The New Yorker Radio Hour - Jacqueline Novak Is Giving Audiences “Everything She’s Got”

Episode Date: February 13, 2024

The comedian Jacqueline Novak wasn’t well known before her Netflix début “Get on Your Knees.” The show was a big swing in her career, an ambitious attempt to establish her singular voice, and it worked. A fast-paced and raucous examination of her personal journey with oral sex, Novak tosses out so many tangents—philosophical, psychological, anatomical, linguistic—that you’re liable to miss many of her allusions. Novak knows that her hectic delivery is an acquired taste. “We’ve got to get through this, because I’ve got a lot to say,” she tells David Remnick. Although she relentlessly probes the power dynamics between men and women, she doesn’t “want to come out here and say ‘male fragility.’ I’m really not trying to do that. But it happens, sort of.” The show could make a lot of people uncomfortable, but she’s not worried about cancellation, as many male comedians have been. “Choosing to make art of any kind is sort of this self-appointment. No one’s asking you to do it. So it’s sort of weird for me to get into a mind-set as though you're owed any comfort.”  New Yorker Radio Hour listeners, we want to hear from you.  We have a few questions about the show and how you listen to it. The survey takes about twenty minutes, and your feedback will help us make our podcast better.  Take the survey here.

This is The New Yorker Radio Hour, a co-production of WNYC Studios and The New Yorker. This is the New Yorker Radio Hour. I'm David Remnick. Now, sex jokes have been around since forever. You may know the old one about the women who decide to withhold from their men until they knock off fighting a war, the Peloponnesian War. The men get in a huff. They walk around in, let's say, an extended state of agony. And finally, they cave in. The war ends.

A great celebration ensues. That's the plot of the comedy, Lissistrata, a play by Aristophanes from 411 BC. It's a pretty great political joke, political and sexual, at the same time. Now, a few millennia later, comedian Jacqueline Novak works a similar groove, but she's created something entirely original. Her debut on Netflix is a show called Get On Your Knees. It's a comedy special, sure, but not at all a string of setups and punchlines. can get that anywhere. Novaq's performance is a rant. It's blazingly fast, full of illusions and

sly jokes and political pot shots that go by so quickly that you'll sometimes miss a few of them and want to watch again. It's about sex, power, the dilemmas of women, the vanities of men, not to mention the absurdities of anatomy. Well, it's tender. It's responsive. You know, they're... It springs up under certain conditions. That's why I think it is the soul of an artist. You know, it sees something that intrigues it, and it sort of... It fills with inspiration.

And it is a filling to me. It is a filling to me much more than it is a... Erection. I think erection's a little architectural of what's happening there. I don't think when she go in that building, I don't think it's safe. It's not up to code. I'm like a building, it doesn't... It doesn't topple.

it withers. It dies on the vine. It blooms and it withers. Novak is deeply aware of the embarrassments that go along with sex and of just being alive, being human. And that really came through when we spoke. The narrative core of her show is an attempt at oral sex and yet I wouldn't call it raunchy, not in the usual comedy way.

There's barely an F-bomb to be heard. Nevertheless, the work is about sex and there's some slang that isn't bleeped on our podcast, just so you know. For an hour plus, there's more material crammed into this space. Yeah. Then I would think any other comedians, two hours or three hours. And it has to be something that you wrote and wrote and worked and worked and rewrote and rewrote.

What's the precedent for this? I can't think of an exact or even remotely exact precedent for you. your heroes in this or who are you looking toward or are you just dangling out there on your own? Well, I always wanted to be like Chris Rock. I wanted to stock, you know, stalk the stage and kind of to have a kind of like rabbit enthusiasm about things that I desire to desperately communicate with other people. Like, you know. How did you begin to conceive it and construct it? Yeah. It comes of me trying to take a huge swing, like funny girl going in, like Mr. Ziegfield, here I am, you know?

And then, you know, could I sort of do this thing, this is this sort of blowjob show, but then it's this other thing or this other thing, but can I still convince him I'm doing stand-up? You know, like, I'm very consumed with, I guess, being understood, like, just like in a core sort of wound way or something like that. Were you concerned that the, What you were doing before was too limited or derivative or anything like that,

and this is the real you, and I'm going to try to hit it over the wall? I mean, the late night set, for example, you're this guest. So to me, it feels like, okay, I've got to go out. I'm going to sing a little tune. You know, like, I'm going to sing a little tune in the tradition of stand-up comedy. And there's something satisfying and kind of fun about doing it on it. It's exactly its own terms versus almost, I don't know, know, going out there and sort of like sort of being a star in five minutes in this ragged sort of way

that it's like something in me that wants to fulfill the assignment. And, um, you know. Was there a moment where you thought of a line, an idea, a word, anything that you go, ah, that's it. That's what this is going to be about. And that's why it's going to be both funny and original. So in college, I wrote an essay, and the essay was very much elements of this narrative of kind of going from remembering this first time that I heard about the blowjob and then kind of my evolving thoughts about it through the years. That in combination with sort of stand-up and things I've been working on in the stand-up context in a very simplistic way, like, okay, I've stumbled on doing these jokes about, the penis, which, like, I still, I don't even like saying it. I'm like, I can't even believe that, like, I've ended up there. You know, like, that is not the plan. Like, when other

people make a joke about the penis or something, I'm like, I'm like, I like, like, I don't mean to be talking about these things. Well, how many times did you perform it before the Netflix taping? You know, I wish I knew this, this number, like, because it's like, I remember getting to a hundred shows back at, like, during the first run, but then I toured it and that was probably like another 50 shows, and then I did another run, so that was probably another 100 shows. So up to 300? I weirdly don't know.

And this is, I mean, I guess someone could do the mat. I'm like, a thousand? I'm like, or is it like 260? Like, I have, like, no clue. I notice that you wear a uniform for this show that's not necessarily your usual uniform. You wear jeans, a kind of baggy gray t-shirt, and sneakers. And in other performances, you've worn, you know, you've got to dressed up more.

What was behind that decision? Yeah. It was the attempt to completely sort of neutralize and like you can never neutralize the body or, you know, the field form or anything. It just made sense to wear the thing that let me be as close to a mind for me, which is, and that might be something else for someone. someone else. But for me, jeans, a t-shirt, sneakers, I basically forget, I basically forget my body, which is sort of a goal. And you want us to as well. You know, I take the stage, you show up, you get to look, and fair enough, fair enough, but it is a nightmare. It is a nightmare for an intellectual like myself.

Now, I like to keep it moving on stage, because I know how you people operate, okay? Okay, I stand still for too long, you see something you like, you take a mental snapshot, who knows, but you'll do with it later. I think, I much prefer it. I prefer to keep things moving, keep them blurry, thank you very much. Try to take a mental snapshot of it, nothing but a gray blur. Simple self-preservation. And what's it like to perform it? I finished watching it a second time.

I thought, this must be physically and mentally both exhilarating but exhausting. Really hard to do. There's a sense of like sort of filling myself up, gearing up, winding myself up, and then just like, and then letting it all unfurl and sort of left with nothing at the end. And it would sort of be like lightly fasting during the day. You know, but trying not to have nothing, like not to be like completely depleted by the time, but like nervous, you know, just the nervous thing. And then like ritual meal after, which is just the greatest, like such a huge part of the like physical experience of the show.

No, no, you need to just do it. Well, you're not to just do a person to even listen to yourself. I don't care. I don't care if you're an overthinker wish she had a second mouth to narrate her every experience or everyone would know that I know that she knows about. Gingle Dangle and there's life awareness. No, you need to find the way. Well, Nichi said there is no way. There's only my way. And find Nici's way. Then find your way. I have to find a way. Let's talk about the speed. Yeah. There's obviously an idea behind the speed. I think you pause for breath twice to grab the most Spartan glass of water. off a little teeny shelf in the back of the theater.

I opted for the shelf. It just nothing. I struck the stool and opted for the shelf. And so what's the thinking about the speed? Because I think for some listeners, it can be too fast. You're missing stuff the way you might a complicated piece of music.

Well, it worked for me as a live show in that people would come back and go, or after they say, I want to read it or something. You know, like, and I do think basically comes out of, you know, some version of insecurity. I mean, it's, you know, you didn't like this. Like, you didn't like this? Well, don't worry.

I'm moving off it, you know? It's like, we got to get through this, like, because I have a lot to say. Like, you know, like, I have this grand theory of everything in my mind that I'm building towards. And in order to, in order to get you there, I have to take you through this journey with this specific thing because I need to give you these details. But along the way, wait, I need to explain. You probably think I think this about this.

And I need to explain. I actually think this about this. So there's some kind of compulsion in there. I need to be tilted forward, like into the wind, like running, you know, and leaning against the wind. It's like I'm using all of my struggles, like, or like, you know, my like focus stuff. Like, don't interrupt me. I won't, I won't be able to hold the train of thought. I can't look at you.

I just have to keep moving or all drown, you know, or whatever. and I'm sort of letting those flaws, struggles, whatever, I'm like allowing them and letting those be perceived as like my style. You know, it almost be like, you know, like, oh, well, your style is a neurotic or your style is a, and it's like, it's not like, you know, you seek, it's like, no, I think I'm preaching. the neurotic is just coming in against my intentions. It's not like I wore like a neurotic hat because I thought like wouldn't it be fun to be a neurotic act or something.

I don't even say I'm neurotic. I just, you know, just as an example. Jacqueline, you spend at least 20 minutes talking about the penis and at one point call it, and I love this, a drama queen. The penis is a sensitive. The penis is the nag. The penis is the drama queen. I mean, the ultimate drama queen.

Just one minute, life of the party. And then the very next just flopped over and sulking on the fainting couch. But it is the inner thigh, just waiting for someone to notice that, frankly, she's upset. It really comes down to my sort of obsession with how things we take for granted, like metaphor and in language, you know, our choices, even if made unconsciously and by the group over time. Right? Like, that is just compelling to me. I sort of have a permanent irritation with the way that it's forgotten that those were sort of choices, you know, that everything's literary in some way. And, you know, I'm talking about this irritation that I was unable to totally understand at the time. But looking back, I can go, okay, I was expected to accept this idea. of the penis as this just male, you know, this fearsome object. I wasn't able to quite realize that, like, contradiction at the time, you know? It's like more like later, I'm like, yeah, so I was so, you know, it's like acting like

the, like I felt like I was expected sort of act like the penis was this one thing while also doing this opposite thing. But then I was also dealing with this serious fear of the two-deep blowjob. And it's like, wait, this thing that I'm being expected to do is, like, putting it at risk massively. Like, it is not strong. Like, it is, it's the one, you know, part on whatever, the boyfriend, you know, in my case that, like, I don't want to accidentally elbow. Like, it's literally, like, the tender area. So it's like, it's weird.

I'm talking with Jacqueline Novak, and her Netflix special is called Get on Your Knees. We'll continue in a moment. So Carrie Batten, who wrote a wonderful profile of you in the New Yorker recently, said this. Shame is the root of most comedy. But Novak prefers to grapple with shame's more free-spirited and familiar cousin, embarrassment. Yeah. So I enjoy identifying kind of embarrassment, right? I kind of, or I have like, I've always felt like I have a meter for it, like a really sensitive sort of like ear for embarrassment, you know.

Like a, you know, what's the word when people have, oh, perfect pitch, you know, like they can hear it, like the ear. Anyway, I've always felt like just this, oh, that's embarrassing. Let me tell you why, right? And in the context of the show, when I do this kind of like, you know, all the energy I've expended. to coddle your ego, so to speak, you know, poetize your flaws. That's on me. I did that, right?

I did that. I enjoyed it even. A lot of comedians, or at least some comedians lately, have been obsessed with cancel culture. They see as a burden. Or at least they're obsessed with a sense that it's harder to tell jokes.

Now, you hear this with Ricky Gervais, you hear it with Dave Chappelle. And is that an issue for you, or some subjects? No, tell me about that. Yeah, I just think it's like, like we're artists, like, we're fine. You know what I mean?

Like, to me, like, choosing to make art of any kind, right? It's sort of this self-appointment, you know? No one's asking you to do it. So it's sort of weird for me to kind of get into a mindset as though, like, you're owed any comfort or any, it's not like you were forced into being an artist and the conditions are, you know,

the conditions aren't what we were promised. Like, that's never, right? Isn't that sort of, that's never the case? Did you think that the critique of Dave Chappelle was and is wrongheaded or legit? I mean, I... I... To me, it's like, it's all, it's all, it's all,

just try, like I almost am like, despite being willing almost to talk about my own sort of comedy, like I'm basically like unwilling almost to, like there's something to me sort of commenting outside of comedy, sort of about comedy in this way, like I'm very resistant to it. Why is that? It's just sort of, then I'm no longer the artist. It's like, I guess anything where it's like,

it used to. to be easier to be a X or Y kind of artist or something like that, whatever it is. Like, it's like, what? Like, what are we talking about here? It's not a job anyone's guaranteed. Like, it's acting like the culture is responsible for the artist's experience. Like, it doesn't even make sense to me. And Jacqueline, there's a part of the show where you compare the men in your life to toddlers, miming the act of placing bumpers around the house that they don't injure themselves. Male fragility is a big theme, the idea that men need to think of ourselves as potent and impressive and we'll have a meltdown if anybody suggests otherwise. I completely own that it's a projection. Like, I don't, it's not, it's really important to me in John Early when we were working on the show.

John Early was a collaborator of yours in developing it. In that section where I'm saying, I do this and I do this and I bend over. backwards to make sure that you don't feel, you know, embarrassment or whatever. I don't actually like that. I don't want to come out here and stand up and say, you know, male fragility. Like, I'm really not trying to do that, but it happens sort of. Any headline about the show, like, if it said something about male fragility, I'd be like, no, you know, like, or if it were like, trolls the penis. I'd be like, no.

It's like any of these statements, and I always feel this way, it's like, if you could say what if you could say what the thing meant, you wouldn't have had to say the thing, right? Like, it's in the form. If you could summarize it. Yeah, then why write a show? Yeah, so the summary is sort of this lie that maybe gets people to go then kind of experience it and experiencing it hopefully in all of its tensions. That's well said.

That's well said. Yeah, yeah. That sends them back into the fray where it complicates again. So, yeah, that's really it. Jacqueline Novak, thank you so much. Thank you. Jacqueline Novak's comedy special is called Get On Your Knees. It's showing on Netflix.

And there's a terrific profile of Novak in the magazine by staff writer Carrie Batten. And you can find it at New Yorker.com. I'm David Remnick. Thanks for joining me this hour. See you next time. The New Yorker Radio Hour is a co-production of WNYC Studios and The New Yorker. Our theme music was composed and performed. by Merrill Garbeths of Tuneiards with additional music by Louis Mitchell.

This episode was produced by Max Walton, Adam Howard, Kalalia, David Krasnow, Jeffrey Masters, and Louis Mitchell, with guidance from Emily Boutin and assistance from Mike Cutchman, Michael May, David Gable, and Alejandra Deckett. The New Yorker Radio Hour is supported in part by the Cherina Endowment Fund.