Watching the Nikki Glaser monologue at the Golden Globes was reminiscent of Shane Gillis’ ESPY’s monologue last year. In some ways they both follow a similar playbook, but in fact the philosophies of stand-up are very different. I feel that their contrasting approaches to stand-up illustrate starkly different assessments of what viewers find funny. 

On the surface, both standup comics employ some similar techniques. Both Nikki and Shane employ a self effacement that’s central to the atmosphere they’re trying to build. So many of Glaser’s roasts were accompanied by a “So sorry, I love you guys” that it seemed like she was trying to get invited to the Rock’s next birthday party. Her soft retractions gave the venue itself more of an intimacy that allowed for future jabs, since the targets were reassured they belonged in the space even after being roasted. I was similarly struck by how often Gillis would allude to the teleprompted jokes, the idea that he “shouldn’t have stuck” with a certain joke. He had a nervous, “am I really going to do this?” attitude that conveys a self-awareness regarding the crassness of his jokes. Someone who’d wholeheartedly enjoy the jokes doesn’t need the nervous energy but also appreciates it because they feel that Gillis is going into a hostile space and still delivering these jokes. 

However, this restrained attitude seems to serve different ends. Gillis’ self-awareness schtick is calibrated really well to provide the queasy listener an excuse to enjoy the content. In that sense, the ability of Gillis to have increasing success while toe-ing this line shows just how easy it is to get society to accept racist and sexist biases that it ostensibly rejects. Shane Gillis’ self-effacement in those moments invites us in, providing our empathy a small hiding place, allowing us to laugh at the jokes while suspending our disbelief that the jokes are being told in the first place. Glaser’s soft retractions after landing a good joke seem to be employed for Nikki’s own benefit, a ‘hope we can still be friends’ reversal, whereas Gillis’ ‘is this really about to happen’ before a roast provides us the TV audience a permission structure to go along with the jokes. 

Which of these audiences is the actual intended audience? The athletes and actors at the Espy’s or the Golden Globes might be forgiven for thinking that they are the audience for the monologue. Glaser’s monologue certainly treats them as such. However, I think Shane Gillis is actually making jokes for the TV/vod watcher at home, similarly to a senator making arguments on the Senate floor not for Congress but rather for the viewers watching on C-SPAN. All three entities (TV viewers, show host, and live audience) are thus in a negotiation about their roles in this dance vis-a-vis engagement metrics. Finding alignment between all the audiences and their role in the performance makes the overall product most memorable. This is why we get such catharsis from moments such as Wanda Sykes telling Maher to do less, or Ricky Gervais telling actors that they work for soulless corporations. In this sense, I feel that neither Gillis and Glaser are able to perfectly navigate this negotiation. While both monologues are enjoyable in their own right, it feels as if one audience is under-utilized in favor of the other. Shane Gillis is unable to effectively enlist the audience as a participating member of the program, while Nikki Glaser seems like she is pandering to the live audience at the expense of keeping the TV audience engaged. 

Is there a ‘correct’ alignment of the two audiences + host? The challenge here partly stems from the fact that a host can’t quite get the pulse of viewers in real time. So, a host who in that moment can best channel the personality of the viewers is the most likely to find the angle that most resonates with viewers at home while feeding off the live audience’s energy. In that sense, the host functions as the public’s avatar, acting in their stead during the monologue itself. Identity politics notwithstanding, how well were we able to see ourselves in the shoes of Gillis and Glaser? When it comes to TV executives, comedians, actors, and yes, even ourselves the readers, yearning to know that answer just illustrates the ways in which TV as entertainment has made us all the punch-line.

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Comments

One response to “Nikki Glaser, Shane Gillis, and the Awards Show Monologue”

  1. John Mathew Avatar
    John Mathew

    ⭐ Top CommentI actually think there is a “correct” alignment between the host, the in-room audience, and the TV audience — and when hosting feels off, it’s usually because one of those was misread. But as you point out, that’s not always what I, as the viewer want to see, part of the appeal in tuning into an award show is too see famous people be a bit uncomfortable, I think that’s why Gervais’ globes speeches + Gillis at the emmy’s resonate .

    To figure out if all the stars will align, I think you can ask the following simple and interdependent questions:

    – For the Host: Does their comedic persona actually match the spirit of the show? (Also, how many fucks do they give?)

    Room: How tightly wound is the audience / Are they willing to be in on the joke?

    Public: Are people watching for the show, the host, or both?

    Gillis or Glaser weren’t “universal.” In Gillis’ case he didn’t resonate with the room and in Glaser’s case I don’t think it resonated with the TV audience. She pulled back to stay inside the lines. That works for the room, but it’s less interesting for the public who know she can go harder.

    Where all three actually line up:

    Conan O’Brien — Academy Awards (2025) – Awkward, self-deprecating, non-threatening — basically engineered for the Oscars’ anxiety-ridden room and the audience at home

    John Mulaney + Nick Kroll — Independent Spirit Awards – Weird hosts for a weird show. Exactly right.

    Neil Patrick Harris or Hugh Jackman — Tony Awards – Broadway people hosting a Broadway show. The host is the vibe.

    When those three groups are aligned, hosting feels effortless. When they aren’t, even a good set can feel wrong — or a safe one can feel forgettable.

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