Interview #144 — Nina Oyama
by Vidya Rajan
Nina Oyama is a stand-up comedian, writer and actress, best known for her TV work on Utopia, Tonightly with Tom Ballard and The Angus Project. She begins every email with the phrase “sorry for the late reply”.
Nina speaks to Vidya about failure and the writing process, comedy and responsibility, and the importance of cum tweets.
How did you get started in comedy? Did you always know it’s what you wanted to do?
I started performing stand up when I was seventeen—but I was obsessed with comedy from age fifteen (specifically CollegeHumour.com). They had a daily video podcast which could be downloaded onto an iPod—sketches, stand up, prank shows and funny interviews, and I remember clearing all my songs so I could watch comedy all the time, and I learned their sketches off by heart. Classic sad nerd hours.
Throughout high school I’d never really been funny but I had a lot of funny friends, and I remember we used to quietly heckle teachers and make each other laugh during class, but no one encouraged me to do stand up. When I told my parents I was going to do an open mic they were like “you’re not the funny one, your brother is!” and then I went to my room and cried because I was a sad weird teenage person who felt worthless all the time!
I think my desire to do stand up stemmed from two things: I liked making people laugh, but I also loved the idea of getting people to listen to me, because when you’re a teenager it feels like no one listens to you. And after going to a few open mics as a spectator (I would tell my parents I was going “late night shopping” with friends and then go to open mic comedy nights in the city alone), I was like—getting on stage seems achievable, and maybe I will be good at it, and then maybe people will listen to me, and they did! Basically my story is the same as The Joker movie except without the violence and the Batman stuff.
Speaking of great origin stories, I read you nearly became a ballet dancer but suffered an ACL injury. Do you ever think about the alternate life of Nina Oyama—principal dancer?
To be honest, not really. I also think deep down I always knew I was never good enough to be a dancer. For starters, my body is all wrong. My ballet teacher nicknamed me “the Iron Woman” cause I have really broad shoulders and my contemporary dance teacher nicknamed me “Atom” because I would move really fast and awkwardly when we were supposed to be slow and graceful.
I think it was kind of good that I broke my knee when I did because it forced me to slow my life down and recalibrate. Also, I stopped getting passive aggressive nicknames after I stopped dancing. Also, dancers are fucking terrifying! They are like these long necked, beautiful creatures and they are all very cool (and also a lot of them are rich)! At that age, I could definitely feel everyone around me hitting their glow up while I just stayed short and muscly and weird, and eventually when I fell over and broke my knee at the dance company’s annual Christmas Concert like a clown, I was like...yeah maybe I am not built for the dancer life. Maybe I’m better at embarrassing myself on stage (and guess what!! I was right).
You’ve also talked about having a strong relationship with failure and it’s something you cover in your comedy. Why is failure important to you?
I think failure is important because it makes you stronger. Like I think when you fail you learn stuff, and then you can grow from those experiences and become a better person. I think failing a lot teaches resilience—it’s about accepting things you can’t change and then moving on.
Also (to an extent) my comedic identity is that I’m a shambolic bitch who frequently embarrasses herself, and fails a lot, and people seem to respond to that? I guess on some level failure is relatable. Also no one likes a hero!! Not even heroes like themselves, that’s why they are always pretending to be humans. Like Superman! THINK ABOUT IT! (Actually don’t think about it too much, I’m probably wrong—I haven’t fact checked this statement. I just thought it sounded profound.)
Comedy can be a rough place. Even if you’re talented, getting lucky breaks and of course, surviving the grossness of certain scenes can be necessary. How do you deal with that?
This is so true, which is why my message to comedians is: TRUST NO BITCH!! No, I’m just kidding. I think like 90% of comedy is just socialising and drinking beers to be honest. It’s hanging out in the smoking area and saying “how did you get that gig?” over and over until your eyes roll back into your head and you pass out. Plus, being a good person is important. Call me old fashioned but I think being nice to people is COOL. Also, I truly believe the bitchiest people I’ve ever met are straight men in comedy (and i went to an ALL GIRLS high school), so if you’re a nice person they have less of a reason to hate you.
As a teenage girl I developed an intense case of internalised misogyny and considered myself “oNe of tHe boYz” in the open mic comedy scene. Then, when I was twenty a really bad thing happened to me and when I told some male comedians about what happened they stopped being my friends, and then I had a mental breakdown and moved to regional Australia. I didn’t fully return to the comedy scene for like three years because I was pretty traumatised. But I’m glad I did because there are a lot more women in the scene now, and it’s a more supportive place overall. I don’t think experiencing trauma should be normalised, but I just wanted to tell that story because most female comics I know have a ~version~ of that story and so if you are finding the scene a bit gross, it’s because it absolutely is. But if you can come out the other side, it’s not so bad.
Your work seems interested in pushing how people think of marginal experiences—whether it’s The Angus Project or (something I’m biased in favour of) writing about bodies and cum a lot. Where does this urge come/cum from for you?
I don’t know where the cum thing comes from!! It started out as one joke on twitter and now it’s like my entire identity. I’m like a “cum comedian” now? Obviously I love it! But it is weird. I guess I’ve always been pretty gross because I like that confrontational aspect. I remember when I was still in high school, I used to do this joke on stage about how I could never be a mother because I have sensitive nipples and would get aroused from breastfeeding. Like, I’ve just always enjoyed being gross.
I think at the end of the day I like subverting expectations. With The Angus Project, Angus and I wanted to change people’s perspective on what it meant to live life with a disability. With my comedy, a lot of people have said when I go on stage I seem like a nice lady and then when I say stuff, they are like: yuck, a nice lady would definitely not say those things!
I suppose on a deeper level you could be like “society expects a certain thing from women, and by being openly grotesque, I am defying those expectations” and I hope that it’s true. Otherwise, I’m just a gross little gremlin and not much else.
I think my desire to do stand up stemmed from two things: I liked making people laugh, but I also loved the idea of getting people to listen to me, because when you’re a teenager it feels like no one listens to you.
It also seems like you’re interested in public and political responsibility in your work, whether it’s towards fellow women in comedy, or in your work on the satirical news show Tonightly. Most recently, your posts on COVID facts at the start of the pandemic were a fun, and probably really useful, example of this.
Yeah I just posted that stuff because I am filled with rage! The corona stuff in particular, I kept seeing my friends going out to bars just before the Stage 3 lockdown, and I got so worried about them because they didn’t know how easy or quickly the virus spread. Ultimately, I was mad at the government because I didn’t think their messaging around the virus was very clear. I was watching what was going down in Italy, and I was terrified that Australia would go down the same path if we weren’t careful. That’s why I made the Rona graphics.
I loved working on Tonightly, it was like a comedy writing boot camp. Every day you were expected to be like this satire machine, writing and creating stuff. Before Tonightly, I mostly wrote stand up and did things alone, but Tonightly really taught me the value of working with people and collaborating on ideas to make something incredible. We really formed a family on that show. I don’t know if you’ve seen the cheerleading documentary on Netflix—but working at Tonightly was the comedy version of that. No one fractured any bones, but I’m pretty sure I broke my brain a few times. It was stressful and emotional but also genuinely rewarding and I wish it had stayed on the air longer.
The best political satire is about holding ‘People In Power’ accountable. It’s about pointing out the hypocrisy of their actions. TW: White Supremacy, but I remember during Tonightly, there was a Sunrise panel where they basically debated the rights of Indigenous families to raise their own children. It was disgusting, so we ended up parodying that moment with a segment where Nakkiah Lui and Enoch Mailangi talked about whether White People should have rights or not. It was funny, but it was also really powerful.
How do you approach developing your work, and your comedic persona?
Whenever I come up with an idea or something funny I usually just put it in my phone. In terms of actually writing stand up comedy, I’m a big fan of talking my jokes out loud, alone, and I use voice memos on my phone a lot. After I get the voice memo down, I’ll write the dot points, or the bare bones of a joke into the notes app on my phone. Then I rehearse by saying it out loud some more, and often I find more punchlines that way. Finally, I’ll record my set on stage, and listen back and write everything down verbatim, and take note of what works and what doesn’t. I don’t often make it to this last step because I hate hearing myself speak—but I use this technique a lot for long form shows.
Regarding persona; when I was trialing my 2019 show, I had a breakdown because I was like...I have all these little tales and they are just about how I’m pathetic, sure they’ve got punchlines but ultimately they are depressing. So I told my friend that, and he was like...those bits aren’t just sad, they are also interesting, and your persona is that you’re a failure, so it works. So I guess I just own that aspect more now.
While that sounds really harsh, I think it’s pretty accurate! Also reviewers keep describing me as “endearing” and “charming”, which makes me feel like even though I tell sad stories, I’m doing it with a smile on my face, and that gives the audience permission to laugh at me. I don’t know, I guess I’ve just done a lot of stupid shit in my life, and I also have that philosophy of “if you don’t laugh, you cry”. So I try and laugh at stuff because it’s better than being depressed. Don’t get me wrong I am also VERY depressed but that side never comes out on stage (just on twitter lmao).
I guess on a deeper level, I’m taking ownership of my bad choices. I manage to humiliate myself pretty much on a daily basis, and at this point, it’s like....why would I NOT mine those moments for content? It’s not a fossil fuel, it’s the opposite of that. My life is a never ending well of embarrassment; it’s the gift that keeps on giving.
How has your work changed over your three solo shows?
I like how you said “three!” I never count that first one because it was in 2013 and like nobody watched it (thank god). It was supposed to be fifty-five minutes long and it ran at thirty minutes, with an opening act (I was that bitch).
My shows have definitely changed. The first show (if it’s going to be counted) was all “stand up”, the second and third are both a mix of storytelling and stand up. Also, they are getting increasingly theatrical—for example, last year I had sound cues; this year I had a screen. I think it’s nice to have a bit of that in a solo show. I used to think it was a crutch, but now I do headline gigs where I perform for twenty—thirty minutes with just a mic, and so it’s nice to spice things up. It’s also exciting for me because I have to get used to having another visual medium. I remember the first time I used the screen for a punchline, it took me by surprise and I couldn’t stop laughing at the slide show I had made. It’s probably unprofessional but I think audiences enjoy your show more if you are enjoying yourself, so I think I got away with it.
You act in Utopia and also write for TV. How does all your different work sit together?
I think that stand up comedy is kind of like a loose Venn Diagram of those two elements. When you do stand up, you’re performing, which is essentially what acting is. But you also have to generate your own material, which is writing.
To be honest, I feel like I’m a better writer than I am an actor. I’ve been in and out of TV writing rooms since I was 19 and generally have more experience in that area. In saying that, I feel really blessed to do acting and I would love to do more! I love being on set, though I hate watching my face on screen (but so does Adam Driver, which means we are basically twins I think). Also, I did a theatre degree and I felt like I was always too ugly to be an actor, I auditioned for everything and was never cast in any plays—so I was like fuck this shit and started writing the plays myself. Then I wrote The Angus Project web series for ABC Comedy and cast myself and my best friend in it. I definitely think the writing process helps actors, but I’m not sure it works the other way round.
The best political satire is about holding ‘People In Power’ accountable. It’s about pointing out the hypocrisy of their actions.
What are some challenges you’ve faced in the Australian arts landscape? What are some changes you’d like to see?
The TV industry in Australia has been incredibly kind to me, so thank you for that! But it’s definitely a small and competitive scene. All Australian shows are made for an ‘age fifty-five and older’ audience (because “young people don’t watch TV”) which means most writers’ rooms are full of forty-year-old straight white people, who have a narrow idea of what life is like outside of their lived experience. Australian production companies like working with people they can trust, which is why they employ the same ten people to make all the TV shows. Can you imagine an executive giving a pair of twenty-three year old improvisers (who have never worked in TV) their own show? That would never happen here, but that’s how Broad City was made. Basically, the Australian television landscape is risk-averse because there is not enough money to take chances, and it makes it very hard to break into the industry.
For those wondering why America takes more chances, it’s because Hollywood is its own economy. Big American Film & TV companies make enough money to commission original material, whereas the Australian industry is too small and it relies on government funding from bodies like Screen Australia, so when funding is cut we all suffer.
For this to change the government needs to give more money to the arts! They cut arts funding every year and that’s why Australian TV isn’t as amazing as it could be. Anyway, that’s my two cents (which is coincidentally, all the money I have in my bank account because of the pandemic lmao).
There’s a lot of discussion at the moment about race and culture in the arts. It often falls on POC creatives to lead this. Do you feel a part of this conversation?
Yeah absolutely. I feel so much responsibility to other POC and marginalised identities in this industry! I personally have been on the receiving end of racism in writers’ rooms (literally in the last month), and I’m only half asian, and I’m nearly white-passing. If I have to deal with that, I can’t even imagine what visibly-POC people are going through. Also, it’s not just POC, it’s also queer people and disability identifying people too.
For the able-bodied, straight, white people out there, you need to know this. We (people of marginalised identities) are all in group chats together, sharing our negative experiences. Reading about all the crap we have to face every day from ‘woke’ white creatives in this industry, makes me furious.
In the past month alone, I’ve heard there’s a young white writing duo sending a script around about “Privilege” from a POC perspective, with no POC co-writer or even consultant. I’ve heard there is another well known white writer who is refusing to cast any POC people in his ensemble comedy film because “all the characters are very loosely based on real people, and all the real people are white”. And another able-bodied writer who hired a disability identifying writer so he could get permission to use the R-Slur in a script.
Like, I’m just so tired of hearing about this stuff, and the moment anyone speaks out about their experiences publicly, everyone in power tries to pretend that The Australian Film Industry Isn’t Racist or whatever. But the truth is that we have SO much work to do!
The bottom line is, I don’t even want to be an activist, I just want to write cum tweets in peace! But racism in the industry isn’t going away until we address it. Honestly my perfect utopian society is no inequality and I get to make jizz jokes 24/7.
Do you have any advice for emerging comedians?
Quit! There are too many comedians. Just kidding. My advice is try not to get too jealous of other people’s success. Like you can have a bit of jealousy, as a treat. But don’t let it consume you, cos it’s toxic!
Who are you inspired by?
I watch a lot of U.S. stand up comedy—I love Kyle Kinane, Ali Wong, and Michelle Wolf. I also love Australian comics like Celia Pacquola, Kitty Flanagan, Anne Edmonds and Nazeem Hussain too.
What are you listening to?
I mostly listen to podcasts about the news or celebrity gossip: The Daily with Michael Barbaro, Pod Save America, Who Weekly and Keep It. Gay people are better at podcasting (sorry to the straights). Anyway when I’m not doing that I listen to Dua Lipa and Carly Rae Jepsen (because I am also gay).
What are you reading?
The news. Reddit threads. Group chats.
How do you practice self-care?
I don’t think I practice self care at all. My brain is too chaotic for that stuff. However, my housemates and I cook dinner for each other and it has truly kept me sane during corona season. It’s the only time where I allow myself to stop being stressed about work (so I can instead be stressed about cooking.) I love it.
What does being Asian-Australian mean to you?
Damn, that’s a hard question. I think personally, my Asian-ness is something I have to constantly validate amongst my white friends, because they are always like ‘I don’t think of you as Asian,’ which is kind of harmful. I have a Japanese name, I grew up with a Japanese father, most of my family live in Japan, I went to a school that was 90 percent Asian students and we got bullied on the bus by white kids at the local private schools. So even though I don’t speak Japanese well at all, culturally I feel very fucking Asian, and when people try to deny me that part of myself it makes me doubt my own identity.
When I was growing up, I felt like there wasn’t a lot of Asian Australian representation in the media. I wanted to be a blonde haired blue eyed surfer barbie for the longest time cos I had so much internalised racism. Visibility is important and I feel so much pride when I see Asian Australians doing cool stuff! I want to contribute to that amazing group of people and support them and be part of the push for visibility. I also think being Asian Australian, we have to be mindful of the ‘model minority’ tag, and stick up for other POC folks and celebrate them too.
Can you imagine an executive giving a pair of twenty-three year old improvisers (who have never worked in TV) their own show? That would never happen here, but that’s how Broad City was made.
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Interview by Vidya Rajan
Drawings by Hum Mahbub