Smack-talking Sam

There’s a good chance you haven’t heard of Sam Morril.

There’s a better chance almost everyone you know who’s addicted to Instagram and TikTok has.

The New York standup comedian thrives in a space between edgy online counterculture and traditional mainstream success, with its network TV and Hollywood trappings.

No surprise that the gravelly voiced comic, who relishes barbs that needle both sides of hot-button issues, talks smack about both worlds.

“I think (social media) is easier to digest for people who now have a (crappy) attention span, right? I think we all know that. I watched a movie last night, the Kubrick movie Barry Lyndon, which is over three hours and gorgeous,” he says.

“You know what’s interesting is trying to make a 17-year-kid sit down and watch that.”

Morril is part of a growing number of New York comics, mostly men, known for their anti-PC style without in any explicit way identifying with the political right.

It’s partially this taste for juvenile anarchy — a little tamer and slicker in his case than, say, so-called “dirtbag” comics like Nick Mullen, Shane Gillis and Tim Dillon — that makes him ambivalent about TV and the old-school entertainment establishment.

“Developing a show with (Hollywood), you may as well just flush it down the toilet. They take every holiday (off work). They’re like it’s ‘Valentine’s Day, that’s another four weeks.’ Then, of course, after November, it shuts down for the year because they’re like, ‘Thanksgiving is coming up, and that’s a big one,’” he says.

“I like doing sets on late-night shows, but I also thought the process of getting on them was ridiculous. Right? Because you can’t say this word,” he says, adding that he’s often turned down the opportunity because of the restrictions.

This may be so, but he’s still had an enviable number of spots on top late-night talk shows, from Conan to Fallon — not to mention at Madison Square Garden. He has comedy specials on Netflix and Amazon Prime and a cameo in Todd Phillip’s mega-grossing 2019 film Joker.

Arguably more popular than Morril’s late-night spots are his viral appearances on the lower-stakes morning television circuit, which largely seem like an excuse for him to troll.

“You’re a progressive city. You went from moonshine to meth,” he tells a host of a breakfast television program in Springfield, Mo.

“I’m from here, and that’s nothing compared to where you’re from, New York City. I mean my goodness. That is quite different, just a different atmosphere,” she replies.

“Yeah, a lot more Jews,” shoots back the Jewish Morril.

Clearly the comic delights in impugning the artifice of talk shows — what he describes as the Pleasantville energy of morning shows and the “cool club” celebrity sycophancy of late-night TV.

“I think also people don’t want to be told how to think by celebrities. A lot of people are struggling in this country, and I don’t think they like being told how to think,” he says.

But in this same freewheeling spirit, Morril takes shots at ABC’s recent kowtowing to federal political pressure to can liberal late-night host Jimmy Kimmel.

A couple of weeks ago, Federal Communications Commission Chairman Brendan Carr, who was appointed by U.S. President Donald Trump, threatened punitory regulations against ABC for airing Jimmy Kimmel Live! after its host weighed in on conservative influencer Charlie Kirk’s assassination.

Shortly afterward, ABC suspended Jimmy Kimmel Live! — though it has since reversed that move.

The 30-something Morril, who himself has cracked jokes surrounding Kirk’s assassination (albeit without celebrating it and mostly about the shooter), criticizes ABC’s initial capitulation and says, “our current president is a danger to free speech.”

“I think there’s so many comedians I see become painfully unfunny by just hammering their point and pandering to one side,” he adds. “But the worst people are the ones who can’t laugh at themselves, really …

Morril nonetheless currently finds himself in the crossfires of some free speech defenders.

He’s one of 50 standup comedians — including also Kevin Hart, Pete Davidson and Bill Burr — participating in the inaugural Riyadh Comedy Festival hosted by the government of Saudi Arabia.

Since the story has blown up in the past couple days (after our interview with Morril), critics including comedian David Cross have slammed participants for helping the government whitewash its significant record of human-rights abuses, including against dissidents and journalists.

While the festival prohibits speech that brings “public disrepute, contempt, scandal, embarrassment, or ridicule” to the government and Saudi royal family, some, like Burr, defend their participation as fostering dialogue between Saudi and American citizens.

Morril, meanwhile, has cast his participation as a quasi-subversive act. “I’m like everything they hate,” Morril said, referring to Saudi authorities, in a recent podcast episode.

“I’m, like, a drunk Jew.”

So, when it comes to this polarized era, can “comedy for comedy’s sake” of the kind Morril champions help build a bridge across fault lines?

At least when it comes to America, he hints at a more modest role.

“I like that my comedy is just providing some relief in these times.”

conrad.sweatman@freepress.mb.ca