Parmesan is tightly-written, gleefully performed, and powered by the unrestrained energy Berlant brought to recent films like the magnificent Maddie’s Secret. Not only is she able to careen through all her various jitters, spinning uproarious yarns one moment and landing one absurdist punchline after another in the next, she also has stage presence to spare. At times, it looks like she’s only a few steps away from morphing into Pennywise The Dancing Clown, holding her arms out sideways at strange angles or crossing her eyes as she cheekily informs us that, actually, she’s completely fine. After all, stand-up comedians are all totally well-adjusted people, right? Why else would Berlant be up there? Later in the special, when she interrupts herself to insist what she just said is part of the act, only to double back under the guise of an interior voice saying “no it’s not!,” it’s like we’re seeing her briefly become possessed by some deeply repressed force surging to the surface. It’s funny in a way that keeps you on your toes and serves as proof that, if she were given the opportunity, Berlant could more than carry a horror comedy.
For now, Parmesan—a reference to the funniest, most revealing joke you could ever hear about the disquieting layers of an Instagram comment—is very much a stand-up special. Berlant is constantly highlighting the confines of stand-up and then also pushing up against them. Sometimes this illustrates that there’s only so many humorous observations to make about a particular topic, like a joke about gymnastics and “sticking the landing” that echoes a similar one from Mike Birbiglia’s My Girlfriend’s Boyfriend. Berlant still makes the joke her own, but it’s hard not to see her drawing from certain staples of the form. During one segue, she catches herself falling back on some awkwardly hacky phrasing. It could be intentional, or it could be a genuinely spontaneous realization—either way, she makes like she’s glitching, momentarily acting like a stiff robot. Such glitches, along with Berlant’s self-reflexive asides, only makes Parmesan more fun to watch. Even when the special stumbles back on itself—like when she gets a little repetitive on a premise or anxiety—there’s always something unexpected and clever waiting around the corner for Berlant to dive headfirst into. The awkward queen of what, at least initially appears to be non sequiturs, she peels away and connects the layers of her own unconsciousness to remarkable comedic effect.
For those unfamiliar with Berlant’s comedic style, it could easily prove alienating. For those who have followed her work or are open to something more pointedly absurd, it’s a real treat. Berlant is being cheeky when she says “My back hurts from being an emerging talent for so long,” but she’s also offering up some truth about the sad state of the entertainment industry and her place in it. She is a talent and is breaking her back to show us that, performing as if her life depended on it. But just as she’s sincerely throwing herself into each new joke, she’s also taking the piss out of the whole thing, remaining sarcastic and boldly silly while the world burns. She doesn’t care about making herself palatable to a wider audience, if there even is one to be found in the current comedy landscape. As she proves at the end of Parmesan, she’s here—take her or leave her. It’s a fitting, fantastic conclusion for a special built around both observing and upending our expectations. Much like her beloved Succession, even after some missteps here and there, Berlant more than sticks the landing.
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