Andi Gomoll
Professor Judy Kutulas
American Comedy 301
11 March 2013
Waiting in the Wings: Invisible Female Comics of the 1970s
Dressed in a crisp white sleeveless top and flattering A-line skirt, Joan Rivers shields her
mascara-laden eyes from the spotlight of the Hollywood Palace. The year is 1966. With wide
mouthed syllables, she tells the story of her life as a fat child in New York. Commanding attention
atop black high heels, Joan presents herself as both a comic and a bombshell. For the first time, the
housewives seated beside their husbands in swanky comedy club seats feel heard—laughing with
their heads thrown back. Opening the door to a leveler playing field of comedy, Joan’s charming yet
cutting-edge monologues of the mid-1960s unpacked the changing values and concerns of a
generation on the cusp of 1970s counterculture. Pretty and unmarried, Joan warmed up her crowd
with self-critical jokes about the fight for a date, and she transitioned into the joy of being a “single
girl” (Kohen, 34). She appealed to female audiences by revealing universal truths still echoed today.
Rivers made a name for herself beside male comedians of her generation—laying the groundwork for
the future female stand-up comics of the1980s and 90s who managed to be both tough and feminine.
Today, as we watch Tina Fey, Kristen Wiig, and Amy Poehler walk confidently across the stages,
television sets, and live performances of millennial stand-up comedy, we remember the lesson that
Joan Rivers brought to the comedy world: You can be simultaneously beautiful, hilarious, crude, and
intellectual. Bridging the traditions of Vaudeville and Borscht Belt comedy in America (and
understanding the need for a change in comedy’s trajectory,) Joan Rivers took the world by storm
and blazed trails in both comedy and society. She was a precursor to the wild 1970s counterculture
about to take place—a tame feminist who dared to talk about life as a bachelorette and intentionally
package her unique brand of femininity.
And yet, when it came time for the next generation of starry-eyed Baby Boomers to fill Joan
Rivers’ shining shoes, expectations were left unfulfilled. Surprisingly, despite the precedent set by
historical liberation and iconic female comedians like Joan Rivers, Barbara Streisand, and Phyllis
Diller, women were largely absent in the 1970s comedy scene—banished to separate spaces and
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insultingly tokenized. While 1970s male comics tapped into shared narratives and offered more than
a great date night to audiences of the “Me Generation,” women were largely cast to the sidelines.
Through transitions in who performed as a comic, the physical spaces in which jokes were told, and
what the content that filled a comic’s repertoire, the male comics of the1970s fit into a constantly
evolving “counterculture” social scene. Making it as individuals, their acts spoke to a greater cultural
whole—revealing the triumphs of rebellion on stage. As these men capitalized upon the progress of
an unparalleled generation, female comics were held back by the feminist movement that should
have pushed them forward. Fighting hard to emerge from the wings of an unforgiving stage, they
scrambled to gain a place in comedy without giving in to stereotypical typecasting or dumbed down
material. The female comics of the 1970s were largely ignored—their impact invisible in the present,
but undeniably vital for future female comedian success as we know it today.
In an age of bookstore stacks stocked with the Feminine Mystique and the rise of the working
woman, it seemed logical that a female comic could make herself heard. However, though diversity
worked its way into everyday conversation and entertainment, acceptance and success for the female
comic were surprisingly rare. The comedy scene in the 1970s reflected a brave new world of
“diverse” entertainment—one that extended both progressive opportunities and surprising setbacks.
Perhaps the best example of this double-edged sword of performance is found in the stance of the
rare 1970s female comic. While an elastic-faced Richard Pryor used the “hook” of his African
American roots to play with themes of “whiteness” and the tough realities of life in the United States
as a minority, the plight of American women was reserved for newspaper headlines and kept off of
the stage. For female comedians of the era, to take up Joan Rivers’ “funny and pretty” approach felt
passé, while avoiding talking about gender at all was impossible in a political era of gender
controversy. Despite the “liberation” of women in American society, the women of American
comedy were at the bottom of the minority food chain of “funniness.”
In the early 1970s, comedians were their “hooks.” To fit in was to stand out—as the hot head,
the druggie, or the man with brown skin. Who told the joke became as important as the joke’s
content. To compete with racial minorities making a hit on stage, a handful of male white comics in
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the late 70s began to play with the mainstream and the mundane. Comedians like Jerry Seinfeld, Jay
Leno, and Andy Kaufman ascended to stardom as they juxtaposed everyday musings with far-out
performance art and pop culture references. Who could be funny in the 1970s included a black man
with a prostitute for a mother (Richard Pryor,) a white rich kid who worked at Disneyland as a
teenager (Steve Martin,) and an awkward guy who was constantly invoking confusing performance
art in his comedy acts (Andy Kaufmann.) Despite this diverse group, the comedy scene was not
ready for the female comics who shined in the decades on either side of the 1970s. The “glass
ceiling” of the comedy scene in the 70s was broken by minorities and suburban white men alike, but
for women it remained decidedly in tact.
Alongside a shift in decidedly “funny” personalities, the definitions of success in the realm
of stand-up comedy also changed—leaving “talent” to be defined by an outdated set of maledominated values. In the 1970s, the pathway to success was no longer found in a Las Vegas
showroom filled with front row agents. Rather, there were a handful of well-known talent scouts
found in various stages of the hierarchical comedy success game. The majority of these entertainment
moguls were men. Beginning with the purest form of comedy, young comics tested their stand-up
wits in clubs and made their way to specialized comedy houses, late night talk shows, and sit-coms.
Transcending mediums of entertainment, comedians offered a space to laugh at uncomfortable truths,
bask in the individualistic glory of a “me generation,” and give voice to shifting dreams. Unlike the
1960s and early 70s, television became the final goal for a young comic searching for “success.”
Gone were the days when the Ed Sullivan Show meant selling out. In the 1970s making it to the
television screen was key, and Johnny Carson was King.
While Johnny Carson hosted comics like Richard Pryor, Robin Williams, and Andy Kaufman
from the coveted cushions of his talk show couch, women clawed for limited audition spots in
comedy clubs from coast to coast. The number who made it to Carson’s infamous auditions could be
counted on one hand. Amused with “frat boy” humor and male performers with particularly large
egos, Carson saw no place for female comics on his television show. The women he did ask to sit
beside him represented an outdated generation of comedy. As Richard Zoglin notes in Comedy at the
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Edge: How Standup in the 1970s Changed America, “the only female comic Carson had on his show
regularly in the 1970s was Joan Rivers, whose self-deprecating one-liners were no threat” (192).
Joan’s sense of humor in the 1960s may have been progressive, but its translation to the 1970s was
stereotypical and safe. From his perch at the top of the entertainment world, Carson dictated
definitions of “funny” to the masses. He did so with a sly and patriarchal perspective. Carson’s show
offered an unparalleled platform to rising male comedic stars, but it was too small a leap for female
comics—they would have to wait until the introduction of cable television for true freedom.
Ironically, it was not only the men of 1970s comedy venues who wrote women off.
Extending the second wave feminism “working woman” role to the comedy management scene,
there were women with power in the realm of 1970s stand-up. If Johnny Carson was the King of
television comedy, Mitzi Shore was the Queen of the commune comedian college. Owner of the
innovative Comedy Store L.A. club, Mitzi was known for both her “ball-busting” attitude and love of
the underdog. Hosting performers in her bohemian home and allowing them to learn from the thrill of
consistent gigs, Mitzi was a mother figure to dozens of rising comedians (149). Her Comedy Store
was seen as a notable step on the road to the Carson Show—a list of regular characters that included
Richard Pryor, Robin Williams, David Letterman, and Jay Leno. As a nurturing guide and “one of
the boys,” Mitzi filled a unique niche. If women could make it on any stage in the country, it should
have been hers.
However, though Mitzi allowed the risks of cocaine addicts performing comedy to play out
across her stage (in the form of Richard Pryor and Robin Williams,) she was strangely careful with
the women who walked into her club. Rather than play her part in “leveling the playing field” by
offering women a few of the coveted spots in her main stage line up, Mitzi moved her female
comedians to the attic—giving them their own “girls only” lounge space. Echoing Johnny Carson,
Mitzi rationalized her actions; “[On the main stage] it was too hard for them…they were fighting all
of the comics in the world. This was like the sharks—you’d better get it together, or you’re gonna get
bit” (191). Like so many of the bar-centered venues that ostracized women in the 1970s, The Comedy
Store was not welcoming toward women. Though Mitzi claimed benevolence with her female
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sequestering, she did more to reverse the progress of feminine rights. In her separation of women
from a main stage dominated by men, Mitzi confirmed that female comics were inherently unequal.
The antics of Shore’s all female “Belly Room” were more trivial than the main stage—a side project
that didn’t bring in big cash flow. In the physical spaces of 1970s comedy, there was little demand
for the female comic, and the role models of previous decades were no longer relevant. Women had
to go it alone.
Beyond being boxed out of television and comedy club geography, the transition in 1970s
comedy content presented female comedians with a new set of disadvantages. In a decade when
women were burning their bras in the street, fighting for the rights to their bodies, and parading in
bikinis made of meat, it was impossible to joke about getting a date. It was also too soon to joke
about life as a liberationist. Saddled with male audiences who “weren’t comfortable laughing and
being turned on at the same time,” 1970s female comics stood before the toughest of crowds (182). A
girl couldn’t win the confusing game whose rules always changed. Despite supposed social
liberation, female comics of the 1970s were shuffled toward sketch comedy and away from stand-up.
As women failed to book gigs with personalities like Mitzi Shore and Johnny Carson, they searched
for content that would help them to stand out. Fighting for token “woman” slots in comedy line-ups,
female comedians often found the only material they could get across made them into flat and “ditsy”
characters (186). Even Elayne Boosler, arguably the most successful female comic of the 1970s,
rarely headlined. A witty “single gal,” Boosler channeled the successful templates of Jerry Seinfeld
and George Klein as she commented on the “everyday trials of being a single woman in New York”
(187). From feminine products to singles’ bars, Boosler related to her female audiences in the same
way Joan Rivers did—but with a subtly feminist twist. An unsung trailblazer of the 1970s, Boosler’s
sharp hybrid material didn’t allow her to make it in the mainstream that was defining the late 1970s.
Aggressively defending her place as the solo girl in the comedy “boys’ club” as she struggled to
make rent, Boosler’s tale was familiar to the 1970s female comedian.
Characterized in its early years by club-going male minorities and hot heads and defined in
its later years by the televised rebellion of appealing to Baby Boomer nostalgia and the
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“mainstream,” the decade of 1970s comedy was filled with dichotomies. The stand-up comics of
those ten years opened and closed social and cultural doors as if it were a game—one that women
were not yet allowed to play. Without role models or allies at the top of entertainment hierarchy,
female comics shrunk into the shadows as “everywoman” took center stage in the street. In our own
supposedly “post-feminist” millennial generation of equal opportunity, hints of the 1970s’ sexism
toward women in the comedy world remains. Seth MacFarlane, host of the 2013 Oscars and
renowned Family Guy prodigy, made waves with his unabashedly sexist commentary. In a scathing
New Yorker Oscars review titled Seth MacFarlane and the Oscars’ Hostile, Ugly, Sexist Night,”
author Amy Davidson claimed; “the evening’s misogyny involved a specific hostility to women in
the workplace, which raises broader questions than whether the Academy can possibly get Tina Fey
and Amy Poehler to host next year. It was unattractive and sour, and started with a number called
‘We Saw Your Boobs’” (Davidson). Had beloved female comedians Poehler and Fey presented “We
Saw Your Boobs,” (a list of movies in which actresses in the audience reveal their breasts,) it’s likely
that the joke would have been better received—women making fun of women with Richard Pryorlike authenticity in the 21st century. And yet, a question must be raised: Why weren’t Tina Fey and
Amy Poehler on stage this year? Is it possible that despite our modern progress of increasing female
presence in the working worlds of comedy and society, we are still overshadowed by the same
invisible boundaries of the 1970s?
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Works Cited
Davidson, Amy. "Seth MacFarlane and the Oscars’€™ Hostile, Ugly, Sexist Night." The New Yorker.
The New Yorker, 25 Feb. 2013. Web. 10 Mar. 2013.
Zoglin, Richard. Comedy at the Edge: How Stand-Up in the 1970s Changed America. New York,
NY: Bloomsbury USA, 2008. Print.
Kohen, Yael. We Killed: The Rise of Women in American Comedy. New York: Sarah Crichton
Books, 2012. Print.
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