In mere months – March, to be exact – cult comedian Kate Berlant will complete her first-ever trip to Australia to perform. What she’ll perform when she gets here, though, she’s not yet sure. At this stage, she doesn’t even have the title.

“What is the show?” Berlant deadpans, looking skyward as though contemplating a philosophical quandary she has no literal answer to. “That’s a really good question ... I mean, it’s just standup. I’m really just going to be doing standup.”

Anyone familiar with Berlant’s comedy – her taped special Cinnamon in the Wind, for example; or her decade-long partnership with outlandish foil John Early (including their sketch special Would It Kill You To Laugh?); even her podcast POOG (a play on GOOP) with fellow comedian Jacqueline Novak, and its spin-off Berlant & Novak – would understand that “just standup” is a loaded concept with Berlant.

Although well-recognised from her acting work – she’s starred in films including Don’t Worry Darling, Once Upon a Time in Hollywood and Dream Scenario, and on TV in A League of Their Own, The Other Two and Search Party – her cerebral comedy, an act of onstage pomposity that folds the form in on itself with absurdist, and delightfully silly, abandon (“intellectual vaudeville”, a critic once branded it), has made Berlant a beatified icon of alt-comedy.

If the fact she hasn’t got her new show sorted four months out from her booked dates fills you with secondhand anxiety, fear not: this is how Berlant works, working bits out on stage with the improvisational acuity of a surgeon. Since February, she’s been regularly taking the stage at Largo’s in Los Angeles, her hometown club, to riff on “themes of contemporary alienation”, with the goal of putting together a new hour.

“Relying so much on improvisation is terrifying and oftentimes I’ve been doing standup and thought, wow, it would be so nice to just know what you’re gonna say every night,” says Berlant of her process. “But so much of standup is about hiding the work, hiding the fact that you’ve said this thing a million times, and I’ve always struggled with that because it’s just hard to keep up that performance in a way that feels authentic.”

It’s a dry autumn afternoon in Los Angeles when we speak over Zoom, and the twilight sun splashes through Berlant’s bedroom window (not to mention her incredible curls) like Cheezel dust. She’s spent the day dealing with a sudden and, at 37, completely unexpected allergic reaction to tomatoes and nightshade. “If I sound a little weird it’s because my mouth is inflamed,” she offers apologetically. And yet, she’s eager to discuss her return to standup because for the past couple of years she’s been focused entirely on her play, Kate.

Berlant ended Kate in February after a string of sold-out runs across New York, Los Angeles and London. A one-woman show about a flailing actor’s desperate bid to be taken seriously, the conceit went deep. Shows reportedly featured Berlant herself mingling in crowded foyers before doors opened, holding a sign saying “Ignore me”. It premiered off-Broadway in September 2022, and earned rave reviews for its metatextual skewering of artistic self-indulgence. The Guardian labelled it the “one-woman show to end all one-woman shows”.

Berlant says it was her biggest success yet. Which begs the question: why did she end it? Why is she not just bringing Kate to Australia?

“Again, a really good question,” Berlant jokes. “It’s not that I’ll never do it again, but I do think it’s healthy to step away from things. I think things ripen and they absolutely rot. It just felt to me like it was time to do something else, just for my own brain.”

She very well could have kept Kate going, Berlant concedes. But her hope is that, as the show operates in a separate universe to her standup, she can revive it a year from now, or two years from now, or even five years from now, and the material will organically grow with her. In the meantime, she’s been in discussions with her director, Bo Burnham, to potentially film and release it.

“But that’s something for down the line. Because the show is extremely meta, it’s not just a show you throw a camera in front of,” says Berlant. “I just wanted to step away from it for a second and get back to what I really love doing the most, which is standup.”

When I speak to Berlant, it’s the week after Donald Trump’s crushing win in the US election – a desolate new landscape in America made real. “It’s scary, it’s dark, it’s intensely depressing, and kind of just surreal. It’s such a bizarre time to be alive,” Berlant says, staring into the camera, eyes like saucers to underscore the understatement. “It’s a really bizarre, rather depressing time.”

Is that mood already affecting her new standup? “I’m reacting to it maybe in, like, a subtextual way, but not directly,” says Berlant. “No, certainly the show I’ll be doing will not be about me wrestling with, like, how to live in America under Trump. Like, I would sooner die.”

It’s for the best. Because if there’s a through line to Berlant’s work, it’s that her performances have always been about the act of performing. Onstage, whether in a scripted play or in a standup set, she’s Kate, but she’s also “Kate”. The persona she’s made her own is of the self-serious artist desperate for attention, for fame, to be noticed as special. A piss take of the narcissism inherent in showbiz, it’s also a well-wrought personification of today’s wider condition, where social media has given everyone main character syndrome.

“It just turns out that way with everything I do. My comedy is often about comedy and my performance is usually about performance, and so inevitably with my standup it’s hard for me to ignore how bizarre standup is when I’m doing standup, and it’s hard for me to not kind of call out how inherently strange the dynamic is and how strange it is as a form,” says Berlant.

‘Performing is inherently embarrassing and, I would say, something to be avoided if you can.’

“The idea of a person standing there and just talking about what’s on their mind, it denies that standup is such a highly constructed persona and performance, down to the shoes you wear. I’ve always looked at the conditions of performance as being really bizarre and also funny. And also just the fact that performance is, of course, a naked plea for attention and adoration. I can’t pretend that that’s not what’s going on in the room, you know?”

The focus on performance is never far from Berlant; she’s been thinking about it forever (she even has degrees in the cultural anthropology of comedy and performance studies from New York University). A child actor, she scored her first onscreen gig at 15, playing Student #2 in an episode of Lizzie McGuire, and believed it would set her on a path to screen stardom (it didn’t). There was enough self-awareness in her failure to fuel another mode of expression: when she started doing comedy at 17, she quickly found that her standup landed on a self-referential conceit.

“I would end up kind of talking about standup in the standup. Which sounds awful,” Berlant laughs. “But, I mean, just talking about the encounter between performer and audience, and how performing is inherently embarrassing and, I would say, something to be avoided if you can.”

She’d experienced something similar to that indescribable ick in her upbringing, too, as the only child of two artists – her father Tony Berlant is a prominent US sculptor; her mother Helen Mendez performed in experimental theatre before becoming a set designer. In an episode of Netflix’s The Characters, she portrayed an insufferable Marina Abramović type, lampooning the pretentious art world egos she’d witnessed growing up.

“The self-importance of the art world, like the self-importance of Hollywood, there’s almost nothing to comment on because it’s so in plain sight,” Berlant says. “From an early age, I think I was aware of performance as not just being something people do on stage, but just as a child watching adults perform: perform being smart, perform being interesting, perform the performance of being an artist.

“I mean, if you call yourself an ‘artist’ …” she glances into the camera with an are you serious? stare. “That’s quite a part to play.”

Is she never not aware of the performance? Like, even in this interview: me, playing the role of the politely probing interviewer, trying to dig at some defining childhood trauma; she, the subject, playing at being revealing, as if she’s never considered these stories before.

“Yeah, it’s hard to separate, I think I’m always aware of it,” says Berlant. “But what I really find funny are people who don’t know that we can see them performing. We live in a world now where everyone’s a performer, even people who aren’t performers are used to performing for social media. So there’s been a huge breakdown in those terms and in their definitions.”

Complicating Berlant’s obsession with the artifice of authenticity in comedy and theatre is a sincere love of live performance. In a world where standup careers can thrive exclusively through crowd-work clips on TikTok, she still craves the sacredness of the club.

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“When I started standup, the only way to get good or build a career was to perform, do shows, as many shows as you could do. Even just, like, spiritually, I feel so lucky that was how I came up,” she says. “So I do think that in today’s world, it’s still very exciting when people show up physically to see a show. I think that’s something that will persist, but it is feeling more and more rarefied and less valued.”

It’s why Berlant is excited for the set she’ll be bringing to Australia, whatever shape it ends up taking. After her journey with Kate, a return to the spontaneous possibilities of her standup has been calling. “There’s something that feels good about just being like, OK, this is where I am right now in my life, this is how I’m reacting to it, and not being too precious about it or spending years crafting it. I think that’s what makes it feel alive, for me and the audience.”

Kate Berlant will be performing at Melbourne Recital Hall on March 7 and at Sydney Opera House as part of All About Women on March 9.

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