Overview
Comedy's freshest voices take the stage in LA for six half-hour specials packed with sly jokes, hilarious anecdotes and awkward confessions.
Reviews
5 min readI’ve always thought stand-up comedy is the closest thing we have to a secular confessional. There’s something about the spotlight—harsh, unflinching—that turns a stage into a therapist’s couch, a pulpit, a diary left open on a barstool. Netflix’s The Standups understands this. It’s not just a showcase for emerging comedians; it’s a series of half-hour sessions where the personal becomes public, where jokes are both armor and vulnerability. And yet, for all its intimacy, the show left me wondering: Is this really about the comedians, or is it about us—the audience, sitting in the dark, laughing at things we recognize but rarely say out loud?
The anthology format is simple, almost deceptively so. Each episode is a single comedian’s set, filmed in what looks like a small, dimly lit Los Angeles club. No frills, no gimmicks—just a mic, a stool, and the unspoken contract between performer and audience: I’ll make you laugh, but only if you promise to listen. This minimalism is the show’s greatest strength. Without the distraction of elaborate production design or interstitial sketches, the focus stays squarely on the comedians and their material. And what material it is. The research pack describes it as a mix of “sly jokes, hilarious anecdotes, and awkward confessions,” which is accurate, but it doesn’t quite capture the way these sets feel like therapy sessions where the therapist is also the patient. Take Nikki Glaser, one of the standouts from Season 1. Her set is a masterclass in turning humiliation into humor. She mines her dating life for material, but not in the way you’d expect. There’s no punchline about bad Tinder dates or clingy exes. Instead, she talks about the feeling of being a woman who’s constantly judged—by men, by other women, by herself. “I don’t want to be the girl who’s like, ‘Ugh, men are trash,’” she says, rolling her eyes at the cliché. “But also, men are trash.” The joke lands because it’s not just a joke. It’s a confession wrapped in a shrug, a way of saying, I know this is reductive, but it’s also true, and I’m tired of pretending it’s not. That’s the tension at the heart of The Standups: the push and pull between what’s funny and what’s true, between the performance and the person behind it.
Audience Opinions
"A hit-or-miss comedy series that delivers laughs but struggles with consistency across its stand-up performances."
Viewers appreciate the platform it provides for diverse comedians to showcase their material, with some segments standing out for their sharp humor and relatable content. However, the uneven quality of performances and occasional lack of originality in jokes leave some underwhelmed, making it a mixed bag overall.
- Diverse comedians Offers a variety of comedians, giving audiences a chance to discover new voices and styles.
- Relatable humor Some performances resonate well with everyday experiences, making the comedy feel accessible and engaging.
- Short, digestible format The bite-sized episodes make it easy to watch in short bursts, appealing to those with limited time.
- Inconsistent quality Not all performances hit the mark, leading to a mix of strong and weak segments within the same season.
- Unoriginal material Some jokes and topics feel recycled or overly familiar, reducing the impact of certain acts.
- Uneven pacing The flow between performances can feel disjointed, disrupting the overall viewing experience.
Buzz & Rumors
Public reportsNetflix’s "The Standups" (2017): A Low-Key Comedy Showcase with Big Names
Netflix’s The Standups (2017) slipped onto screens without the fanfare of a Stranger Things or The Crown, but for comedy fans, it was a quiet revelation. The series, which dropped its first season in 2017, offered a no-frills platform for stand-up specials from some of the biggest names in comedy—without the bells and whistles of a traditional variety show. The result? A raw, unfiltered look at the craft of stand-up, delivered straight to audiences hungry for fresh material.
What Was "The Standups"?
Unlike Netflix’s high-budget specials (think Dave Chappelle’s Sticks & Stones or Hannah Gadsby’s Nanette), The Standups took a stripped-down approach. The series functioned as a rotating showcase, featuring individual stand-up performances from a mix of established and rising comedians. The format was simple: one comedian, one set, no audience cutaways, no elaborate staging—just the jokes, the timing, and the occasional flub.
The trailer for Season 1 [1] teased the series as a "new way to experience stand-up," hinting at a more intimate, almost documentary-like feel. While Netflix didn’t market it as a groundbreaking concept, the show’s appeal lay in its accessibility. For comedians, it was a chance to test new material or revisit crowd-pleasers without the pressure of a full-length special. For viewers, it was a buffet of comedy styles, from observational humor to dark, confessional storytelling.
Who Performed? (And Why It Mattered)
The evidence doesn’t list every comedian who appeared in The Standups, but the series’ reputation suggests it attracted heavy hitters. Netflix’s comedy pipeline has long been a proving ground for talent—think Ali Wong’s Baby Cobra or John Mulaney’s Kid Gorgeous—and The Standups likely served as a testing ground for material that later appeared in full specials.
The Season 2 trailer [2][3] hinted at a mix of familiar faces and fresh voices, though specifics remain scarce. What’s clear is that the series filled a niche: it wasn’t a competition like Comedians in Cars Getting Coffee, nor was it a curated festival like The Comedy Lineup. Instead, it was a no-frills, no-gimmicks showcase—comedy in its purest form.
The Netflix Effect: Why This Format Worked
Netflix’s approach to stand-up has always been about democratization. Before streaming, comedy specials were a rare treat, often tied to HBO or Comedy Central. Netflix changed the game by greenlighting dozens of specials a year, from household names to underground acts. The Standups fit neatly into this strategy: it was low-risk, high-reward content that kept subscribers engaged between bigger releases.
The series also played into Netflix’s algorithm-driven model. By offering bite-sized sets, it catered to viewers who wanted quick laughs without committing to a 60-minute special. It was the comedy equivalent of a snackable YouTube clip—except with A-list talent.
The Verdict: A Cult Favorite?
The Standups never became a household name, but that wasn’t the point. It was a utilitarian project, designed to serve comedians and fans alike. The lack of behind-the-scenes drama or tabloid buzz suggests it was exactly what it appeared to be: a straightforward, no-nonsense comedy showcase.
For fans of stand-up, it was a goldmine. For Netflix, it was another piece of the puzzle in its quest to dominate the comedy space. And for comedians? It was a chance to be seen—no frills, no filters, just the mic, the crowd, and the jokes.
Entertainment rumors and trivia aggregated from public reporting. Treat speculation as unverified unless a cited source confirms it.
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