In 2018, Lisa Lampanelli retired from the world of stand-up comedy and celebrity roasts, voluntarily abdicating from her long reign as the “Queen of Mean.” But the Trumbull native hasn’t turned her back on live performances.
Lampanelli’s script “Fat Girls, Interrupted” had a reading at the Westport Country Playhouse in 2016. Revised and retitled “Stuffed,” it had an off-Broadway run later that year. Another show on the same theme of weight issues, “Losin’ It,” played locally at the Palace Theater in Waterbury in 2019. Her latest theater work, “Big Fat Failure,” has two performances on Dec. 30 at 6:30 and 9 p.m. as a benefit for Playhouse on Park in West Hartford.
Lampanelli played comedy clubs large and small throughout the country for much of the 1990s. In Connecticut, she played joints as small as curious as New Haven’s Sci-Fi Cafe as well as restaurants with comedy nites. Her national breakthrough came with Comedy Central’s televised roast of Chevy Chase in 2002.
Retiring from stand-up means that Lampanelli no longer maintains her onstage insult-laden persona when giving interviews. The Courant spoke to her about her selective retirement, her family in Connecticut and her shift from clubs to cabaret theater.
What are you doing at Playhouse on Park?
It accidentally happened. A friend of a friend was doing a show there. It was “Pippin.” I have never liked that show, but for a friend, I go and see and support. You need to show up. One of my failures, when I was doing comedy, was that you couldn’t show up because you were always on the road.
It’s this amazing theater, very legit, and I felt a real warmth when I went in. And it even changed my mind about “Pippin.” I loved the show. Then the artistic director’s girlfriend just happened to see my picture with the cast on Instagram and reached out and said “I’m a big fan” and sent me a picture of me and her from when I did my play “Stuffed” in New York. I was like “That’s awesome,” and we tossed around the idea of doing a benefit because so many theaters are struggling.
Where did the idea for a cabaret show of songs and stories come from?
It all started because I fancy myself a singer. I’m not really, but I can carry a tune. One night at karaoke, I said “Oh, I’ve always loved Meat Loaf.” He was that guy who always left it all out there. He used to have to be taken offstage in a wheelchair. I was the Meat Loaf of comedy. I loved Meat Loaf. So I was singing these Meat Loaf songs at karaoke one night and I was like, “I want to do a fun cabaret show.”
Then I took a storytelling workshop over the pandemic and was like, “Oh, my god, there are all these stories about stuff that I failed at.” I think it’s very positive for someone who’s been very successful in one public area to talk about the stuff that they screwed up. It became this interesting thing where I wanted to talk about failure so people feel less alone and it’s not so bad that they f-ed up a few things. Also, it’s also an opportunity to sing and do a show, which is a blast.
There are dramatic moments. When you screw up things, you have to tell the truth about them. The first audience we did it for in Fairfield, where we just sort of winged it, they liked it and felt moved by it. So I said it’s worth doing again with a real theater and a real director in a setting where we can be funny and vulnerable at the same time.
How many people are in it?
There’s me and four others. Singing-wise, with me it is what it is. I can carry a tune, but the backup singers and the support system [are] really great. I’m pretty proud of it.
It’s storytelling plus songs. We do original songs as well as covers. I do two Meat Loaf songs. There’s some acting out of things throughout the songs. It’s not like scenes. People don’t have to worry about it being corny. They can say “Oh, this is really fun but, oops, wait, I’m feeling something, what just happened?” I like sneaking up on people that way.
This is a great opportunity to do my show, make some money for the theater and kind of see if I enjoy myself doing it. So far, so good. It’s really different because it’s vulnerable, with singing and stuff. But why not? I’m 61, and I like doing stuff I’m going to keep doing it.
Is it like doing insult comedy about yourself?
I would say it’s definitely where you see someone’s difficulties and talk about them. It’s kind of refreshing to make it my own. But I’ve always been pointing out my own flaws when doing comedy, so it wasn’t the first time that I’m going there. But this is definitely much more serious. The laughs are really ramped up, which makes the serious stuff more serious. I guess that’s theater, which I didn’t know.
Did you retire from stand-up and roasts to do theater?
I retired to do nothing. Maybe I’ll do nothing after this, maybe I’ll do something. I wanted to get out of comedy. I didn’t like it anymore. It didn’t resonate with me anymore. This idea came up, so I said “OK, why not?” There’s no dream here. It’s more like just follow your gut, and if you don’t want to do it, stay home.
I always say “I canceled myself before they could cancel me.” Cancel culture wasn’t even a thing yet. The universe took care of it. When I was doing comedy, I didn’t shy away from anything. I would go anywhere because it makes you stronger as a comic. I think that club life is very difficult, and thank God I was able to somehow get on [Howard] Stern and do the roasts and specials and get to where I didn’t have to do clubs anymore and just do theaters, which is the dream because you don’t want to be on the road every single night. I got really lucky. I don’t know if I would have lasted and stayed in it if I had just been knocking around clubs forever. I didn’t love it enough to torture myself like that.
Was your family supportive when you were starting out?
I was very lucky. Other than our parents wanting us to go to college, my father and mother were never like “You should do this, you should do that.” They were more like, “OK.” I’d had two careers, journalism and teaching, by the time I started comedy. I think by then they were like “She’s just going to do what she wants. Let her do it.” I also had a supportive brother and sister who would come to the shows, spread the word, understood it. I got really lucky with that.
In the show, do you talk about issues going back to your childhood?
I think everything goes back to ancient history for you. All of it can be traced back. I talk about food and weight struggles from college on, relationship troubles from high school on, but in fun, revealing ways. Anger issues, emotional issues, stuff that 90% of people seem to go through.
Anything I put out there, I want it to have that cone of “You’re not the only one. You’re not the only one who screws up. You’re not the only one who can’t keep your weight off. You’re not the only one who can’t keep a relationship. You’re not the only one who fails at a business thing.” It makes me so happy when people are like “I feel better. I’m not the only one.”
And you’re definitely singing in this?
Oh yeah, I’m the best singer in the world, didn’t I mention?! Meat Loaf, baby!
Lisa Lampanelli’s “Big Fat Failure” has two performances on Dec. 30 at 6:30 and 9 p.m. at Playhouse on Park, 244 Park Road, West Hartford. $45. The theater suggests that the show is appropriate for ages 18 and older. There is a wine and cheese reception before the 6:30 p.m. show and a post-dessert reception after the 9 p.m. one. playhouseonpark.org.
Christopher Arnott can be reached at carnott@courant.com.
