Stylistically, LA stand-up comedian/writer Logan Guntzelman is the anti-Jim Carrey, the polar opposite of Robin Williams. She doesn’t manically gesticulate, doesn’t contort her face, and she eschews impressions. Rather, she delivers jokes—sometimes quite dirty jokes—in a deep-voiced deadpan and with a poker face, succeeding on the sheer strength of her words and setups.
Guntzelman‘s lack of effect compounds the hilarity of what she’s imparting in an act that’s heavy on self-deprecation and worst-case scenarios (for her, mostly). It should be noted that in the venerable history of diarrhea jokes, Guntzelman has told the most solid one I’ve ever heard—and I’ve heard a lot. (Speaking of which, you can follow Logan on Instagram @placesitookashitthisyear.)
Both of Guntzelman’s parents wrote for the sitcom cult classic WKRP in Cincinnati, so she is perhaps genetically predisposed to humorous ideation. The funny thing is, though, that fact initially prompted her to rebel at the idea of a comedy career (more on that in the interview below). But the lure of agonizing open mics and drunken hecklers was too strong, and here she is, slaying audiences nationwide without raising her voice or breaking a sweat. Her credits include production work on The Closer and The Colbert Report, and she’s written and acted on SyFy Channel’s The Movie Show. Guntzelman graciously answered some questions about her life and craft via email ahead of her April 19 performance at Here-After.
The Stranger: What is the most important catalyst for your humor?
Logan Guntzelman: I’d say it’s a 60/40 split between embarrassing personal experiences and stupid stuff I see on TV and/or the internet.
Your delivery is very deadpan. I have great respect for deadpan comedians, because the lack of inflection places a heavier burden on the actual material—which is why Steven Wright is one of my favorites. Is this how you always talk, or is it a strategy to enhance your act?
Honestly, I didn’t know I was deadpan for a very long time. I thought I was performing like most stand-ups, using inflection and changing my tone of voice, but I kept getting compliments on my “deadpan” style of delivery. At first I was frustrated because it wasn’t on purpose; I’m just kind of a monotone woman. But the longer I’ve done stand-up, the more I’ve come to appreciate it.
Given that both of your parents worked in television comedy, did you feel pressure to enter the “family business”?
I actually felt self-imposed pressure to go in the opposite direction, because I wanted to prove that I could excel in a different field. I “rebelled” by trying really hard in school, and I planned on becoming a doctor up until my junior year of college. That year, I applied to be an intern on The Colbert Report, just because I liked the show and I thought it would be fun. After that internship I realized that, despite my best efforts, I did want to work in entertainment. Even though stand-up is “family business”-adjacent, my parents have always thought that comedians were insane people, so they are both confused by and supportive of my career choice.
What topics will you never address in your act, and why? Or are taboo subjects for the spineless?
I rarely talk about current events or politics, but not because I think they are taboo—I’m just dumb. I’m impressed by stand-ups that can craft good jokes about the news, but that’s not how my brain works. I don’t think any subject is taboo, as long as the joke is really incredible. Most comedians who get in trouble for their problematic jokes aren’t in trouble because they made a joke; they’re in trouble because the joke they made isn’t funny, so audiences are only focusing on the offensive parts of what they’ve heard. People will forgive a lot if it’s a truly excellent bit.
What’s a richer source of humor—mundanity or profundity?
I think both are really important. Jokes about the mundane aspects of life are more relatable for audiences, because they’ve probably experienced those same things; after all, they’re mundane for a reason. Profundity often means a joke about an experience that’s unique to the comedian, or a point of view that’s different from the mainstream. Audiences may not have lived a similar life to the comedian they’re watching, but they’re able to see the humor in something outside of their experience. This is an incredibly dorky thing to say, but this is why comedy is cool; mundanity reminds audiences that people are a lot more alike than they are different, and profundity reminds audiences that even if we are different, we can still connect to one another.
What’s your take on bodily function jokes? Lowest form of humor or universal bonding agent? Both? Are there fresh angles to be explored with them or should we flush them down the toilet forever?
I’m all for bodily function jokes, but I do try to tell them in the least gross way possible. I think bodily function jokes are a way for people to bond, but if the description of the bodily function gets too graphic, then you’re alienating the audience and they are just sitting in judgment of you. Okay, this might be just my experience.
What are your professional ambitions for the near and distant future?
I just want to keep performing all over the place. The only way to get better at stand-up is to do it a lot, and I really want to get as good as I possibly can.
Which comedian has been the most inspirational and influential for you, and why?
I know he’s huge now, but I’ve always loved Nate Bargatze because he is also a deadpan, lower-energy comedian. I love a bunch of comedians who are very different from me, but I’m always impressed by how fricken good they are: Kyle Kinane, Liza Treyger, Chris Estrada, Dave Waite, Chris Fairbanks, and honestly, Katt Williams’s special, The Pimp Chronicles Pt. 1, is one of my favorite specials of all time.
See Logan Guntzelman with Genevieve Ferrari and Zahnae Aquino at Here-After Friday, April 19, 7 pm, $20, 21+.
Dave Segal
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