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John Hodgman exploded into America's pop culture consciousness as the square PC opposite Justin Long's cool Mac in those ubiquitous Apple commercials. Even then, his résumé was impressive—Yale graduate, Bruce Campbell's literary agent, author of an anthology of fake facts titled The Areas of My Expertise.
But Hodgman isn't one for labels. "We as a culture are well beyond facts," said the comic. "This is the foundation both of my trilogy of made-up world knowledge as well as the current presidential election—who cares about facts?"
While promoting his first book on The Daily Show, Hodgman got his biggest break. He caught the eye of Jon Stewart and became a Daily Show regular while simultaneously finishing his series. "Those books put me on The Daily Show, which fed a completely unexpected career on television, in movies and as a standup comedian," he said.
"I knew that even though I could continue to write the kinds of jokes that were in those books—jokes about hobos taking over the United States and mole men cities lurking at the center of the Earth—I was interested in other things now," Hodgeman said. "I wanted to do more comedy that didn't rely on a persona or a gimmick."
Enter Vacationland, Hodgman's new touring show. In it, he covers a lot of ground: "river witches, the rules of dumping garbage at transfer stations in New England, scary cars, becoming an urban legend in the graveyard near your house and fudge. And death." It's what the Long Winters frontman John Roderick dubbed a "white privilege mortality comedy."
For Hodgman, Vacationland is also a step into the unknown.
"In my last standup special I predicted the end of the world. The world did not end, which was very frustrating because I was out of material," Hodgman said. "I had written all the absurd fake facts that I wanted to invent, so I started doing standup comedy that included personal stories from my everyday life as an actual human being and famous minor television personality with an actual wife and two human children."
The journey from professional humorist to standup comedian for Hodgman has been long and fruitful, with stops along the way in films like Coraline, HBO's Bored To Death and his eponymous podcast Judge John Hodgman. So is he a career standup comedian, a writer or a TV star? "Ultimately I think labels are ways that people put other people into a pigeonhole because they make them uncomfortable," Hodgeman said. "Just like you can only grow the mustache you can grow. That's me, and you can call it what you like."
See the full Q&A with John Hodgman below.
SEE IT: John Hodgman is at the Hollywood Theatre, 4122 NE Sandy Blvd. 8 pm Thursday, Oct. 15. $25.
Willamette Week: What can you tell us about your new show Vacationland?
John Hodgman: My new hour plus of comedy, themed around such subjects as vacation and river witches and the rules of dumping garbage at transfer stations in New England and scary cars and becoming an urban legend in the graveyard near your house and fudge and death. But mostly it's about the terror of ambiguity as you move from one phase of your life into another phase of your life which is really the phase of your life that ends with death.
How does your new show differ from your last special?
Since my last stand-up special Raganrok in which I predicted the end of the world, the world did not end, and that was very frustrating for me because I was out of material. I had written all the crazy and absurd fake facts that I wanted to invent, so for me to go forward I had to realize that only the loathsome truth was left to me, so I started doing stand-up comedy that was much more straightforward and personal stories from my everyday life as me John Hodgman, an actual human being and famous minor television personality with an actual wife and two human children who lives most of the time in Brooklyn, New York, and part of the time in unemployed exile in various parts of rural New England, and this is what I bring back to you from the painful wilderness of Massachusetts and Maine.
Did you come up with the idea for Raganrok specifically because of all the madness around 2012, or was that just kind of a happy coincidence?
That show grew out of my third and final book of fake trivia, which came out in 2012, called That Is All. I remember very distinctly sitting in rural New England, where I spend a bunch of the summer every year doing a bunch of writing and figuring out what's next for my life, and I was thinking about this book and this show that I wanted to do, a live show accompaniment.
As a creative person, figuring out what you're interested in is not easy. You go through your life and you eat your foods and you watch your shows and you do your chores like everyone else, and someone will say to you what are you thinking about right now, and you will suddenly go I have no idea. It takes some time to sit down and really figure out as a human or as a comedian or as a writer what am I thinking about now. What's preoccupying me? I was sort of thinking about what was happening in the world, and I was definitely tuned in already to all of the Mayan apocalypse stuff, because I love apocalypse mythologies, and I love post-apocalyptic mythologies like Omega Man, and I had just turned forty not long before, and I began to realize how comforting the apocalypse is to someone who gets passed forty and is now a dad and is now moving on to what we hope would be the second half of their life. The apocalypse is very comforting when you begin to really take stock of the fact that you're moving into the end phase of your life. Because the apocalypse says yes you are going to die, but as a consolation you're going to get take all those other fuckers out with you, and that your life is not wholly meaningless but written into a larger story that is the end of the world.
When the apocalypse didn't happen, it became a different kind of trauma. Not that I actually expected the world to end, but I would be lying if, both for reasons of artistic accomplishments and desperation, I wasn't perhaps hoping a little bit that the world would end and my work was done.
So you were a little disappointed that the world didn't end in 2012?
It was terrifying. By the time Ragnarok came out, I had completed my three books of fake trivia which had been my core creative output for almost a decade. Those books had put me onto the Daily Show as a Resident Expert and then Deranged Millionaire, which fed a completely unexpected career on television and in movies somewhat and as a stand-up comedian. And yet I knew that even though I could continue to write the kinds of jokes that were in those books, jokes about hobos taking over the United States and absurd jokes about mole men cities lurking at the center of the earth, I was interested in other things now. I wanted to get out there and do more comedy that didn't rely on a persona or a gimmick that was just me talking about what I'm actually interested in right now.
This show is the most stripped down and personal that I've ever done. People who listen to the Judge John Hodgman podcast are already familiar with me just speaking as myself and not in the guise of a lunatic professor or loathsome Donald Trump impersonator, and it's been really a wonderful experience, for me, and insofar as I can detect from the audience, pretty good for them too.
On your episode of WTF with Marc Maron, one of the main topics is your feelings about calling yourself a stand-up comic.
Maron is one of those guys they call a comics comic. He is a true stand-up comedian, and he came up and paid dues in that world. So I was always hesitant and a little embarrassed by my position within comedy all of a sudden, because to an outsider it would seem I was utterly plucked from obscurity. And that's true. I was an obscure of weird fake facts on the internet and writer of legit magazine journalism for the New York Times Magazine at the time. I would often back off from saying I'm a comedian or what have you. But the truth is I paid dues. I just paid them in different venues, and in different ways. I learned my lessons through standing on a corner counting traffic, or turning over cheese in London, or hosting variety shows in Williamsburg in the early 2000s, and going up on alternative comedy stages, and going and doing book readings all across the country with all different kinds of audiences that often had a performative aspect, and it all led to where it was OK for me to appear on The Daily Show as a guest and then going on the Daily Show as a correspondent.
One of the great moments of that interview was coming to realize that Marc Maron wasn't going to turn around and say you're a fucking phony. You're not a comic. That's what I was terrified of.
That actually was the second interview that I had given to Marc for WTF. The first one had been eighteen months before. We had met in New York and recorded one and I was terrified then that he was going to call me out in some way on something. And this is totally in me, Marc would never do this as an interviewer; this is totally in my head. We recorded this very vulnerable interview in an office in New York, and I told stories about my growing up in Massachusetts that I had never told anyone else before, like real high school confessions. I really let it all out there, and it was really cathartic, and it was one those great WTF interviews. And it all came out because I realized, he doesn't want to sandbag me, he wants me to talk. And then a couple of days after the interview recorded I got an email from him saying, "Oh yeah the recorder didn't work, we got none of it." And I'm like you fucker that's how you're going to do it, that's how you messed with my head. But of course it was just a simple mistake. It wasn't that painful to go in and talk to him again because I knew better at that point.
So has your perception of yourself changed since that interview?
I used to write books, and then adapt what I was writing to do comedy, but for the past three years I just written in order to perform comedy on stage. Does that make me stand-up comedian? I don't know. I stand up and tell things that make people laugh. But I'm also comfortable with just telling a story and long periods of silence where there is no laughter. Ultimately I think labels are ways that some people use to put other people into a pigeon hole because they make them uncomfortable. All I can do is what I do, and that is at this point standing-up on stage and telling funny stories about my real life. Just like you can only grow the mustache you can grow, that's me, and you can call it what you like.
What is your call screening situation with Judge John Hodgman? Do you feel like it's risky to interact with the public on such a regular basis?
It's not risky in the least for two reasons. One, we mitigate all risk because people submit their cases, and most often Julia Smith, the producer, will call them in advance, and talk them through a little bit to get a feel for them, but that's not even to figure out if they're crazy or not. The second reason that it's no risk at all is that most people aren't crazy. Most people are really nice. What Julia looks for when she talks to them is whether or not there is enough meat to this case that we can talk about it for forty-five minutes, and are they going to be lively and talkative. The truth is most people aren't jerks, most people are shy, and don't want to talk. For me the great pleasure of doing Judge John Hodgman is that weekly reminder that most people out in the world are nice, and almost everyone is interesting. We can get into a bubble and think that the only people who are interesting are people who appear on television or who write for the alt weekly or whatever. But everyone is interesting, and that's what I love about that show. I take a personal pleasure in that.
I think that we've gotten a few people who are really eccentric. But the only thing that I worry about are people who are not coming to the show sincerely, who are putting on an act to be "funny." Whether it's a stand-up or someone calling into a podcast, people who are putting on an act in order to be "funny," tend to be deadly.
You've appeared on the British quiz show QI. Do you think that a show like that could have a life in the United States?
Without question. For two reasons: One, it's a brilliant show. It's called QI for "Quite Interesting," and people are interested in interesting things. I do think there is a presumption that it might be too smart for the United States, because we're all a bunch of dumbs, but that is overruled by the second reason it would work here, which is that anything could be a show here because there are now one-thousand channels. Between Netflix, and Hulu, and then the networks, and then the cable channels, and I think chipotle.com is commissioning original content now. I don't understand why it's not here, and the fact is it is here–it's on YouTube. But if you were to re-launch it in America it would not work unless Stephen Fry were the host.
Willamette Week