You might not expect a Netflix comedy special to be borne out of a eulogy, but that's how Sarah Silverman's PostMortem came to be. In 2023, Silverman's father and stepmother died just nine days apart from each other.
"I had spoken at my dad's [memorial], and, of course, there were a lot of funny things in there, because he was hilarious," she says. "So that was the starting point for starting over again with my stand-up. And it just grew and grew and built from there."
Silverman's father and stepmother are buried together under one tombstone, which says: "Janice and Donald, who loved to laugh." That's the spirit she wanted to capture in her special. Still, she says, the early stage of working the material, when she first went out on tour, was rough.
"I dreaded going on stage. I dreaded sludging through all of this because I hadn't figured it out totally yet. I hadn't found all the laughs," Silverman says.
Gradually, with each performance, she worked out a way to talk about her dad and stepmom in a way that felt right. Then, she says, "it became really a joy to go out, like, where I couldn't wait to tell this new crowd about these people."
"I feel like funerals and shivas can be so joyful. .... It's when you realize those stories are finite, that it gets sad again," Silverman says. "This whole tour was so cathartic in that way."
Interview highlights
On whether she worries about her own death
I have all the worry I need. And really my biggest challenge is shedding that. Because I think worry can make you sick. And that's why you say "I'm worried sick." And I don't know what it accomplishes. If there is anything to do to prepare, yeah, I'm on board with that. But the dread and worry are punishments we seem to give ourselves. … We could be doing anything else. You gotta be as healthy as you can, take care of yourself, floss — death creeps in through the gums, Terry! This is such wasted, precious time to fill it with dread of death and sickness. … I haven't mastered it, but I'm absolutely in practice for hopefully the rest of my life. I'm always learning, trying to figure out techniques to mitigate dread, worry, obsession.
On how her parents supported her dropping out of college to pursue comedy
A rare story for a comic: My parents totally believed in me. I was a good student/kid anyway. I did my homework in literal and figurative ways. I wasn't a slacker. I wanted to be a comic. I was out every night. … I would pinch myself to stay awake. I just couldn't fight it and I felt so guilty also because NYU is so expensive. … I took a year off and about three weeks before I was going to return, I had changed to the Arts and Sciences school because I knew I wanted to be a comedian. I wanted to be an actor. …
I think I had passed at my first club by then, when I was 19. And my dad called and said, "Listen, I believe in you. I believe that what you're going to do, you don't need a diploma. And if you want to drop out, I will pay your rent and utilities for the next three years as if it were your sophomore, junior, senior year." So that saves him a ton of money, right? I think my rent was $350. It moved up to $450 at one point. And I had roommates and everything. And he didn't have to pay for college anymore. And it really worked out. By the time I would have graduated college, I was a writer at Saturday Night Live and I was financially independent from then on.
On the boys' club of the comedy scene when she was starting out
I was great at it. And I was praised for it. And you could see early articles about me, "Oh, she's one of the boys" and that was something to achieve. And that was something that I was praised for, and it's so interesting looking back … at how dated and sick and sad and wildly sexist and accepted all of that was.
It was easy for me because … I love poker. I love sports. I play sports. I'm explicit. I swear. I talk about sex. All of these things conveniently fit into what was kind of acceptable in a way. But the female experience was not [acceptable]. ... I do remember comics who I loved and looked up to who were male would say, "Sarah, you can't talk about women's stuff because the audience might have women in it, but they're on dates and they only laugh if the guy laughs. The only people to make laugh are the men." I have to be honest, I accepted that. They were grownups to me.
On being sexualized as a young woman in comedy
I was sexualized and that was a part of my success. But then, of course I lost my virginity as a comedian at 19. And like most young people, but acceptable for men, I fell in love with it. "Ooh, I love sex. What would it be like with him? What would it be like him?" And I was very free and very sexual. I was, at the time, extremely penalized for it. … I was a kid, grown men, I can't fault them for sexualizing me when I was having sex with a whole lot of men that were comics because that's who I was around. But it was obviously an insane double standard. I don't blame myself and I'm not ashamed for being extremely experimental and sexual, especially the year I was 20. … The guy comics could sleep with waitresses, servers, and women in the audience, you know? And it's just very interesting to look back on it from the world we're in now.
On the last thing her mom said to her before she died in 2015
It's funny, I was sitting with her, and we were in New Hampshire, that's where I'm from. And I did not know it was gonna be the last time I would see her, but I knew this was towards the end. And I was saying goodbye to her, I was heading to Logan Airport in Boston. And I wasn't holding her hand, and she was looking up at me and she smiled, and then she had this concerned look on her face, and she reached up and she said, "Your hair. It's so dry." That was the last thing she said to me. … I wouldn't change it for the world. It was the ultimate mother-daughter encapsulation.
Ann Marie Baldonado and Susan Nyakundi produced and edited this interview for broadcast. Bridget Bentz, Molly Seavy-Nesper and Beth Novey adapted it for the web.
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