Review of his posthumous Netflix show

Now the enforced era of Zoom gigs has passed, you would be forgiven for never wanting to watch a stand-up perform to his computer in his home office ever again. But for Norm Macdonald, it’s worth making an exception.

As the introductory captions explain: ‘Norm was working hard preparing material for his Netflix special – until Covid shut things down. In the summer of 2020, he was scheduled to undergo a procedure and, as he put it, "didn’t want to leave anything on the table in case things went south". At home, the night before going in, he shot this - in one take.’

Few people knew he was suffering from leukaemia, and just over a year later, he was dead at the age of 61.

That certainly adds a poignancy to Nothing Special, not least when he speaks about sickness, doctors and the importance of having a living will as most of us will spend our last days ‘plugged into the wall’.

However, true to form, there is no outright acknowledgement of his illness nor the gruelling therapies he underwent to battle it anywhere in the 54-minute set. Indeed, his eyes sparkle with mischievous life – one of the few advantages of shooting so intimately is that you can read his puckish intentions more clearly on his expressive face, especially on the harsher jokes. 

‘It’s not, strictly speaking, stand-up, says David Letterman in his analysis of the special. ‘It’s something else…. Without the audience, you don’t get the full measure of Norm.’ 

The former king of late night is one of the colleagues and friends eulogising Macdonald in a half-hour postscript. Contributions from him, Dave Chappelle, Molly Shannon, Conan O’Brien, David Spade and Adam Sandler add only little to what you learn about Norm from watching the preceding stand-up, but their affection and adoration is sincere.

They praise his fearlessness in persevering with routines he thought were funny, even when the audience didn’t. In that spirit, there are certainly parts of Nothing Special that don’t pay dividends – such as a rambling section on masturbation or a reductive take on Down’s syndrome – that you would expect most comics to tighten had they been exposed to a series of audiences. With Macdonald, you can’t be sure the same editing process would have taken place, even if life performances had been possible. 

His topics sit between the flippant and the provocative, from cannibalism to slut-shaming, but his charming, folksy approach softens even the edgiest jokes. Interruptions such as a ringing phone or barking dog add to the idea he’s imparting gentle home-spun wisdom, even when the material is far from that cosy ideal.

It seems that expressing dubious opinions about trans people is written into every stand-up’s Netflix contract, and MacDonald is no exception. Yet while his assertions might upset the most progressive viewer, he speaks to the changing landscape without directly attacking it. He has the air of a grizzled old-timer whimsically reminiscing about how times have changed. ‘Ain’t that something?’ he tuts in gentle incredulity at how penises are no longer the preserve of men. That’s perhaps the key to his comedy, having humanity whatever he’s mocking.

Yet Nothing Special will always be defined by what it’s missing. The polish of being honed, finished material. The metaphorical dance with the live audience. And most of all the presence of Macdonald himself, now we know he’s gone.

Early in the show, Macdonald laments to his unseen virtual audience: ‘I miss seeing you folk live.’ The feeling’s mutual.

• Norm Macdonald: Nothing Special is on Netflix now.

Review date: 31 May 2022
Reviewed by: Steve Bennett