As far as I can tell, the only lyric in the opening theme to Maria Bamford’s gloriously surreal new Netflix show is “I’m a pterodactyl!” Except in the pilot, when it’s “Have you ever been to Detroit?” which isn’t even where the show takes place.
If you’re at all familiar with Bamford, this will feel in keeping with her style. If not, well, welcome to the world of this absurdist, painfully honest comic. She’s been around for quite a while; her high-pitched voice has gotten her a lot of work in cartoon voice overs, and she’s also been a regular on the alt-comedy circuit for many years. She was on Sarah Silverman’s show, and Tim and Eric’s, and Louis C.K.’s, and Nick Kroll’s, and Marc Maron’s. (Her “WTF” interview with Maron, incidentally, is one of the show’s best ever episodes, in my opinion). She’s also put a lot of unique one-offs into the world, like this satire of a haul video (that’s where kids buy clothes and makeup, then come home and make videos showing what they bought. No, I don’t really get why either). She’s prolific not in spite of her struggles with mental illness, but in concert with it. She’s never shied away from talking about it, which makes her a standalone even in an industry that’s flypaper for depressives.
It’s high time she had her own show — her 2012 standup special in her parents’ living room was a gem — and the fact that its creators hail from “Arrested Development” (Mitchell Hurwitz) and “South Park” (Pam Brady) makes a weird kind of sense. “Lady Dynamite” is slapstick and profane and packed with cameos from other comedians with impeccable timing; it’s also fueled by its star’s real struggle with Bipolar 2, her repeat hospitalizations for it, and the everyday challenges of making a living as an entertainer in the crazy-making and misogynist world of L.A. while trying to stay healthy and sane.
Bamford has a certain multi-layered facial expression I can’t really do justice to in words: It starts out tentative and anxious, moves into puppyishly enthusiastic and then drops precipitously into regret/horror/extreme discomfort. It’s an amazing thing to watch, and it’s sort of the anchor of this whole show.
“Lady Dynamite” is divided into two time frames — past and present — with the past centered around Bamford’s time in Duluth at her parents’ house, attending outpatient treatment for crippling depression. Though Bamford has sort of cornered the market on finding the humor in breakdowns, these segments are also deeply sad and honestly rendered. Maria sits at the dining room table staring at a sandwich, near-catatonic, one tear rolling down her face as her dad suggests they go to the Dairy Queen.
Some plot points hew closer than others to reality. One bit that’s definitely yanked from life is developing her character for a series of Target ads she starred in. In “Lady Dynamite,” she gets inspiration from a fellow group-therapy attendee who confesses that shopping gives her a kind of mania. Just watch Bamford’s performance in the real thing and see if it doesn’t completely sync up with that explanation.
We’re already in an era where awkwardness is celebrated — witness the hilarious social ineptitude of Abbi on “Broad City,” for example — but Bamford seems capable of giving voice to a more specific articulation of the way many of us feel at times, heightened by her own experience of having to police her own thoughts (hear her comedy about “unwanted thoughts syndrome” here).
In one episode, her agent (Fred Melamed) brings her to a dinner party where she puts on a husky voice and masquerades as “Diane the extrovert,” and in the process, snares the interest of a humor-challenged guy played very gamely by Brandon “Former Superman” Routh. In another, she openly grapples with how to talk about race. She labels herself a people-pleaser, and spends many a cringe-worthy moment immediately wanting to take back things she’s agreed to to make her friends and colleagues happy.
She also skewers the kind of work she may or may not actually have been offered, with a parade of terrible-idea shows and cartoons including “Lock Up a Broad,” a reality show in which a woman is locked in a closet for days; a violent Japanese commercial for a ramen product called “Pussy Noodle;” and a show called “White Trash” in which two black men (the identical-twin comedians Keith and Kenny Lucas) play garbage men in a show otherwise entirely cast with white actors. In my favorite bit, she breaks down during the taping of a sitcom called “Baby on Board” (in which a baby sits on the financial board of a company, natch) and name-checks Hannah Arendt and the banality of evil at the end of the scene in which the baby, voiced by a grown man, insults her breasts.
It’s a testament to how loved Bamford is that the parade of cameos is seemingly endless. Among the more surprising ones is John Ridley, screenwriter of “12 Years a Slave,” who shows up in her race-centric episode, as does Mira Sorvino. Ana Gasteyer is fantastic as Bamford’s over-the-top manager, and Bridget Everett — who is finally getting a little more of her due in the spotlight — is one of her besties.
The show’s first four episodes are a little uneven, as is to be expected, but I absolutely can’t wait to see what the next eight bring. Bamford’s is a truly original voice and we need to hear more.
