Paul F. Tompkins is widely considered to be among the best comedy podcast guests of all time. But he doesn’t let that pressure get to him because, as he offers up humbly, “I don’t believe it.”
The 55-year-old comedian has done it all in his close to four decades of comedy, from sketch to stand-up to voicing animated characters on shows like Bojack Horseman and Bob’s Burgers. But among his greatest comedic achievements are the hundreds of hours he’s spent improvising in character with Scott Aukerman and others on the Comedy Bang! Bang! podcast.
In this episode of The Last Laugh podcast, Tompkins discusses how that experience has helped to shape his comic sensibility and bring him the ideal level of fame and respect within the comedy world. He also opens up about starting his career alongside alleged insurrectionist Jake Johnston, why he never wants to work with Bill Maher again, and the problem with comedians who believe their only job is to offend.
Before he took off as Comedy Bang! Bang!’s go-to guest back in 2009—improvising as real-life figures like Andrew Lloyd Webber and Werner Herzog, or as his own fully developed creations like the vigilante fan boat operator J.W. Stillwater or the reluctant children’s clown Big Chunky Bubbles—Tompkins was a dedicated stand-up comedian who dreamed of becoming a famous late-night host.
But when he realized how naturally improv came to him, something clicked. “It kind of ruined my stand-up in a way,” he says, “because the more I started doing improv, the more attractive that became, just showing up with nothing.”
It’s that spirit of spontaneity and collaboration, dating back to his very first TV gig as a member of the sketch ensemble on HBO’s Mr. Show—led by David Cross and Bob Odenkirk—that continues to drive every aspect of his career to this day. And it will be on display later this month when Tompkins shares various stages at the 21st annual SF Sketchfest—including a performance of his modern variety show “Varietopia” that will be live-streamed on Feb. 2—with fellow improvisers like Janet Varney, Tim Baltz, and Lauren Lapkus.
“If you bomb, you’re not alone,” Tompkins says of being on stage with a group. “Part of the game is that you’re going to fail sometimes and everyone understands that.” But when improv does work, it’s like an actual magic trick that has the ability to blow people’s mind.
“And then, of course, there are the people who refuse to believe that improv is real,” he adds, recounting the many times audience members come up to him after a show and say, “Well, you must have written some of that.” No, he tells them, “this is the whole point.”
Below is an edited excerpt from our conversation. You can listen to the whole thing by following The Last Laugh on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, Google, or wherever you get your podcasts, and be the first to hear new episodes when they are released every Wednesday.
What’s the origin story of how you got your first big break on Mr. Show?
Well, it’s a story that was not that interesting, but has become slightly more interesting based on recent events in our nation’s history. When I moved to Los Angeles, I met a guy who became my sketch-writing partner. We did a bunch of stuff that we wrote together, and then Bob [Odenkirk] and David [Cross] saw that and hired us to write on the show in the second season. And that former partner of mine was present at the Jan. 6 Capitol Riot.
We’re talking just a few days after the anniversary—
Oh, happy anniversary to us all!
And we’re talking about Jay Johnston, who I think you and Scott [Aukerman] have almost joked about on Comedy Bang! Bang!
That’s right. As we have almost joked about it here. And now, we’re done.
Well, I think it’s worthy of some discussion. I’ll say that I was pretty shocked to see that news, and it was actually The Daily Beast that first confirmed that he was in a FBI Wanted poster circulating online. I mean, it’s someone who you were pretty close to a long time ago, so I imagine you were shocked as well.
Yes. As I think anybody would be. Somebody you haven’t been in touch with in a while, and then you see them at the Capitol riot, I think that’s a shocking thing for sure.
I don’t think you consider yourself a political comedian, but another of your really early writing gigs was on Bill Maher’s show.
Hoo boy, yeah.
That was from the very beginning of Real Time, right?
Yeah, that was the first season. Scott Carter, who was the executive producer of the show, became a fan of mine, seeing me do shows in L.A. And then when the show was starting, he offered me this job that was to do a sort of standalone segment in the middle of the show as a palate cleanser-y kind of thing after the main roundtable discussion that Bill would have with his guests. I would do this lighter current events bit. And then the show would go into its preparation for landing, leading to Bill laying down his righteous “New Rules.”
I was very hesitant to take that gig because it was not something I’d done before. I was not a political person. I did not do current events comedy. But I thought, you know what, Scott Carter believes in me, and being afraid to do it is not a good enough reason not to do it. So I said, OK, I’m gonna challenge myself, I’m gonna throw myself into this. And my memory of it is that it did not go well. I mean, obviously they did not have me back [after the first season]. I feel like it was something I could do better today, probably, but at the time, learning to do that while the show was airing was difficult. And not ideal. So I gave him my best shot. It was not a good fit for me. But I really tried.
You said you could do it better today. Would you want to go back and work with Bill Maher again?
Oh, no, I’m sorry. I could do that type of thing better today. I would never in a million years go back to working anywhere near Bill Maher.
Was he difficult to work with at that time?
Personally, I did not have any difficulties with him. I just don’t enjoy what he does, and it wasn’t fun to be around. He’s not the friendliest guy in the world. And it’s not like he was ever actively rude or unpleasant to me personally. But, yeah, not an energy that I like.
It’s interesting to hear that it was like that then, because I think the conventional wisdom is that he sort of evolved into this leading voice against “woke culture” and has taken a turn in much more recent years. But it sounds like maybe that was always there?
I don’t think that Bill Maher has really changed at all. I think that his politics—and you could say this for most people, to varying degrees—his politics really are, how does this affect me, Bill Maher? And so that’s why there are certain things he doesn’t care about, because it doesn’t extend past his bubble of empathy. So things with kids or whatever, he doesn’t give a shit. He doesn’t have kids. He doesn’t want kids. He doesn’t like the idea of kids. But he likes animals, so animal things are very important to him. But an issue that affects somebody who has a lifestyle that’s different from his, he really doesn’t care unless it is something that can eventually encroach upon his lifestyle. And as I say, we’re all like that to varying degrees. But there are certain things where you do have to have empathy for others. It’s that thing of an old man planting a tree whose shade he will never enjoy. It’s like, just because this doesn’t affect me, it does affect these other people, and I don’t want them to be miserable. It’s not that hard to do.
It’s also just fundamentally the difference between liberals and conservatives, even though Bill Maher still, I think, would call himself a liberal in some ways. The empathy thing is pretty fundamental.
The conservative thing is that they have empathy toward things that don’t exist—just these phantom things. And so it’s unborn babies, but not actual babies. It’s the threat of what could happen with drag queens, even though that’s not happening. It’s that kind of shit. They make up a thing and then they say, it hasn’t happened yet, but we have to protect against it. Trans people in bathrooms and shit like that. It’s convenient for you to say we’re worried about other people when it’s a thing that’s not happening at all.
Do you feel like there is this divide in the comedy world politically, where there are comedians on either side of this line?
Like most things, I think that it’s always been there, but it’s been really stirred up to a crazy degree by social media. Because before social media, when I was coming up, there were always dudes who wanted to tell you what real comedy was. And it was one dude with a microphone. It’s club comedy and that’s the way it is. That’s the “real” comedy. And what we’re seeing now is just that jacked up to a thousand. People saying a comedian’s duty is to offend, and it’s like, what are you fucking talking about? That’s not true.
That’s not the job.
And just offend, period? It doesn’t matter who? That idea comes from speaking truth to power, which has completely fallen by the wayside. You’re pretending these people are in power, like trans people saying, “Hey, I’d prefer that you call me this.” And they’re like, “No, we can’t let this happen!” It’s just bullying. You’re just being a troll. You’re not speaking truth to power.
It’s that partisan thing, too. It’s very similar to the way that people get dug into their holes. It seems like what’s happening in comedy is people say, this is going to be my identity now.
For sure. It’s all doubling down. Like Ricky Gervais won that Golden Globe, and the clip is him talking about his previous special. That’s what these people are doing now. This comedy is all about me and my personality, my cult of personality, and if you didn’t like me saying this before, now I’m gonna say more of it! And it’s just going to get cheers from people, because the idea is it offends somebody else, or it hurts somebody else’s feelings. And it’s a drag. It’s not all of comedy, but it is the comedy that gets the most attention now, which is really unfortunate. I think there is a thing when you get so wealthy that you don’t like anyone telling you that you’re wrong. And you have a platform. And so you’re gonna make it all about telling people that you don’t get to tell me that I’m wrong, and you’re worthless. And in the case of Ricky Gervais, it’s such diminishing returns from The Office to now.
It really is sad in so many ways. Him and [Dave] Chappelle both made brilliant comedy early in their careers, and then to see not only where it’s ended up but how popular it is, is really disturbing.
Look, if you want to get out there and spew a bunch of lazy comedy that’s mostly just about doubling down on your previous opinions that people pointed out to you were not only harmful, but also not that funny, then OK, there’s going to be people that are there for that—solely because it bothers somebody else.
And then where does it leave comics like you and others who aren’t doing that? Is it harder to find an audience if you’re not doing that in this current moment?
You know what? It’s not. I mean, that is the other side of the coin. Just as there are people that are there for that kind of thing, there are also people that are there for something else. So going around doing shows, not just in L.A., but all over the country, people show up. And it’s fun. And it’s comforting to know that there are still people who just want to see something that’s fun, that’s truly creative. People want to see something that’s truly speaking truth to power. I’m not putting myself in that category, but there are all types of comedy. There’s no one right way to do comedy. Somebody recently quoted Patrice O’Neal as saying, “A good joke leaves 50 percent of the audience laughing and 50 percent of the audience horrified.” What?! That’s insane!
That’s how you know it’s good?
That’s the definition of a “good joke.” That’s bananas!
How do you think about your place in this comedy landscape? You’ve carved out a very unique career for yourself between sketch and improv and stand-up.
When I was younger, I assumed that success meant you would be a household name. And then, as I actually got into the business, I was like, oh, no, there’s a whole other sort of middle class that you can be, where you are supporting yourself, doing what you love, and having a good time. So I am lucky enough that I have enough of an audience that I can work. I can get enough work on TV to keep my health insurance. And I can be creatively free, which is all you can really ask for. And I’m not trying to be totally blithe about that, because of course I’ve had moments of doubt and fear and buying into the invisible ladder of show business. Like, oh, no, I didn’t go up to the next rung! You know what? Actually, it’s fine, because I’m still here. It’s not like I lost my job being an entertainer. Of course there’s a lot of ego stuff that you have to go through, you have to deal with that. But I’m a middle-aged dude and I’ve mellowed a lot. And I look around and realize I have a pretty great life. And I’m also past the point where I have to worry about that kind of success. I’m at a certain age where it’s like, oh, yeah, I’m not going to be the next shining, bright face. I’m into the second half now. So that’s kind of a relief.
You can relax.
Yeah, exactly. It’s a relief not to have to worry about that anymore. And what I’m hoping for is that in 10 to 20 years, I will really come into my own as the funny old guy on a sitcom. That’s a fine life for me.
Listen to the episode now and follow The Last Laugh on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, Google, or wherever you get your podcasts to be the first to hear new episodes when they are released every Wednesday.
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