And whenever I hear someone say that, I'm like, "I think you're confused." It's usually an overindulgent comedian who is just like, "Had a fucking hard day today."

You need more than that. Therapy can be a tool for your act, for sure. Because the job is to be in your head and to think. A lot of times, therapy or problems with yourself — which is what jokes are, right? — you're trying to work things out. And your jokes are, too. You're trying to connect dots.

Has your therapist ever seen you perform?

Yeah. He sat behind my mom at one show. And I was like, "Did she not like this particular joke?" And he goes, "I don't think she liked that one." That's great. Freud would have a field day with that shit.

I think that's a setup right there. "My therapist is sitting behind my mom at a show..."

Yeah, exactly.

As you transition from smaller venues to bigger ones and national tours, what do you lose or leave behind? Anything you miss?

Yeah, of course. One thing is, when you're not selling tickets, you're hungry. Or you're failing, right? You're either drowning or you're like, I need to sink or swim. So smaller shows also offer more repetition. You can make more changes.

You get the green light to go into theaters because you're adding shows in clubs. But once you kind of have the hour, you're not making the changes you were in the developing stages.

There are a ton of clips of you online doing crowd work. Is that something you look forward to, or does it just keep happening?

I wouldn't say I look forward to it. I prefer to do the show. But I'm gonna get heckled. It's gonna happen. If I want to do crowd work organically, then I don't mind it. The heckles can get annoying sometimes because I kind of want to do it on my terms, right? I like breaking up a set with a little crowd work.

But my sets are pretty dense. I do a lot of quick jokes. And there's a rhythm to it. So I like to mix it up. I think that's good for the show. And I like to, you know, riff on the city that I'm in and make the show feel kind of special for whatever city I'm in. So, yeah, I look forward to it a little bit, but nothing is better than a new bit.

This interview was edited and condensed for clarity and length.